The Virgin Heart of Thomas.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIX, Issue 18, 30 April 1913, Page 52

The Virgin Heart of Thomas.

By

WILLIAM FREEMAN.

THE nf Thrill a**, when he fi<wt went t » Miss Wagon’s wehool, ww nearly nine. His formal education began later than ruost l> eo ' Iple’.s; but his mother had only Thomas, and theie had already been a series of lessons in the little parlour at the back k>f the stationery and newspaper shop Ivvhicli had carried him over the cpiickkands of Do you see a cat? Yes, 1 see h red cat.” *. iMisa Wason had been nursery g-over-ttiess to Lady Flinders, and had been re-in-eanbered at her ladyship’s decease to the extent of thirty pounds a year. She 'U":is stout and motherly-looking, and she did not believe in too much fresh air. tA. person of dec sion, she had taken the ibig room over Foggin ami Barnberry’s Household Stuns, with a week-day right-pt-way through the side entrance, and by diligent canvassing had assembled about ijt-weniy small children from the age of live upwards to learn the alphabet, arithinetie, those varied accomplishment m'liich are so conveniently grouped under ith» heading ■'English,” and elementary «L-Very elementary—French and German. The mother of Th&mar* had interviewed M:?s Wason on Thursday, January the thirteenth. On Monday, the Seventeenth, Thomas, hopeful and expectnt, had been duly initiated into the inystieriea of school life. find him remarkably intelligent,” said Mrs Allenham. -/Of course!” said Miens Warn a little ru'eariiy. A new pupil who wwj not remarkably intelligent would have been a novelty.• : f /’Jf he doesn’t get on,” she »ui4, ‘'it won’t be for lack of opportunity. When I had the privilege of coaching the late iLady Flinders for the Junior “Local " ' 'But Mrs Ailenham hail heard al! about lady Flinders before. «*• rj»f course, we hope he'll get a scholarship,” ishe said hastily. it.f:\Vhat would you say if you were to Kind yourself at Oxford some title day?” •demanded Mi-s AVason encouragingly, ..Thomas, not having the remotest conception as to what he would (say if he found him-elf at Oxford, held his peace, ail looked longingly at the stairs. : "< ton 1 bye, dearie!” said his mother, Bind kissed him with quite unnecessary fears in her eyes. -'.7’hqmas, holding Miss AVason's large, »o*t hand, with its always inky forefinger, allowed himself to be led into the big jroo.m which was, so to speak, to be the lan tech amber to his career. !» Qhe rest of the school was already leading over last night's home work, Jirior to the ordeal of Baying it at diss AA a sun’s little table, Everyone looked up as he entered. Forty ‘eyes Suddenly focussed upon one small |boy are disconcerting, but Thomas !was only conscious of a pair of them, IVery blue and friendly. ‘I think you may sit next to Mary {Grant for the present," said Miss AVasoii, iund by a stroke of tiie most extraordinary good fortune led him to a vacant teeat beside the owner of the blue eyes. If there be any who deny the capnfrity of a small boy to fall head-oven.'* tieels in love at first .sight, I, for one, ftm prepared to prove him wrong. il'homas on that instant was ns one ost to the outer world, lie was. smitep dumb and stupid; he confirmed Miss Aatson s private theory that mothers Invariably looked upon their geese as Jjwans—especially when there was only <>ne goose. He lost his place in the liisiory book, and went hopelessly to jiieces over the only sum which Miss IXV'a’bn set him. He was, in short, incapable of doing anything, but stare at IMary. Miss AVason emphasised her disapproval by admonishing him sharply not ,!tv “goggle.” Mary Grant was eight and as pretty as 0 picture in a Christmas supplement. ?ler father was reputed to be "managing, clerk" to a linn of importance in the ylQb and was known to live in a fortypound a year house that was fitted wills electric light and bells. Mary, it was understood, can» to Miss AVason'a only

because there was no better school near, and, as Mrs. Grant said, "It was so >. cult to obtain a really satisfactory governess.” Thomas survived the morning, albeit with a damaged reputation for intelligence, and at twelve o’clock found himself a free man. "You must learn to concentrate your attention more, Thomas,” said Miss AA'ason, as she bent to help him on with liis coat. “Yes’tn,” said Thomas, as though his attention were not already super-concen-trated. He lingered awhile at the side entrance, and found that his divinity had already departed, and raced back to the stationer's shop. "AA'ellY" said Mrs. Allenham. ‘‘She’s pink cheeks” said Thomas, breathing hard. “Awful pink. And eyes like •*’ (he groped for a fitting simile) —"like the bestest blue in my paint-box. And there’s only one blot in her copybook tliat was made when the boy next to her upset tire ink, and she knows her nine-times dodging — dodging, mother! ” t "Bless us and save us!” cried the mother of Thomas. The afternoon, during which he touched Mary’s hand twice, and was

thrilled unspeakably, passed as a dream passes. The children clattered down the stairs again, and lingered, a noisy group, at Hie door. -Mary Grant, the first to start for home, gave her satchel to one Sammy Dover, a pale and freckled worshipper of blue eyes and pink cheeks. He was a heavy-faced youth of nearly eleven, afflicted with a lisp, and him Thomas instantly'regarded with the utmost loathing and contempt. “1 c’n carry heavier bag* than that,” said Thomas loudly. The statement was ignored. “I —I've carried more’n twenty books upstairs, all at once!” Sammy Dover glanced backwards. "Thixpenny editlions, 1 thuppoth!” he sneered. Thomas saw red. “If—if you don't look out—” he choked. "Thoaia*!'' said a voice. “Yoe, mother?" a*i< Thomas, turning.

And inwardly a seething cauldron of emotions, though outwardly calm, walked' back to the newspaper shop to help fold the evening papers. The educational progress of Thomas at Miss AA’ason’s was erratic, though when he took the trouble he could learn fairly easily. That he did not progress at all was due, I am convinced, solely to his desire to humiliate and generally knock spots off that detestable reptile commonly known as Sammy Dover. Mary ' Grant herself was one of those saintly little creatures whose .scholastic career is mainly conspicuous for a series of good-conduct prizes. She liked Thomas —so much he w rung out of her. But perhaps because there was a certain fascination in lisps, she liked Sammy aiso. She was willing to permit both of them to walk home with her, and to take turns in carrying the satchel. She said, in excellent imitation of a recently engaged aunt, that she “hoped they’d be friends.” But Thomas didn’t in the least want to be friends. He spent a week screwing his courage to the sticking point, and then, with a white, set face and many inward tremors, deliberately waylaid Master Dover en route to school. “T’llo!” he said, aiid barred the path. "XX’hadyer mean?” demanded Sammy, and then, as an afterthought: "AA’ho’tli mother thellth newthpajiertii ?” “I’d sooner sell newspapers than "be Tlully Thanuny!” said Thomas. There was a perceptible pause. "You wait till I cattli you!” said Master Dover. ‘All right—Markham's Field, after school." said Thomas, with his finest pis-tols-for-t wo-and-eoffee-for-one air, and so deliberately flung dowu the gage of battle. At ten minutes later all Miss AVason’s school knew of the coming combat. That day lie ate his dinner more ab-

sent-mindedly than usual. He had the not uncommon sensation of having caught a bigger fish than he could land. His mother broke a pensive silence which followed the emptying of his 'puddingplate. "How would you like to have tea at Mr. Ebbage’s?” she asked. Thomas suddenly became panicstricken. Mr. Ebbage was a retired po-lice-sergeant, with his own ideas on the education of small boys. He invariably greeted Thomas with: "Suppose I have a bicycle, the front wheel of which is six feet in diameter and the back wheel three-feet-four; how maar times in a hundred miles and such like obscure and paralysing problems. "Can’t go this afternoou.” said Thomas definitely. "Can’t go?” echoed Ills mother. ‘■Got a—a'pointmenl,” he added conclusively. _ Mothers with only one >mali ooa to

look after them are apt to hold exaggerated ideas of masculine. importance. The family of Ebbage took tea alone that evening, and the junior rival for the Stand of Miss Grant was able to put in an appearance at Markham’s Field without the smallest difficulty. Sammy Dover’s knowledge of the art of self-defence war, to say the least ot it, nebulous. Thomas knew nothing whatever of boxing. For a space they circled about one another, so desperately intent and cautious that the fight began to resemble a walking-match more than anything else. Then one of the spectators precipitated matters by giving Sammy a'push from behind that flung him into the defensive arms of Thomas, and Thomas, instinctively hitting out, opened the contest in earnest. There were no rounds, few calculated blows—no bloodshed worthy of stickingplaster. But a fight there was, nevertheless, and Thomas emerged from it the victor. Perhaps his greater agility won the day; perhaps the fervour of his assault" Master Dover stumbled, fell prone, but flatly declined to get up again, even when urged by Miss Grant, more alluringly pink of cheek than ever. That afternoon it was Thomas alone who accompanied her [back to the forty-ponnd-a-year villa, and who carried the satchel. Two weeks later the adored one performed the feat of having a birthday anniversary. With the day went a party* and to which, by special request, Thomas was -bidden. He went, magnificently clean, heavily handicapped with instructions as to behaviour, and beaiing a two-shilling box of the best chocolates as an offering. There were other presents, among them wa-s ia doll from an aunt who drove in a taxi-cab from the station (because (she explained) -one of the car-riiige-thors.es had strained a tendon. The doll had eyes that opened and shut, an almost human expression, and hair which, Thomas was told, was ‘‘pricked in." ‘T shall love Kosabelle better than ■anything else ia "the whole wjorld, said Marr, hugging her. '■Better’ll me’” asked Thomas, cold fear clutching at his heart. "O4i, yes!" said Mary—the witch! ’Gloom descended upon the soul of Thomas. Green-eyed jealousy claimed Jiim fi>r its own. He bated the aunt whose carriage-horse had a st rained-ten-don. He hated the whole silly party. The doll he hated most of all. Mrs Grant thought him a well-behaved but sulky-looking little boy. and wondered ■what Mary could see in him. Thenceforth the doll was in evidence daily. It was brought to school for the inspection of Miss Wason. It filled a large part of Mary Grant’s waking thoughts, and tinged most of her conversation. Thomas, becoming at last openly and indiscreetly scornful, fell from favour, and to Samuel again was granted the honour of carrying the satchel.

And then there came a day when Roeabelle disappeared. No one saw her go. She had been left behind one morning in the schoolroom, and Mary, flying back for her treasure, found her vanished There were frantic searchings and appeals. collectively and individually, to the other children, but without avail. Mary mourned, and for a week plumbed the lowest depths of nine-year-old misery. Thomas, himself wretched beyond belief, at first stood aloof, but ia the end remained to comfort and console. One never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, when Mary definitely promised to let him be her sweetheart, and accepted a brass ring with a lurid green .st one. which had come from a prize-packet at Christmas, Thomas reached undreamed-of pinnacles of bliss. And Rosa belle was recovered. She was found by Miss Wason behind a pile, of school-books which they all remembered exploring at least twice before. One more skilled in connecting cause and effect might have had their innocent suspicions. but Mary, like live innocent little soul that she was, merely rejoiced. ItosiabeUe, when school was over, made a triumphant tour from one admirer' to another, ending al Sammy Dover. *‘l tliay——” he began, and giggled. “Do you know, Mary, tliere’th dirt in her hair. Wirt! Justh ath though thwmeone had buried her!” Rosa belle was auaiclted back again for examination. Dirt there was, sure euougb—garden mould as distinct front mere duat. “I thaw Mi lite th iasth week," pursued Master Dover remiaisceatUy. “Site told aa« Tkomatli had beta

digging in the garden. It wath the day afWryour dull wath lotht. when lie wore hith -big overcoat for the firth time.” Mary looked at Thomae; and Thomae evaded her honest, horror-stricken eyes. “You didn’t—really 1” she began, and thou realised that he had. “Oh!” said Mary, and gave a choking, heart-broken sob, and fled. That same evening someone pushed, through the Alienham letter-box an envelope addressed to Thomas. In it was nothing but a small brass ring set with ft green stone. And Mary when she came to school the next morning, petitioned, very white-faced and earnest, to be allowed a seat at the further end of the table. If she had been twenty years older she could not have looked through and beyond the dejected form of Thomas more completely. Sammy came in for very little better treatment. As for the criminal himself, the more immediate consequences of his crjime were that lie was kept in for four days in succession. Mis homework was a thing to shudder at, his exercise-book a phantasy of blots and smears, and there was one shameful day when he had to be sent, home again to wash his hands. To be a lover is to need a confidant. Thomas, polishing his shoes in the kitchen on the following Saturday, turned in desperation to his mother. “What do people do,” he asked casually, "when they want to show how much they like anyone who doesn’t like them as much as they like them to like them?” Mrs Allenhams countenance preserved the noble immobility sf the Red Indian. "They do all they can to please them,” she said. “H’m blacking’s as hard as iron,” complained Thomas, polishing . furiously. "Mary Grant likes figs,” he added. "Never mind, old man,” said his mother with disconcerting tenderness. “This light,” said Thomas, apostrophising the gas, but not looking up, “makes a fellow's eyes water like anything. Pity my money-box is empty, isn't it?” “I wish I could afford to fill it for you, my son,” said the mother of Thomas, and sighed. They were near to quarter-day and its terrors. Thomas polished his shoes until he could polish them no longer, am! went out. On the pavement in front of Foggin and Barnberry’s was a monumental pile of pressed figs. He stood and contemplated them for so long that young Mr Barnberry, an old acquaintance,-stop-ped watching him through the window and came out. “Fourpence ha’penny a box, laddie!” “Haven’t any money,” said Thomas. “Fondso’ figs?” “Not very, but I know someone who is.” “A lady?” hazarded Mr Barnberry facetiously. “She will be some dav,” said Thomas. Tlie conversation seemed in danger of lapsing. “Look here,” said Mr Barnberry, suddenly. “This is our busiest day, and the condition of the shop is enough to send a man crazy. If you like to help paek up the sugar as it’s weighed, I'll give you a box for the is-to-be lady, and another for yourself. Is it a bargain?” Thomas nodded and went inside. Until five o’clock struck, daylight had faded, and the last chance of seeing the football match had faded with it, he stacked up sugar ami made -himself generally useful. That evening he left a parcel at the forty-pound-a-year villa. In the parcel was a box of pressed figs, together with the inscription (laboriously adapted from one of his mother’s bill-headings')-: In A/ct with T. ALLENHAM. Terms Nett. With Love. For two days Mary was away ■with a chill, but he met her ouSside the school on the following Wednesday morning. Thomas approached, his heart thumping. The unopened box of figs was in her hand. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. “Thank you very much indeed,” she said, "but mother doesn't care for mo to accept such things, *eept on birthdays.” “I—l thought you liked figs,” stammered the stricken Thomas. Few people can be crueller than ft very good little girl. “We had them twice for dinner lust week,” she said; “and I’ll never forgive you —never!” Thomas was kept in until nearly dinner-time that morning, and twice hail his knuckles rapped with Miss Wnson’s ruler. He reached home in a state of tragic

and abysmal gloom. But his mother was still worried about the rent, and less observant than usual. “I don't want to spoil your holiday.” she said, "but there's a bill 1 should like you to leave——” "Where?” asked Thomas wearily. "At the big red house opposite the river.”

“All right!’’ said Thomas. He would walk home by the promenade, where the band played and the shop girls wandered happily with their young men. And he would look down at the cool water, and think how shocked and sorry everyone would lie if he fell in and was drowned. Even she might cry a little. lie ate his dinner, left the bill at ths

big red house, and followed up the rest of his depressing programme. And the Fates —who seem to have been keeping a remarkably sharp eye on Thomas just at this time —decreed that just ahead of him Mary herself should be strolling. With her was Sammy Dover. Whether the bribe of a half-share in a pennyworth of walnut creams had anything to do with it. or whether the fact that she had no one else to go out with, turned the scale, is unknown. Certain it is that Master Dover was edging his way into f&vour again. Thomas walked behind them until they reached the far end, where there was hardly anyone else at all. He was so miserable, so saturated with self-pity, that he was almost enjoying himself. The two stopped. Thomas took hasty refuge behind a clump of laurels. From there he bad the exquisite anguish of. seeing his rival give Mary two walnut creams, and of hearing his own name mentioned. He would have given his ears to have heard more, but he was too far away. The promenade sloped down to a landing place a few inches above the level of the river. The two wandered down, hand in hand. And there the emotions of the love-lorn Samuel grew too much for him. “I want a kith!” he said suddenly. Thomas from behind his evergreen shelter ground his teeth. “You—you mustn’t!” expostulated' Mary. “Goin' to!” insisted Samuel. There was something in the nature of a scuffle, a cry, the sound of a kiss that lias missed fire, another scuffle, and—plop!” Sammy dashed up the slope of the landing stage. He was yelling at the top of his voice. “She’th fallen in. 'Twathn't my fault. She’th fallen in!” and waving his arms wildly. Thomas Hashed—“flashed” is really the most adequate word—to the rescue. He reached the landing stage by the swift if rudimentary method of sliding down the steeper side on his stomach. Mary was standing up to her armpits in the water. She was gurgling incoherently, having already imbibed several mouthfuls.

“All right!” shouted Thomas, and flinging off his jacket in the most approved fashion, splashed in besi.de her. ft all happened* exactly as one reads about in “Books of Golden Deeds,” with the single exception that there was no real risk whatever of their being drowned.

But the most gallant rescuer would find it difficult, unsupported, to lift someone nearly his own height out of the -water when he himself was in it. Thomas realised as much. Dripping copiously, he struggled ashore again, and took Mary’s cold little hands in his. “Now then!” he said, and leaned back and tugged. There was much scuffling and a few shrieks, and the ruin of a new frock was completed, and then Mary stood beside him on the landing stage. A moment later a promenade attendant with extraordinary presence of mind hacked free and flung into the water a life-buoy. Fortunately it missed their heads by a couple of inches and fell into an empty boat. A large, newly-assembled crowd greeted them when they reached the upper level. Samuel was not among them. He bad run home to his mother, howling, to explain that it wasn’t his fault. Still decanting water at every'step, but triumphant■ beyond the triumph of any hero of any 'melodrama known to the gallery. Thomas, hand in band with the equally' moist Mary, walked back to the town. A murmurous assembly surrounded them. The gallant conduct of Thomas was the only topic of conversation. There was a general opinion that be ought to have a medal—gold, for choice. In the High Street they encountered Mrs. Grant on her way to do a little genteel week-end shopping. “Mary!—Thomas! And both wet!” “We've been in the river.” said Thomas, modestly triumphant. •’Thomas rescued me,” added Mary. “And 'e ought to ”ave a medal,” said the crowd in chorus. But Thomas didn't, though there was a paiagraph in the local paper which his mother cherishes, along with a baby-curl and his first let ter, to this day. He and Mary parted at, the forty-pound-a-year villa, to be warmed and redried and realtired. But lifter that evening Thomas was’ pefih'it'ted .to cull. He interviewed Mary's father, who patted him on the head after the manner

of f other people's fathers, and gave him five shillings. He interviewed Mary's mother, who invited him to tea on the following Saturday. And he interviewed Mary, who cried a little, and allowed him to kiss her, and promised to wear the brass ring with the shiny stone again. In the years to come Thomas may marry Mary, just as he may become the captain of a whaling ship, at present his second most ardent desire. But whatever happens, I don’t think he is likely to he much happier than he was when he whistled his- way back to the newspaper shop that’ evening.