[COPYRIGHT STORY.] UNEMPLOYED

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 17, 27 April 1907, Page 28

[COPYRIGHT STORY.] UNEMPLOYED

By

J. M. JACOBS,

Author of “ A Talisman," Etc,

IT was a wretched day and Hardy had a theory that Joble’s office, being so near the clouds, got more than its fail- share of the rainfall. His attempt to improve the fire by stirring it up with a quill pen met with but a momentary success; and we shivered visibly, audibly, and suggestively. Whereupon our getiial host began to bustle about with his lidless kettle and the two eups that were to do duty for three; while Hardy ami I wont on with our pipes and gloomy yelleet ions. Six months before we had left the ’Varsity with great hopes, if little cash. Now, there remained an equally diminu tive quantity of either. In short we were at our wits’ ends what to do, an . all sorts of wild-cat schemes were chasing each other through my brain, when Joble poured out the tea and drove them away. ‘‘Pity we can’t, form some sort of a company,” said 1, as my eye wandered towards the inscription on the inner door: “Spanish Exploration Company. Private.” ‘And pray.” enquired Joble, passing the sugar-basin (late cigar-box), “in what sort of one could you employ your peculiar talents?” “(hie to get us decent berths,” suggested Hardy laughingly. “The very thing.” I cried uproariously- “Why not start an Agency on our own ?” “But an office would come rather expensive. wouldn’t it?” queried the practical Joble. “Not a bit of it.” affirmed Hardy stoutly. “I have, one in my eye that wouldn't cost a ha’penny.” ‘ Where?” asked Joble incredulously • Here!” replied Hardy with a lordly sweep of the hand. “Your room’s good enough for our Company any day of the week.” •‘Not if I know it,” protested Joble energetically. ‘Business is business.” ‘ ‘ Bansi neiss If ’ scouted the othei. "When you’d be as solitary as Robinson Crusoe up here, if we didn t drop in to cheer you up.” "But,” objected Joble feebly, “the boss might walk in one afternoon, and there'd be a fine how-d’you-do then.” ‘‘■lie was in Spain when the morning rose, but walked into the Strand ere evening close,’” I misquoted contemptuously. “Thought you had to forward all his letters to Salamanca for the next six weeks, eh?” But why dwell upon Joble’s idle misgivings? We talked him over at last, and Bins was begotten the “Oxenbridge Employment Company,” as it was christened by acclamation. Striking while the iron was hot. we proceeded to J dace an advertisement in the “Daily lash,” which was published only a few floors below. We announced to all the employers of the civilised world that u t our celebrated Agency the services of the most dazzling geniuses of the risin" generation could be secured without failing. Then Hardy printed the following notice on the back of Joble’s pet almanac, and stuck it outside the door: ONENRRIDGE EMPLOYMENT COMPANY. All are Welcome. And wo went home, feeling ns if w* lad done a good day’s work. Eagerly wo hunted out our advertisement in next morning’s "Daily flash,’’

and got to our headquarters betimes. But all that day we waited in vain—save for an insurance agent in search of prey, and a curate collecting for a convalescent home. On the following morning, however, there was a whole batch of letters awaiting us. We pounced upon them with avidity, and three,v them down with disgust. The employers had left us severely alone, and the bitter cry of the unemployed touched us so nearly as to hide all ths humour of it. And we began to feel ashamed of our thoughtless jest. It was about four o’clock that afternoon, when we heard a timid knocking at the door. “Come in!” sang out Hardy. But no one entered. •‘He cometh not,” I said; yet the knocking went on. “Come in!” he roared, and rushed to the door. 1 saw him start back in surprise. “1 beg your pardon,” said he, in his gentlest, politest tones. “Is this the Employment Agency?” asked a faint voice, at the sound of which I hastily smoothed my hair, ami tried to look pleasant. “Please step inside,” he replied with a bow: and there shyly entered a young lady of the most captivating description. Her hair was still down, and she could hardly have been seventeen. Her fresh, pretty face wore the look of one carryings out a desperate resolution, while her timid air plainly betrayed the novelty of the role. She held a music-case in her hand, and from this took a dainty purse, whence she at length fished out our advertisement from the “Daily Dash.’ which she seemed to regard as a sort of ticket of admission. “Oh. I had such a trouble to find you—” she began breathlessly; I’ve come to see if you have any vacant position ” “Pray take a seat,” offered Hardy gallantly, moving up his chair. “Thank you so much,” said she charmingly. “Oh. 1 do hope you can find me a post as nurse—l should so love to be a nurse. But it must be quick—before Papa comes back. You know,” she added naively, “I’ve wanted to be a nurse ever since I was a little girl. But Papa always laughed at me,” “1 hope he has changed his mind,” said my friend sympathetically. Iler face fell. “But he’s abroad—he’s so seldom at home now,” she pleaded with a piteous quaver in her voice. “And Miss James has run away, and I’m all by myself, and I thought I might never have such another chance again.” “And what does your mother say?” asked Hardy, with honest desire to help, The pretty cheeks turned pale and the ‘bright eyes grew dim. I could have kicked Hardy. But he could have kicked himself. “Forgive me—l didn’t know—l’m so sorry,” he stammered. But presently her sobs ceased, and she freely and frankly told us all about herself.’ It was four years since her mother died, and her father was growing more and more absorbed in that horrid business, and would take him away for weeks fit a time. And then how lonely it was for her. with not a relative in London and hardly a friend. She had had governess after governess—the latest being Miss James, who had tried to treat het as if still a baby. Fjo she had grieved but little when that lady had eloped

with the coachman three days before. And then she had had the happy idea of also taking a decisive step before her father’s return. Her childhood’s dream once a fait accompli, she was sure he would forgive her. In this frame of mind she had seen our advertisement in the "Daily Dash,” and had taken advantage of her weekly excursion to town — for her lesson at the Guildhall School of Music—to hunt us up on her way home. All this, of course, took some little time to tell in her ingenuous way. It was awfully mean of us, 1 felt, to listen to the girl's child-like confidences under more or less false pretences. But which would be the best way, 1 wondered, to dissuade her from her impracticable object? Hardy, who .seemed unable to take his eyes off her face, appeared to have found a solution. “Mill you kindly wait a moment, Miss,” he said gravely, “while I consult our book-keeper?” And oft' he rushed into the inner office, while I stared after him in stupification. Joble had retired thither an hour ago, with a view to posting up hie books undisturbed. He had apparently fallen asleep in the process, for 1 eaiight a yell as if he had been rudely awakened. Then came an animated colloquy—the sound of coins flung upon a table—the closing of the outer door that gave upon the staircase—.the noise of someone scurrying down the stairs. And then my friend staggered in again with the big ledger under his arm. Our fair client looked up wistfully. Hardy s first words were to apoligise for the length of his absence; his next to ask for- her name and address. These he proceeded to book methodically in the ledger:. “Jessie Robins’ 12, Ryland Gardens. Croyden.” I mildly wondered what Joble would say when he saw it. But when Hardy had once taken the bit between his teeth no power on earth could stay him. “I regret to say, Miss Robins,” h“ went on gently, "that we don’t happen to have any vacancy for a nurse on our books at the present moment.” “I’m so sorry,” she cried sadiy. “Then you think 1 have no chance?” “Oh, no, no,” he replied hastily. “On the contrary. But I’d like to talk your plans over with you—that is, if you’re in no great hurry?” “Well, not very. I told Mrs Carter—she’s our housekeeper, you know—l’d be sure to be back by seven, as usual. You see,” she explained simply, “Miss James has always come with me uptill now, and Mrs Carter didn’t like the idea of my going to town alone. But I didn’t want her to come with me,” she blushed, “ as I’d made up my mind to call here.” I offered to look up the trains in th« time-table, but Hardy interposed. “We are about to have a cup of tea,” said ho in his most insinuating manner, “and should be very pleased if you

would join us. We can discuss business

as we go along.” I gasped. Jessie looked the least bit frightened. (

“I don't think I ought,” said she nervously. “Miss James always used ta take me into Fuller’s.” j

“But it would be hardly the thing for you to go there by yourself,” assured my Maehiavelian friend, “and we male it a rule to provide our country clients with tea. Besides,” he ended in his irresistible way, "let us see how good a nurse you would make —suppose we were your first patients.”

At this Jessie broke info a merry laugh, and all her timidity seemed to vanish with it. Thenceforth she had no more misgivings, and gave us— or rather, my dashing companion—her entire confidence. We found ourselves growing- deeply interested in Miss James’s deficiencies and Mrs Carter’s peculiarities, when Joble interrupted us with the announcement of tea. Whereupon we all adjourned into the next room, to find that he had already risen to the occasion, and provided a splendid spread. Hardy never dpess.things by halves. Jessie did the honours of the table at our unanimous request, and a delightful tea it proved. How she laughed at our makeshift tea service—even as supplemented by Joble’s borrowings from the floor below. And she candidly confessed she had never dreamt that City men were so partial to confectionery. All was going merrily as a marriage bell, when tide girl suddenly looked at her watch with a little cry. “Six, already! Oh, I must go— Mrs Carter will la- thinking I'm lost.” Hardy made little demur, which rather surprised me. Rut his next words amply explained. “If you'll allow me, I'll see you as far as Victoria. I’m going along that, way.” “It is good of you!” joyfully assented the unsuspecting Jessie. “I'm such a goose at finding my way about—but I daren’t let Mrs Carter know.” “Victoria!” chuckled Joble, when they had gone off altogether. “A queer way of getting to our digs in Highgate. But where does she live, 1 wonder?” “Somewhere Croyden way,” I replied with a start, as I bethought myself of that spoilt page in his ledger. And, aS soon as he left me to myself for a few ininites, I steatliily erased the name anil address that Hardy had so heedlessly* scra wiled. This one I did not see again before breakfast next morning, when he proved strangely uncommunicative on the subject of his escort. But as we rode intii the City, he vouchsafed: “That girl’s coming in again this af» ternoon to see if any vacancies hav4 turned up.” “No!” I burst out. \

•'Yes.’’ hq insisted with a. dangerous {leam in his eyes. “And if you don’t pprove—” “Candidly, I don’t.” “Then you needn’t join us —that’s all.”

In vain I argued, I pleaded. He would have his way and I thought I might as well see it out. Jessie came tripping up the stairs in the afternoon, as sweet and .unsuspicious as ever. Once again we could not put our hands upon any actual vacancy for the position of nurse; but there was an even more sumptuous tea provided than before. Alas! it was fated to remain unconsumed. The first cup had hardly been poured out. when a heavy tread upon the stairs warned us that our isolation of the day was to be at length broken. Hardy looked at me appealingly, and I went inside. The door was flung violently open and there entered a stout, red-faced man in an unmistakeable rage. He eyed me from head to foot and I felt my courage oozing out of my boots. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 1 asked nervously. “What the devil’s the meaning of this?” he shouted. “Who are you?” I faltered. He burst into an angry laugh, just as Joble came rushing in to my aid. But as soon as he caught sight of our uninvited guest, I thought he was going to faint. “Joble!” cried the new-comer fireely, “what sort of game do you call this?” "I’ve merely asked one or two friends in to tea, sir,” stammered poor Joble meekly. “And this precious placard—has it also come for tea?” enquired the other sarcastically, pointing to our unlucky notice. At this moment came the sound of merry laughter and with an ugly frown the stranger rushed into the inner room, before I could stop him. Hardy looked round in annoyance. But the fierceness of his stare was returned with interest. “What is it you want?” he cried angrily.

*1 want to know what the dickens you’re doing in my office.” burst out the stranger hotly. And suddenly came a startled cry of ‘’Papa’” and the no less surprised “Jessie! You here?” In another moment the girl was hiding her head on her father’s shoulder. It would not be easy to determine which of the party was most astounded at this unexpected encounter. For myself, I know I would gladly have sunk into the floor if I could. And the next thing 1 recall clearly is Hardy agitatedly pointing out that the girl had tainted.

She soon came to herself. But this little contretemps was not wholly unfortunate, in that it postponed any attempt at explanation. Mr. Robins’ cab was awaiting outside and in a few minutes father and daughter drove away together. “I’ll see you to-morrow. Mr. Joble,” was the former’s significant leave-tak-ing. “No doubt your friends will excuse my bidding them good-bye.” That evening we were rather dull—to put it mildly. In the morning Joble took his portmanteau with him. “I shall want to pack up a few things,” he explained sadly. We both insisted upon going with him, feeling all the more guilty as the dear fellow uttered no word of reproach. Perhaps, after all, we might contrive to shift part of the blame on to our own shoulders. We felt very sick at the idea of our losing Joble his post, which would be extremely bard for him to improve on. So we bearded the lion in his den. Hardy made a clean breast of the whole affair, and once more did his good fortune stand him in good stead. At first, indeed. Mr. Robins so fretted and fumed, that we almost feared we should be eaten up alive. But at the end of our story, I fancied T could detect a curious twitching of his lips, as if the ludicrous side of the affair was beginning to dawn on him. “And pray, who are you?” he enquired, with brow’ somewhat relaxed. “And how comes it you have nothing better to do with your time than to play such silly pranks?”

With unwonted self-coni nd my fiery friend briefly recounted his pedigree and his prospects. “What!” cried Mr. Robins. “Surely no relative of old Harry Hardy, with whom 1 was at Trinity thirty years ago?”

“His nephew, sir,” replied the other proudly; ami this lucky chance finally disposed of the fear of tragic cons.quenees. Joble was forgiven an ! we were let off with a caution or, rather, some kindly advice. Indeed. Mr. Kobins became quite friendly ami told us how his journey bad been so successful, that he bad come straight, back from Salamanca on receipt of Mrs. Carter's wire announcing Miss James’s Hight: and how he had looked in at the office on the wav to his house. He even softened so far as to accede to Hardy's cool request to allow’ us to cal! ami beg Miss Jessie’s pardon. ’‘Although.” he added laughingly, “1 really don't see that you have much cause to apologise to that silly puss. She never dreamed, of course, it was my office— she knows no more of my business affaiis than the Man in the A loon.” Nevertheless we wont. I'm half sorry now, for I don’t see half so much of Hardy as I used to. Not that lie has no spare time, for his new post—lucky beggar—leaves him plenty. But he spends most of it with Jessie now.