The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 5 August 1909, Page 1203

The Storyteller

VON HELM'S WIFE 'Von Helml' called the Manager angrily. A look of wearied patience passed over the little bookkeeper's face, as he laid down his pen and stepped to Mr. Bolton's desk. 'I believe, if I am not greatly mistaken,' growled the big man, ' that I have advised you time and time again, Von Helm, about your sevens. They are devilish queer looking affairs. Anyone would take them for nines in this account sale. Is that 77 or 79 cents for 10,000 bushels of No. 2 red?' he demanded, and without waiting for an answer, for Von Helm never responded to these attacks, he went on in the same tone, ' No doubt Kline and Sons would be very much pleased indeed at the idea of our paying them 79 cents when we contracted for the wheat at 77. You seem to take no interest in the business whatever.' Von Helm stared at his figures which represented the price paid for wheat the day before. They were clear and correct, as his figures always were, and no one but the Manager could have found fault with them. ' That's all,' flung out Bolton, impatiently, turning again to his desk. The long enduring Von Helm knew that the criticism was unjust, yet having been humiliated often before, and feeling that remonstrance would be useless, went quietly back to his place, and taking up his pen, buried himself in his ledgers. The little man was sparing of his words; the big man was not. £ He had been subjected to criticism and fault-finding so many times, it seemed as though he would have becoipe gradually hardened, though the crimson wave that swept over the fresh German face was evidence that he was not yet impervious to Bolton's harshness. He could not conceive any reason why Bolton should subject him to such indignity before the office force,- yet he endured it in wondering silence. His work was apparently done with painstaking and care, always accurate, always finished at tho right time, yet the manager, naturally suspicious, had taken a dislike to him and manifested it on many occasions. Although he had the interests of the firm seemingly at heart, and was as competent an accountant as could be found, the Manager always objected when the matter of increased salary was intimated, and it was only at' the President's express command, after being firmly convinced of the German's value to the firm, that his salary had been added to, as token of his efficiency. ' There's something about that Dutchman I can't fathom,' warned Bolton. 'It will do to keep an eye on him. He will cause trouble some of these days, Mr. Harris, you mark my wordl' ' Well, Bolton,' replied the President, ' you can comfort yourself with the assurance that we will not Hold you responsible for his conduct, unless you drive him to do something desperate by your everlasting fault-finding. Just let the man alone, and I'll stand surety for him.' Even this assurance from the head of the firm did not prevent the Manager from conjuring up visions of evil that would befall the house of Harris and Meade by means of Von Helm's wickedness, and, growling something about ' still waters,' he went on with . his work. Sometimes, though, he . could almost read the yellowtinged headlines set forth in the Morning Star, stating that Von Helm, trusted bookkeeper of the well-known firm of Harris and Meade, had committed forgery. Another time, the morning after a late dinner at the club, when the mechanism of his inner man was sadly out of repair, he could almost see in bold, black letters on the first page of the Herald, the startling announcement : ' Trust Betrayed! Von Helm, head bookkeeper for Harris and Meade, has suddenly departed, leaving his accounts- short thirty thousand dollars.' Yet, < when Mr. Bolton rolled back the top of his desk ne,xt morning, there in his accustomed place was the trusted betrayer, nodding a solemn 1 Good morning,' and every penny to the credit of the firm quietly resting in the safe. .Even the crimson rose which Von, Helm wore in his buttonhole during their Reason and placed in a glass of water on his desk, had an irritating effect on the manager. 'He is simply covering up some sin, by pretending that he loves flowers,' he growled. Then one day, shortly after the theory of forgery and theft was abandoned, he started on a new trail, which he determined % to follow to the end. - It happened one day that two women came into the office, one as agent for an advertising firm, the other the daughter of a grocer, who left ah order for flour to be sent to her father's store. When the bookkeeper beard

I the voice of tlie first woman he was greatly disturbed and exceedingly nervous until he saw her pass out of the door. I When the voice of the younger woman reached his ear, noo I being able to see her from his desk, a terror-stricken look came over his face, such a look as when one fears some great calamity at hand. He leaned forward excitedly. The pen Sr"Bj}{&d from his fingers and fell to the floor, where it pierced the wood and quivered at his feet. The excitement was but momentary. The girl left the office, and the pained, frightened expression on Von Helm's face relaxed, as he assumed his wonted calm, and turned again to his I work. The little incident was not lost on Bolton. He I was now in possession of the bookkeeper's secret. It was a I woman he feared. I In the morning's paper, though possibly it might not Ibe for several days (the exact time was uncertain, but it I was sure to come). The Morning News would announce Ithat Von , Helm, bookkeper for the great milling firm of lHarris and Meade, had suddenly been confronted by wife iNo. 1 and wife No. 2, whom he had deserted in Germany, land each unknown to the other had followed him to ■America and sought until they found him. When this came lo pass it would be made clearly manifest to the President Ithat the Manager's insight into human nature and his lability to read character were not to be despised. Would l&ny man with' a conscience void of offence tremble like an mspen leaf at the sound of a woman's voice? I It was now late in the month of December. The office ■orce was very busy, and even Johnnie Turner, the oftRimes irrepressible office boy, seemed to realise that the great nrocession of cars coming in daily meant some pretty stiff Bvork for everybody in the office, when from all points in Ihe wheat territory grain was being shipped to fill the great Haill elevators. I ' Say ! Did you see her down the street — Miss Floyd, Hll dressed in white, with a lot of roses?' inquired Johnnie Hf the stenographer, as he stamped the sample envelopes Biled up before him. 'Wheels? Well, I should say!' I His outburst of merriment was suddenly checked. In Hn instant the twinkle in his eye had disappeared, his Huughter was hushed, and over his face came a startled exHression, as he turned again to the girl and whispered in Hive-stricken tones : ' Gee, whizz, Miss Floyd ! That's her H The screen door opened so noiselessly that no one but Hie boy and the stenographer nearest the door noticed it, Hid there on the threshold stood a girl with a wealth of Hixen hair, and wondering eyes with dark violet tinge, simple white gown making an effective background for crimson roses which she carried in her apron. Dropping a quaint courtesy, she came into the office. ler eyes wandered about the room with a vague unrest. slowly to the desk of the boy and girl, she her apron and said softly in German, ' See, they roses. I have no loaves of bread,' but they did not unher. Then giving each a rose, she passed on. A steps beyond sat the. Manager at his desk Avriting his forehead drawn into a frown, foreboding ill n y who might interrupt him. His pen fashioned words and as each message was written he called loudly, Dalton,' and the contents of the yellow sheet went over the wires to their destination. He was writing the last telegram: 'Answer immediby wire if you accept our bid of ' Just a mohe paused to look at the market report and make doubly sure in regard to the price offered while and the stenographer looked for something in the of a volcanic eruption to occur as the stranger aphis desk. It was not the custom for any one the Manager in this manner, and while his paused ' in its flight he glared in utter astonishment who was about to do so then. Was it possible that office boy had disregarded his positive orders, and let disturb him unannounced? young woman stood resting her arm on the railing set off the Manager's desk, and watched him curiPlacing a crimson rose by the side of the partly telegram, she announced in a voice sweet with 'Ich bin Sanct Elizabeth von TJugarn.' j looked in {ruth like a saint, in her, simple white and pure of heart as though no earth tarnish had touched her. Ich bin Elizabeth,' she repeated. ' Lieben Sic Rosen, Hen ?' Manager wheeled around angrily, but the expreson his face changed' instantly, as he i looked into ' eyes, and noted the irregular, pupils, and the - signs of dementia. His verdict was identical that given by his office boy a few moments before. thpugh to make all expiation possible, Nature had with lavish hand the most beautiful physical gifts so far as she could, for that which was so sadly in mental quality,

As Mr. Bolton looked at her he was too bewildered tt make . reply, and when he had recovered and found voice to thank her for her offering, she had caught sight of Von Helm on the opposite side of the office. Being engrossed with his / work, he had not seen her enter, neither had he heard the soft, familiar cadence of her voice. In ?an ,J n * stant she was at his side: 'Lieber Adolph!' She gave p. little cry of joy as she rushed into his arms. ' 'Lizbeth 1 Mein Liebschen !' he exclaimed in awestruck tones. Terror, Pity, and Love seemed for an instant to do battle with each other. Terror was first on the field, instantly followed by Pity, but Love was strongest and withstood them both and came forth victor. Instantly recovering his self-possession, the little bookkeeper drew the fair-haired girl to his side and kissed her tertderly. Happy and secure in his loving care, she smiled like a child and, putting her amis, beautiful and milk-white, about his neck, she passionately returned his caress. He lifted her carefully to a high stool which he brought and placed by his own. He was so tender in word and in act. ' Ich will mein Arbeit tliun, dann werden wir nach Heim gehen, mine Liebling.' She understood that she must not disturb him, so with her arms folded on the long desk, she sat quietly by his side, giving him a smile whenever his eyes were raised from the accumulation of bills and books before him, and he, answering with a smile, went on with his work. For a long time she waited, obedient and patient, speaking never a word. The Manager dictated loudly; the telegraph keys clicked noisily, bringing news of the markets, acceptances of bids and reports of flour sales, still Von Helm worked on ; still ' Saint Elizabeth ' waited. The afternoon sun came through one of the office windows, glinting her flaxen hair until it shone like burnished gold. The waiting was so long, so weary, and the time dragged by at a snail's pace. The lids of the violet eyes began to droop. Lower and lower they fell, and at last her head rested on her left arm, so exquisitely molded and white that it might have been a marble cast, while little yellow ringlets fell over her forehead. Gently raiding her head without waking her, Von Helm placed his light coat under it, and went on with his work. At last he came to a place in the pathway of papers where he felt justified in calling a halt. He closed his books, leaned over the sleeper and whispered softly : ' Komm, Liebschen wir werden Heim gehen. ' ' Heim gehen ?' she repeated wonderingly, as she raised her head; then drawing him to her side, she kissed him -whispering softly : ' Adolph, Ich Hebe, dich.' Von Helm lifted her from the stool and led the wav to the door, while she followed obediently like a child On his way out he stopped at the Manager's desk, and said simply: 'I will take my wife home; I will soon return/ At the door Von Helm's wife dropped, a quaint courtesy and called ~back: ' Lebe wohl, Me wohl,' then she clasped her husband's hand and passed through the door. The Manager at his desk bowed his head and tried to frame some sort of prayer for forgiveness, as the little bookkeeper went out into the late December sunshine with his heart's precious sorrow.