[COPYRIGHT STORY]. The Pursuit of the Well-Endowed

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 11, 17 March 1906, Page 12

[COPYRIGHT STORY]. The Pursuit of the Well-Endowed

By

A. J. Dawson

Author of “ African Nights' Entertainment,” ” Fortunes of Farthings,” Etc,

Wyr R LAWRENCE BARNET, the lyl well-to-do lawyer of Copsdene I 1 in Hampshire, was engaged in ty i. the somewhat momentous task of parting his back hair. He had never admitted as much, but it was a fact that Mr Barnet considered it a mark of the successful ami eminently solid professional man, this scrupulous division of the thin, grey hair upon the back, as well as on the top 4 of his head. So the two curved brushes shot bark and forth behind the worthy gentleman, like beaters in a churn; and Airs Barnet, who, having completed her own toilet, had come into her husband’s dressing-room for conversation on the subject nearest both their hearts, observed with tireless admiration the t extent y and deftness of her lord. “Well, my dear,” said Mr Barnet, placing his brushes to rest at length in the brown leather case which had held them for close upon a score of years now, “I really do not see what valid objection can be raised to Larry’s accompanying his brother to-day. Still less d<» 1 see how he is to be prevented, even if reasonable cause existed. He is not er--’’ “No, I know that, dear Lawrence; but yet I think a word from you—you set? it would be so disastrous if she should happen to take to him, to prefer him to Arthur. 1 mean, from the beginning. First impressions have such Weight with young girls, you know.” “What, prefer poor Larry to Arthur? My dear, the thing's impossible. No girl in her senses could possibly prefer a tly-away fellow like poor Larry, whose very appearance--er—suggests, I regret to say. inqiecuniousness. if not insolvency, and whose conversation would make—er- Consols seem a risky invest nienl “All that you say is very true, dear, but young girls do not think of investments. and 1 am afraid in short, dear, it would Im* foolish to deny that Larry is a very handsome fellow in his reckless way.” “< )h, as to that, heaven forbid that I should deny the poor fellow his measure of good looks. But have no fear, my dear, we shall very soon Im* able to makt- her mind clear as to the relative positions of the two lads, and their life here at home will show her a good deal more than the railway journey from Flymouth can.” Ami so with that, the elderly pair descended, arm-in-arm. as for thirty years their custom had lw*en, to breakfast and the morning papers. At the break fast-room door they wore welcomed. as usual, by tin* pride and hope of the house, “Air Arthur.* “Ah! our brother not down yet. I Roe," remarked the head of the house to his first-born. “Well, well. poor Larry. I'm afraid ho always has been a little Iw'liind his fellows in the affairs Of life?” When the kidneys were cold. the bacon congealed, the coffee tepid, tin* toast hathery. and only the* bread, butler. and marmalade* were left properly edible, “poor Larry” entered the room, liis face and hair having about them that damp freshness which suggests that a man is. say, ten minutes or a quarter of an hour from the bathroom. “1 II just ask them to put life into one of those kidneys, if yon don’t mind, mother. he said. “Squish is good enough for me most days.” he referred to the marmalade, “but with a journey

and an Australian heiress before us, the situation demands at least one kidney. I think.” “There were several awaiting you at the correct hour, my son,” remarked the head of the house, gravely. es, father; 1 perceive it, with all contrition. 1 must really buy me an alarum clock. You see, in the Argentine there was generally’ something happened about daylight to rouse us. A dog would get in at tin* window, or some horses break loose and stampede outside the verandah, or the peons would get up a light in the kitchen, or something lively would happen. The decorousness of our mornings here conduces. 1 find, to—er—” Mr Arthur hail Iwen to Cambridge (in his time he had been the one decorous feature of Jesus College, and had gone far toward whitewashing the reputation of that famous place of entertainment). Larry had left school at a disgracefully early age. after twice running away from it. and been sent to sea. Arthur had passed all his examinations with dying colours, ami been admitted a solicitor, while many of his compeers were still browsing dismally upon Scott and Liddell. When, on their coming of age. each hud received three thousand pounds from a defunct aunt. Arthur had promptly placed his tn the credit of the firm of Barnet and Son. lawyers, of which firm he was now. to all intents and purposes, the principal. Larry, on the other hand, was said to have scattered Irs legacy over the continent of America, and now was admittedly at the head of less than five hundred pounds, apart from his share in some paltry Argentine sheep-run. “Having made a little pile. I am coming home to have a good time.” he had written from Buenos Ayres, some two months before tin* opening of this story. And at that his father had begun to entertain some hopes of his younger son. Conceive then, the disgust of the good man when, a few weeks later, he learned from Larry’s own lips that the vaunted “pile” consisted of something now well under five hundred pounds! As soon as might be after breakfast, flu* two brothers set out on their way to Copsdene station, en route for Plymouth, where they were to meet tin* Orient liner Orizaba, amongst whose passengers from Australia were Miss Betty Rutherford and her “sister." Miss Mabel Lane, who was no sister at all. in law. but only by companionship and adoption. Among the many wealthy squatters whose lands eventually refuelled the hands of old William Rutherford, the recently deceased father of Miss Betty. Herbert Lane's came first. Herbert Lam*, then a widower with one little daughter, did not long survive the loss of his station: and as “old Rutherford”- so everyone in New South Wales called tin* great squatter—bad been a lit th* bard in his dealings with easy-going Herbert Lane, he was the more ready to fall in with his own daughter's desires by taking little Mabel under his roof and providing her with a home. So Betty Rutherford, who had never known a. mother’s ran* since the first year of her lib*, had grown to womanhood in Australia with a companion. and was not made so utterly alone in the world by her father’s death, in this twenty-third year of her life, as she might otherwise have been. The letter which old Rutherford had written to his cousin Lawrence Barnet. a few days before his death at Cooniwarra homestead. had lx‘en highly characteristic. “The doctors gin* me no more than another two or three days, and for once

I think they’re about right,” the letter had soid. “So, in the hope that you may have remembered my name, 1 am writing to you in the matter of my girl, Betty. She’s her own mistress, of course, and her head's on the right way; but I think it right she should have a glimpse of the Old Country, and so I am advising her to go Home for a trip, after I'm dead. lam trusting that you will lend her a hand in England, and let her stay a while with you in your home. As she may put you to some expense, I am leaving five thousand pounds to be sent to you as soon as I am. gone. My girl gets everything else, and the executors are straight men. She should be worth three hundred thousand. But, as I said, her head's on right.” In a postscript was added (in two lines) the information that Mabel Lane would accompany Miss Betty, and that an annuity of two hundred pounds had been settled upon that young lady for life. “Now, Arthur,” said Larry, as together they boarded the tender at Plymouth which was to convey them to the side of the ocean-going monster then anchored in the harbour, “don't you disturb yourself about me. I'm no meat for heiresses; that’s understood. You freeze right on to Miss Betty, and make hay while, the sun shines. I shan’t in-

terfere. I only want to have a look at i her. and then I’ll take the ‘sister’ under my protecting wing, and leave you a clear field.” “My dear Larry,” began Mr Arthur; “I really think you are a little —” “Oh, yes; as mueh as you like. But, hang it, you know what’s expected of you. as the hope of. the house. Why, poor dear Mother would never get over the disappointment if yon failed to capture the Rutherford thousands. And 1 m sure you deserve ’em, my dear fellow. Gad, if a man's got to live the choky sort of existence you do, and get nothing for it, it’s mighty hard lines. Now with me it’s different. I have a rattling good time right along—more or less; and so Fate doesn't owe me anything. No; you cut in and win, my son; and good luck to you! By Jove, here we are! A different sort of packet to the one I came home in. Look at the rows of gentlemanly stewards—and their itching palms. I wonder if that’s our heiress beside the first boat’s davits, there!” By an odd ehanee Larry’s quite hazardous guess prove.d correct. The ship’s purser, pausing, as it were, on the wing, between half a dozen questioning groups, performed the necessary introduction; and within ten minutes the -brothers were standing on the tender’s deck, in charge of Miss Rutherford, Miss Lane, and a small mountain of trunks and other baggage. “The house on the right, of v. hic’i vou see only the chimneys, is the seat’—Mr Arthur was shying' fa bland tones to the heiress. “Now I’ve never rightly understood before the exact uses in this world of pursers,” began Larry, to Miss Lane, as he placed her in a seat to windward of the funnel. “I believe I've had a suspicion that they were purely ornamental, like the brass cannon. Now I realise that by a merciful dispensation of Providence pursers have been brought into

the world and kept going all this while, in order that there might have been some cue to introduce us to-day. Just think, if there had been no purser, we should have become a kind of Flying Dutchman, a twin Flying Dutchman, my brother and 1, skirmishing round Orient liners for the rest of our lives, wildly inquiring for two beautiful young ladies last beard. of somewhere in the leftcentre of Australia. And. too”—But at that moment an official in uniform demanded fares from Larry, and a period was put upon his absurdities. Aliss Mabel Lane was of Larry’s own complexion, brown as October, with dark, dancing eyes, a rosy mouth, a strong, irregular nose, and an alert sense of humour which radiated in nearly every word she ever spoke. Betty Rutherford was a girl made in another mould. She was fair, and quit * beautiful to look upon, even from the Qiri tic’s standpoint, but for a nose whic h showed the slightest tendency in the world to be tip-tilted, and was charming. Her eyes were violet, and looked up at one, in demure, slow glance-, from under heavily-fringed white lids. Iler figure? was of the sort which men find lovable in women; lissom, round, yielding, in a sense petite* (for she was not tall) tnd yet generous, for there was not an angle about it, but only flowing, tender lines which fashion was not allowed to disfigure, and Nature svemed to have designed for purposes of provocation. "My heart, what a little angel!” thought Larry, with a sigh, as he* watched his estimable brother leading the across the gang way when they lanr?*£ •'2s she railway jolly. And then, as though to add: “But not for me!” lie turned again to the vivacious Miss Lane, to ask if she experienced any thrill in touching English soil for the first time in her life.

It was certainly a little unlucky for the obscure and necessitous Larry, that the heiress should luippen to be ju*t this, to him, most fascinating type of loveliness in woman. He appreciated to the full Miss Lane's merry gifts, and dark good looks; but Betty, with her rounded waist, her full, gently stirring breast, and her infinitely tender eyes, and gentle manner —“Lord! For a man to have her by his own fireside—-Well, if it were me, someone else could have the thousands and welcome,” thought Ixrrry, without much coherence. Mr Barnet, senior, was genial and polite with Miss Lane, but it was really touching to observe the paternal tenderness with which he welcomed the daughter of the cousin he had once met in remote boyhood. “Now, my dear,” said he to Betty, when they were parting after the first evening in Copsdene; ‘’you will please remember that everything here is as entirely at your service as it would be if yon had lived here all your lift*. For my part, during your stay with us, which I hope will be a long one, 1 intend to renew my youth at the oflice by taking over a lot of work that has lately fallen upon Arthur as principal of the firm.” Airs Barnet thought this a little too direct, but yet she shared her husband's overflowing parental pride in the admirable Arthur. “That will leave Arthur with plenty of time to devote to your service as cavalier.” “And I am sure,” put in Mr Arthur, vaguely conscious that he was being a little handicapped; “you will find a most willing one in me.” The heiress bowed and smiled; and, though it may well have been no more than his vagrant fancy, Larry, who had risen to op n the drawing-room door, fancied that the bow included himself; nay, that a half-roguish glance at the end of it was sent forth for his own private delectation. He put the idea from him, with an effort, and looking toward Miss Lane, said: "They don’t dare to encourage me too much, by putting it into words, Miss Lane; I'm not reliable enough; but 1 believe they mean to imply that you might engage me occasionally, if not confidentially. as a guide, then, by the hour, as a courier, or porter. In either capacity, or in any other. I do assure you ” And he bowed very low, as the girls swept, laughing, out of the room. For the better part of a week Air Arthur waited upon the heiress every waking hour with a tireless courtesy in which one saw commingled th ■ assiduity and grace of the knight, cavalier, the family lawyer, and the Sabbath school teacher; the while “poor Larry,” in his reckless way, was hospitable to Miss Lane. But Miss Lane’s attractions were never seen fairly by Larry: he saw that charming young woman as through a veil, mistily, the veil bring the, for him. immeasurably greater charms of one whose favour circumstarees forbade him even to attempt winning. And so, at the end of a week, poor Larry left (-opsdono for London. in what was for him a somewhat gloomy frame of mind. “Oh, Larry!” exclaimed Aliss Belly, when she heard of his intended departure. (The use of first names for the gentlemen of the house had been mutually agreed upon. “.Mister” was altogether too ambiguous where three of the same name wire concerned.) “How I do envy you! To bo going up there to face all the temptations of life in London. by yourself!” As it chanced, they wire for the moment alone in the breakfast-room. "On the contrary,” said poor Larry, rather ruefully, “1 go. not to face, but to escape temptation.” And then, fortunately. Mr Arthur entered the room, and proposed to drive Aliss Betty over to Cuttliorpe, to inspect the ruined abbey there. But Aliss Betty managed one sentence, and a demure life of her long lashes 1 nt a most distracting significance io it. “1 think it is much nobler to face temptation,” she said; “and much nicer, too.” Larry hugged himself in a most ridiculous manner over this simple remark. But In* went to London none the less, strongly realising the hopeless nature of his situation, and beginning to feel that it was not so easy to have a good time with his five hundred pounds after all. On the very next morning, and before the breakfast had arrived to fortify him for the efforts of the day, a bolt from the blue struck Air Arthur, and left him, for the space of perhaps ba 1 f an-hour, the most completely bewildered young gentleman in the British Isles. The bolt arrived in the form of a letter from Marseilles, written by a college friend of the young lawyer, who had travelled from

Colombo to Italy in tin* steamer which had brought Miss Betty and her “sister ' from Australia, lu it occurred the fol lowing passage: — “And now, my dear •fellow. 1 have a piece of information to give you in return for which, if every <»:ic had his desserts, you ought to -ptUe a na inborn-* annuity on me for life. Among the Australian passengers on the Orizaba were two very handsome gill*. Mis* Betty Rutherford and Miss Maori Lane. Now. though they did not mention the relatives in Hampshire for whose place th y were bound, and you. oddly enough. <!•» not mention the name of your heiress and her adopted sister. I am quit** certain they are the same girls. Well, now, like everyone else on board. I ad mired tlie*e girls immensely, and culti vated their society a* much a-’ po sibl *. Have no fear, fortunate man; it was quite Platonic, 't hus I was to some extent taken into their confidence. and learned that, on landing in F’nglan I they meant to change places: Mis- Betty. Ihe heiress, was to cal) lier*cif Mabel Lane, and Mabel, the adopted -i*tcr. was to figure as Hie heiress. Out of tin- s. .•rm-* they expected to derive considcrabl? amusement, and by means of it. MisBetty reckoned upon avoiding the attentions of tin* fortune-hunters. So, my friend, pay your court accordinglx. An I now. lionot iv. is not my information worth a few hundred a year?” During breakfast, Air Arthur's contributions t<> the family conversation left much to be desired in the way of lucidity anj intelligent interest. The hu*;d ended, the* young man requested ’is father's attendance in the library in a matter of professional import. “Well, upon my word!” exclaimed the father, when ho had peru-ed his sea's letter from Marseilles. And. for .Mr Lawrence Barnet, the observation was both weighty and significant. "I am inclined to think/’ he continued after a while*, “that we had better let these young women see at once that xx\* understand the truth of the matter. We might even indicate that a certain superiority in the real Aliss Rutherford—er—has led to our conviction or You follow me?” “But surely, my dear Father, that would bo throwing away an advantage. Would it not be better for me to approach the real Miss B 1t y, as though under the impression that she were a person without a fortune, and to demonstrate my freedom from any mercenary mo '■ “My boy. I *tand corrected. My <i *ar Arthur. I shall live to see you on the Woolsack. 1 congratulate you. A more astute and far-see'ng stroke of policy I have never heard of. The very thing. Do not breat’i a word to anyone of our discovery. A magnifieent plan, and one in which your sucse-s i-* assured. But —er — with regard to the er the pretended Miss Beftv: your attentions in that quarter up till now have er Will there, 1 would six. be any difliculfy in —er retreating from ”

“i haxe thought <»t tha‘. !<♦<». Faliter.* “Bnixo! Aitd "Weil, the fact i*. |h»oi Larry quite frankly adniitted to me before going to town that the reason of his leaving just now was that. h'«* admiral ion <»f—• er .--of tue pretemlod .\1: Betts, nude it extremely difficult for him to rclraui from, -is it were, entering into competition with-" “Egad, sir. a pci lect niii.u le •»! i’liivs.<! 1 will telegraph for Hit* boy to return her** immrdiatcly.” "1 think, if you don't mind. Father, jM.*rhaps that had better be left to me. Pour Larry i* **i peculiar. He might conceivably resent my having explained this to you. and he is apt in -*u<*h circumstances to show—to be that is “It shall I)* c.iHrely a* you please, my son. I am tco pl -used to w i-h to interfere in any way with your masterly inanageinent of the -*1 uat ion. Only get poor Larry hick at once, and if he can assist you by relieving you of er — by reliex ing you in fai t, why . 1 deciare I'll make him an allowance forthwith.” And so it fell out that l.arry stepped from the London <*xpress nt ( opsdmie station that aftcrncon, and his brother Arthur was on the platform to meet him. ’Then you mean to s.ty I'v; a c! 'ar li ‘hl with Betty with Mis>* Lam*. I should say?” exclaimed Larry, when, seeing nothing to be lo*t thereby’, hi* brother hail taken the young n;..n into his contidonue regarding the hut now rexcaled iden t ity of the iwo girls. "Perfectly clear, so tar as I am <<.n--cerned/' replied Mr. Arthur, magnaninioiislv “And what is more, to be quite frank xvith you 1 shall he greatly cb'igud if you will er take possession of her as quickly' and completely as pos-dble, in order that er ” “By gad, but this is rich! Yim'll !>*' the death of me. Lawyer Arthur. You want to set to work without delay upon the defences of tin* di*guised heires>. Weil, yiui're very welcome, mv son. My word for it. Miss Betty that is. Miss ’Mabel, I mean, shan't stand in your way. if 1 can help it. Ard certainly , my d ar L I low, your obvious disintcre-u edm *s in courting the penniless ‘sister* should carry you far. Oh Lord, oh Lord, what a stupendous pirn* of ’uek!” And 1 he irreverent young man. "in his reckless way.” went off into peals of laughter, so that his decorous brother had to re mind him that tlu*y were* as yet in a pubkie nlai e. "’Public place’ indeed, my dear diplomatist! Oh. Lord, xvh*it luck! Why. I’ll have the banns cried >.u as public ,i place as a church within the nu nth. pl ■ c the pig* and Belly I mean Mabel! I must try ami git id*' right hang of tTmsc nau.es presently.” And poor Larry was as gord •< his word within a week or so. I'or it xvas within a forinighl of his return from that brief excursion iido Loud n and the blurs, (hat (hr girl whom !u- sijll. of course, i all. <1 Bet tv. was ( oufrs- iag to him. beneath the boughs of tin* \ rv

apple-trees which had witnessed a youthful and bloody triumph over* his biothri Arthur, that she thought she must haxe begun to “care” for him in the very remote pa t: at the moment (to be exact) at which be had offered himself as porter or courier to her ‘sister/ on tin* evening cf tk?ir arrival at t'opsdeue. “But. Liny. dear.’’ she murmured, in tin cooing tom* which so ravished the young man beside her: “I’ve a dreadful confession to make.*’ But Larry thought himself sufficiently well-posted to get along without that confession. •‘No, no; I won’t hear it. my darling; I won’t hear it,” he cried. “It doesn’t matter just now what it is; I only want to know that you-are really and truly mine You haven’t any guardian, my sweet— I’m going to be that, please God —and so I want you to come to my father and mother, and let me tell them all about it. You’re so lovely, darling: I want someone’s permission, to seal you to me. Anyhow, come, my own; come with me and we’ll have the confession alter.” So. together, they wended their happy wav to tlie house in quest of a parental blessing. By good hick they found the lawyer ami his wife alone in the draw-ing-room, and poor Larry to.d his story without delay. Mr. Barnet, with a glance full of meaning at his wife, extended the required blessing with considerable impressment, and then he said, beamingly: “I am more than pleased with you. my son, in your conduct of late. And he indicated bv a glance that he recognised the valuable service which poor Larry was rendering his brother “And I wish to tell you. with much pleasure, that you will find for the future three hundred pounds a year paid into your account by me.’’ Poor Larry expressed his gratitude, and told his sweetheart that this should be her portion. The girl thanked him very' prettily. “And now.” said Larry; “now let’s have the confession!” “Oh. Larry, how cruel! How can I?’ And to her lover’s surprise the girl appeared genuinely distressed. “Forgive me. darling,” he said: “but, indeed, there is nothing to fear.” “Let us ease the way a little.” suggested Mr Barnet, pompously. “Suppose we suggest that an old man’s discernment lias enabled him to guess at a certain secret —hey? ’ “Oh. no! Indeed. Mr Barnet, 1 never showed —that is. 1 -- “Now, pray do not distress yourself so. my dear? said the old gentleman, beaming from the height of his knowledge. (But a few moments before he had seen his elder son strolling in the garden with the supposed “sister.’ ) “My dear child, believe me your little deception h:i-) not in the least been resented by us.” “But. oh. Mr Barnet, indeed I never pretended - ” Mis Barnet’s motherly heart was moved to real sympathy for the distressed girl, and she stepped forward now perceiving that this was a juncture in which a woman’s tart was* called for. She had, of course, been let into the secret by her hush md. “There, there, dear,” said she. “Don't you give another thought to it. I'm sure the trick was never meant unkindly, and we all understand it perfectly now. You are Mabel Lane, and your friend, whom we have called Mabel Lane, is Betty Rutherford. But my son does not love you any the les-; because you are poor, ami—” “(Inly a very great deal more,” murmured poor Larry, in his reckless way. “But. oh—oh. what a dreadful muddle it all is!” cried the girl. “What am I to do? I cannot think how this has Dome about.” “(lid eyes are sometimes sharp eyes, my dear.” interposed Mr Barnet, in a fatherly tone. “But dear Mr Barnet. I am not Malwl J.ane, and I am Betty Rutherford: and 1 never had any secret, except--” “Oh. Lord !*’ ejaculated profane Larry. “It'* true,we had meant to change like that,” continued Betty, with tears in her eyes; “just for fun. But we couldn’t, bt‘cause before we remembered —which was which—the purser went and introduced us—oh —by our right names —and — and I am Betty, Mr Larry, so i.iere! —dear!” The last word but one was sheer defiance; the last, pure appeal. When the acene was ended, and poor liarry hjid succeeded in taking his sweet-

heart to a quiet corner—“ But whatever in the world was your confession going to In* then, darling?” said he. “Only that—oh. Larry. I almost felt as if I'd lost you —only that L couldn’t ‘•land living near your btotlfer Arthur, dear!” Boor Larry has forsaken the Argentine for Australia now, and Mabel Lane has married Larry's Argentine partner.