His Prejudice.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XII, 19 September 1903, Page 849

His Prejudice.

By

J. C. CAMPBELL.

‘ Thanks, dear. No doubt the parody is very clever, but I can’t say I admire it.” “No. Why?” and the blue eyes were turned questioningly to her lover. “Because, little one, the subject is extremely distasteful to me.” “Do you dislike snoring and snorers so very much, George?” “Dislike! Good heavens! That’s no name for it—l abhor both.” Amy Merton was startled by her lover’s vehemence. “Come, little one, put away the book,” he added, in a softened tone, as his eyes rested upon the small, slight figure with its clustering curls and dovelike eyes. “Let's take a turn in the garden and get a breath of ‘God’s glorious oxygen,’ as poor - Gordon lias it, and 1 will tell you the reason of my antipathy to snorers. Although. I presume, the habit is not criminal, yet I never heard of a person own to it. But, jesting aside, Ladybird, I think it is hereditary with me, for the mater had the same aversion. But to my story. About three years ago I was returning from a trip to Sydney. Travelling by the same boat was the daughter of my father’s oldest friend, a pretty little fair girl, about your age. 1 was supposed to sec to her comforts during the voyage. I was quite, taken by’ her. I found her very intelligent; in fact, I had begun to believe I had met my ‘other half.’ But I was soon undeceived. On the afternoon of our second day out. a sultry one. not a breath stirring, the sea was like glass. My little friend confessed to a slight headache and had retired, so I thought I would finish a book I had brought with me, but I failed to find it, when I suddenly remembered I had left it below. I went in search of it, and, missing my way, found myself in the ladies’ cabin, which had but one occupant—my erstwhile enamorata. who lay on one of the couches fast asleep, and, ugh! snoring with an energy that would have done credit to a ploughman. I was awfully disgusted. I'm afraid I was barely civil to her for the remainder of 4he voyage. That

snore seemed to fill the whole horizon. Even her voice, which I thought so musical before, now only seemed to suggest a snore. I was heartily glad when 1 saw her safe in the keeping of her friends. In due course I arrived home and found staying with my mother a young lady friend, of whom she was very fond; in fact, she never seemed weary of singing her praises, extolling her perfections and enlarging upon the blessings attendant on a well-assorted marriage. She was undeniably' a very charming girl of the .Tuno type, a trifle too self-conscious, perhaps, to my fancy. Nevertheless, I feel sure, ultimately’ 1 would have been led like a lamb to the slaughter if my good angel had not come to the rescue. I had been told off to show Miss Blank the beauties of the country, as the mater did not feel equal to it. On one memorable morning wo had driven to see a waterfall about ten miles from home, and on our return the young lady expressed herself tired, and taking a book retired to a hammock swung in the garden. As she did not appear when the luncheon bell rang, I went in search of her. accompanied by my Mother. We found our guest fast asleep, her book lying on the grass beside the hammock, while she, like my friend of the steamboat, was engaged in the delightful pastime of snoring. I turned abruptly l and walked back to the house, and when a week later Miss Blank spoke of leaving us the mater did not press her to prolong her visit, from which circumstance, added to the fact that she never spoke again of my marrying her friend, proved conclusively to me that she shared my’ prejudice. I there and then registered a mental vow that, no matter Ik>w attractive or intelligent a woman may’ be, or how much I loved her. I would never marry a woman addicted to snoring.” “But, what if you were married before you discovered her—her—” Amy was at a loss how to describe it. “In that case I presume I’d have to make the best of it. But, if the lady knew beforehand of my' prejudice, and. notwithstanding, married me, I would leave her without the slightest compunction, for if she would deceive me in one thing what guarantee would I have that she would not do so in others? But, now. let us change the subject, little one, and escort me to the gate. How sweet briar is after the recent shower! This is indeed a charming nest, yet my little one is willing to leave it for a great, rough fellow like me. Well, there must be something attractive about me after all. I begin to think I have sadly’ underrated myself. But, jesting apart, little, one, to-morrow will either see me a member of the highly respected firm of Gilbraith, Carthcarte and Co., or a member of that unenviable class, the unemployed, for unless they agree to accept me as junior partner I will leave the office altogether. But whichever way the tide sets, I presume 1 can rely upon my little one's constancy?” Amy's reply was brief, but eminently satisfactory. “Now. little one, there’s the whistle. I must be oil'. Put your head early beneath your wing to-night, for I want you to look your prettiest at the picnic to-morrow. Sorry I can’t join you. but you may look for me early in the evening.”

He leaned over the gate, kissed the upturned face, and was gone. Amy watched the tall athletic figure as he strode down the avenue, twirling his cane and whistling a popular tune. A cold shiver ran through her as she thought of the terrible catastrophe that had befallen a passenger train on that line, only six weeks since.

“My dear laiy. if 1 were to lose him I don’t think I could live long,” she murmured, as, shivering, she drew her light shawl over her head and returned to the house. Mr. Andrew Merton was a commission agent and sharebroker, reputed wealthy, and, consequently, highly respected. There was. however, no doubt al>out bis love for his only child. She was the apple of his eye and the pride of his life. For her he worked late and early to amass money. It was a veritable labour of love, and she thoroughly appreciated and reciprocated that love, but there comes a time in every young girl’s life (so an authority tells us I when the heart is like the tendril of a vino, ready to ding to the first object that presents itself. In some such state Amy’s organ must have been in when she met George Arnold for the first time. But the father's heart was troubled when, a few nights later, he discovered his darling sitting at. the open window of her dainty little room, watching with pensive face the “queen of night" as she sailed gracefully through the fleecy cloudlets into an expanse of blue. Tennyson lying unheeded on the earpet at her feet. With a sharp pang he realised that his little one had reached woman's estate. Realised and resented the possible advent of Cupid in his dovecote. But the mother, mindful of her own youthful days, smiled softly ns. with tearful eves, she fervently prayed that her child might be happy. Six months had passed since the morning George Arnold had, with becoming humility, presented himself as a suitor for Miss Merlon's hand, and, after due consideration, had been accepted. Six halcyon mouths to Amy for, if George were not ail her fancy painted him, he undoubtedly was a very fine specimen of manhood; a trifle brusque, but manly and of good repute. ‘’Oh, how easily things go wrong.” The sun was shining brightly, and the little birds were singing in the branches as if their morning meal depended upon the number of notes they got through in a given time, when Mr. Merton knocked at his daughter’s door to wish her good morning ere he left for the city. “Come in, papa,” replied a muffled voice from within. “What! Not tip. Ladybird.” as ho advanced into the room. “What would Arnold say if he knew you were in the arms of Morpheus at eight on a summer morning?” “I don’t think T was sleeping, papa.” “Not sleeping; Ladybird. I am naturally averse to contra dieting a lady, but facts are stubborn things, and I maintain you were not only sleeping, but sleeping audibly not ten minutes ago.” “What do you mean, papa?” “Well, to be plain, you wore snoring. You might have given Edwards’ fog horn ten points in fifty, and beaten it easily." If Air. Merton had been looking into his daughter’s face instead of at the quill that he was converting into a toothpick, he would have been amazed at its expression. “Snoring!” ejaculated Amy, in a voice that, with difficulty’, she rendered steady. “You are surely mistaken, papa.” “I sec you don’t like the accusation. Oh. well, you are not original in that. I never knew anyone who did; but. if you doubt my veracity, 1 11 call a witness — Mama.” “Oh, don’t disturb Alatna. I thought you were only jesting.” “Never was more serious in my life; but don’t let that disturb your peace of mind. It is. not so heinous a crime as manslaughter, and that you must plead guilty to —look at pool Arnold." “Andrew’, there’s the whistle,” called Airs. Alerton from the next room. “AVell, I must bo oil'. Good morning, lassie, now up and doing,” and lie was gone, little dreaming of the blow his idle words had dealt that young sensitive heart. “Cannot marry me! Surely you are. jesting!” “No, George, I was never more serious in my life.” Arnold looked sternly into the girl’s face. “Alay I ask when you came to this conclusion? You seemed to be quite willing to ntarry me when I lust saw you." “Since then something hus occurred that oh, George," with a wailing cry, “be generous, don’t question mo. I can't tell you, I only know that 1 cannot

marry you; ’tie best for both, you would not be happy with me.” “Allow me to lie the best judge of that. 1 am willing to risk it.” “Oh, no. no, it cannot be. You would not wish it yourself if you only knew.” "Well, why not let me know and judge for myself? No doubt you are making a mountain out of a molehill -perhaps a very few words would make you see things in a different light, and I certainly do not feel inclined to throw away my only chance of happiness for what iprobably nothing more than a girlish fancy.” “Oh. no; the trouble is only too real.” “But why not give this trouble a name, so that I’ll know what f have to contend with. At present I am quite in the dark, and consequently at a disadvantage. Surely, as your accepted husband, no one has a greater right to know. You cannot play football with a man’s life with impunity. You are so entwine I round every fibre of my heart that parting from you means literally parting with all that makes life to me more than a mere existence Come, Amy, come, little one, and let me share your trouble, if 1 cannot dispel it. Who has a better l ight ?” Oh. tlie wealth of tender yearning in the large dark eyes, as he'opened his arms for his love, but in vain. Remonstrances an 1 entreaties, alike, seemed to fall upon deaf ears: but. in truth, Am>, despite her apparent insensibility to his pleadings, sat witli her hands" clasped in hei lap, every nerve in her body vibrating to tlie tones of his beloved voice, and the mental strain was momentarily* becoming greater than she could bear. Presently a thought flashed through uis mind. “Had she seen someone at the picnic whom she thought she preferred?” He put the question to her abrupt.lv. Amy s pale face crimsoned from brow to chin. George Eliot is right: blusn ing is indeed a “dubious flag signal." and Arnold, with that wonderful penetration so characteristic of the male sex when judging woman’s motives, jumped at tlie wrong conclusion. "I might have guessed it,” he said, with a short, harsh laugh. Amy did not undeceive him. At that moment Airs Alerton made her appearance in the doorway. ■’Mother, Amy refuses to marrv me, and will give me no reason for it.” The matron’s placid face was the picture of blank amazement, but, when sufficiently recovered, she began a mil.l remonstrance, which her daimhler speedily brought to an end. "Alother, if you love me, cease. You would not surely wish me to do that which 1 am convinced can only end unhappily for both!” “Don’t take Amy at her word, George, something has upset her—a week hence “Mother,” impetuously’ broke in her daughter. “I cannot permit you to mi.c lead him. Aly decision is final. Tima will not affect it.” “Then, good-bye, mother dear; lei me call yon so for the last time, for in all probability I shall never see you again, and you have been indeed a good little mother to me.” He stooped down and kissed the faded cheek, down which tears had begun to roll. H‘» paused on his way to the door, looking back at Amy as if he were about to speak, but. changing his mind, pts--cd out, closing the door sharply’ behind him. Amy rose and. passing her arm round her mother’s neck, kissed her, and slowly left the room. To say Mr Merton was annoyed at the turn of affairs would very inadequately describe his feelings, but as the days merged into weeks and Amy, from being the most demonstrative of daughters, visibly shrank from his caresses, his exasperation knew no bounds. He declared he never heard such extraordinary conduct in his life. “First; she throws her future husband over in cold blood, and her own choice, too, although he did not think much of that item, woman’s fickleness was proverbial, then she wants to drag him wit t her half over Europe at the bu-iest. tim of the year, and finally turns from her old father.” The end of this outburst was that Mrs Alerton was put through n severe cross examination with a view of ascertaining if there had ever been a case of lunacy ou her side of the family to satisfactorily account for such “goings-on.” After leaving Amy, Arnold's first step was to interview the head of the firm,

for which he was confidential clerk, and ask for a long holiday, letting the question of partnership stand over until his return. Having obtained leave of absence. he bad not the remotest idea where to go. when, in the breast poeket of his overeuat that he had not worn for some time, he discovered a letter. On recognising the handwriting. ‘‘l have it,” he exclaimed, “I ll go and look up old Williams.” ' The gentleman referred to was an old college chum who, five years previous to the ooening of my story, had earned the right to I .. i .... S. his n.i.iie. and had betaken himself and his varied talents to New Zealand, where he was now practising his profession in a mining township, about fifty miles north oi Greymouth. Three days later, at five on a bright summer afternoon, the s.s. Arawata, commanded by g-iliant Captain Underwood, steamed slowly from the pier with George Arnold on board, booked for the Grey. Arriving al his destination, he lost no time in looking up Dr. Williams, who accorded him that hearty welcome so characteristic of the inhabitants of the goldfields ere overmuch civilisation paralises spontaneity. “So you’ve cut the -hop at last, eh? Well, you have hit the right moment for us. I’ve just got the place to suit you. Your knowledge of assaying will be an immense benefit to us. I am interested in no end of mines here, and am the biggest -hareholder in the “Bunyip.” Our manager has found it expedient to grant himself unlimited leave of absence to save shareholders the trouble of hanging him from the nearest tree, and you are just the man for the place. What, not cine to stay, eh? Ah, we’ll see.” The upshot was that after two weeks’ experience of life among the dwellers in tents he wrote to bis firm stating he had accepted the position of manager of the "Bunyip” mine, and henceforth New Zealand would be his home. Thus nearly three years passed. George, like his friend, was smitten with the speculation fever, and the rise and fall in the share market was sufficient excitement to keep his blood from stagnating. Wine there was in plenty, but women! Well, the specimens of the gentler sex to be found on the goldfields in the early days were perhaps not very well calculated to turn the head of a fastidious man like Arnold, even if he bad not the remembrance of a certain sweet, fair young face, with its tendrillike curls, clustering about the broad white brow. A vision that “would not bide dismissal,” to keep him in the way he should go. Many changes had taken place in the house of Merton since we last heard of them. Amy had returned from her trip, “half over Europe,” benefited in mind and body: the wild rose lint once more suffused her check, and, if her step were less buoyant and her laugh less ready than of old, she had improved in other respects that more than compensated for their loss. Mrs Merton, never very robust, had died shortly after their return. An authority says, "Misfortune never comes but it brings an heir that he may succeed as his inheritor.” So it was with Mr Merton’s affairs. Fortune, the fiekle goddess, hitherto unwavering in her graciousness, now deserted him. His hand “had lost its cunning.” Under the continual strain his judgment became perverted, and friends shrugged their shoulders and tapped their foreheads significantly, as yet one more rotten speculation in which he was involved caine to grief. Deep line- of care began to furrow his once smooth face, and his hair was plentifully streaked with silver. He smiled grimly, as his summer friends fell, one by one. away, but what would he? Even rats desert a sinking ship; would he exjieet less of intelligent human beings’ But the climax was •■eached when, one evening, Amy fomid him in his study, his head bowed in Lis hands, while the tears trickled through his lingers, falling upon the newspaper beneath. Surmising some new trouble, she wound her arras tenderly round hint, kissing him gently on the forehead. Mr Merton looked up. and she was terrified to see the change that an hour’s suffering had wrought. “I am ruined!” he said, with quivering lips, pointing to a paragraph setting forth the failure of a certain bank. But the word “ruin” has not the same significance to the young that it kae to the old. “Never mind, papa, while we have each

oiflier surely all else is of little consequence? Besides, with your ability and experience you will soon be all right again.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “I am too old to begin the battle of life afresh. Competition is too keen, . the old ones must go to the wall — ’tis but right. 1 have had my day. If it were not for you, lassie, 1 would gladly die, but can you forgive your old father for bringing you to such a pass’” So time sped on, and winter closed in early, with a promise of unusual severity. One bitter night, while the blast howled outside, and the rain pelted against the window panes unceasingly, Amy stirred the fire into a ruddier glow and softly returned to her father’s bedside. He had been confined to his room for two weeks with a cold that threatened to settle on his lungs. As she sat, holding the old man’s hand in hers, he suddenly looked up into the sweet face bending over him, and. with a world of entreaty his eyes, begged her to tell him why she and her lover had parted. Amy’s whole nature revolted against this probing of the old wound. She was about to refuse, but one look into the care-worn, anxious face, one backward thought of the long years of unceasing devotion and tender care, and, putting self aside, she. with a feeling akin to humiliation, told him all. Oh. how pitiful the. tale seemed! How contemptible a reason for severing two lives. “Oh. my darling, can you forgive me for my foolish jest? Was ever man so unfortunate? I. who would gladly shed my ’ast drop of blood to save you pain, am the cause of your greatest- misfortune.” Amy comforted him as only a true woman can. “You will tell Arnold, my child’” lavin'* his hand unon her arm. and looking into her face. Amy was silent. “ ’Tis but just to both.” ho urged; “life is too short for mistakes.” “Tn all probability T shall never see him again.” Her father noted the eatch in her voice. “You will, my child,” he replied, with conviction. “It is a peculiarity of my sex that they almost invariably return to the woman they think has treated them badly, and I’ve no doubt Arnold fee’s himself very ill-treated.” Mr Merton’s illness took a serious turn, and three weeks later, lie had done with the cares and sorrows of this, at best, unsatisfutory world. After all claims were settled Amy found she wou’d. with strict economy, have sufficient to live upon for the next two years, but she preferred nutting that aside for si rainy day. and turning her musical ability to account. To that end she took apartments, and, advertis’ng for pupils for the pianoforte, was fortunate in securing several. She wr = also fortunate in her landlady, who proved both refined and intelligent and Amy passed many a pleasant hour in her company. “T ike as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. ~o <To our lives haste to their end.” One soft summer evening, when the m«on cast its beams through the lofty trees, throwing a network of shadows across the narrow bridle track, leading from the “Bunyip.’’ George, with the bridle hanging loosely over the horse’s neek, rode towards the township. The influence of the evening was upon him. and. in the spirit, he once more stood beside his little love Time had taken off the keen edge of his resentment and his heart yearned for a sight of her face once more. All outward sights and sounds were lost to him: the rippling of the hill stream falling with a gentle splash on to the shingle bed below, the distant hoot of the owl. the gleam of the ''low-worm, lurking amid the humid undergrowth; suddenly there was a whirr of wings, the startled horse bounded forward, and George Arnold lay senseless across the path. Half an hour later some miners, returning from the township, found him, and. making an impromptu stretcher, carried him back with them. Dr. Williams hastened to his friend and found a nasty scalp wound, caused by his head coming in contact, with the stump of a free, his ankle was also sprained. "Three weeks’ rest, old man,” the doctor remarl 'd. in a cheerful tone, after the examination was over. Arnold’s reply was more forcible than polite. During that enforced idleness he had ample time for thought, and the more

he reflected, the stronger grew the conviction that, in some way or other, he was to blame for his rejection. He blamed himself for being too precipitate in leaving Melbourne, aud so lie fume-1, retarding his cure. Dr. Williams was puzzled; at List he gave his patient permission to rei.J. “Or you might relieve the tedium by writing a treatise on —let us see—-the elites of speculation, for instance, it—” “Thanks, Williams. By the bye, if you intend to charge for this and similar prescriptions, I shall be under the painful necessity of getting your account taxed when you send it in.” Thus jesting, the friepls parted fur rhe night. Five weeks later, Dr. Williams, stethoscope in hand, stood before Arnold. “Well, I must say, 1 find no just cause for the symptoms you describe. You are as sound as a bell, notwithstanding •that bark of yours. No, there is no use prescribing for you. Throw physic to the dogs and make a clean breast of it. I know of no remedy in the pharmacopeia that can minister to a mind diseased. Look upon me as your Father Confessor. Who is she and what has she done? Now, I am going as far as the “Saddle,” you had better eome with me and we can talk on the way.” The result of ti.at walk was that, a few weeks later. Arnold found himself on board the “Titan,” crossing the bar, on his way to join the “Claud Hamilton,” bound that afternoon for Melbourne. About three days after the arrival of the “Claud,’’ Amy sat in her tiny parlour. her weary head resting in her hand, her book unheeded. It had been a very trying day, the heat had been intense, and her pupils unusually stupid. It was with a feeling akin t-o despair, she thought of the years to come. Ten, perhaps twenty, must she ever feel that void, that emptiness of life, once filled to overflowing. It were better to sleep beside those dear ones, who had gone before. The faint perfume from -the honevsuckle growing beneath was wafted through the slightly open window. It brought back memories of happier days, she felt once more the “touch of a vanished hand, heard the sound of a voice that was still,” and he. the dearer one yet -than all other. Her head sank lower and her eyes grew bright with unshed tears. The door opened gently, a footstep fell softly on the thick carpet, then paused. She looked up, expecting to see her landlady. “G eorge”—’ ’Amy.” She was dimly conscious of rushing with undignified haste towards him —five minutes’ oblivion —at the end of which time she found herself vainly striving to free herself from George’s encircling arms. Two hours later, holding both hands and looking into the fair, flushed face, “I am indeed a lucky fellow. My ol 1 firm have offered me a partnership, and. best of all. my little one will this day week be my very own.” “But. George, what of your prejudice ?” He laughed a hearty ringing laugh. ‘‘Prejudice, they say. dies hard, but st would indeed require to be deeply rooted to survive two years’ life on the goldfields. I recommend all those troubled that way -to try my prescription, and, if it does not cure them, nothing will.” That night, alone once more, Amy thought how many a time and oft she had pictured her meeting with Arnold, how dignified she would be. what say and do, but she smiled to think how effectually nature had settled the question, and was fain to confess how superior were her methods.