ONE LEG TO GO ON

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2676, 4 December 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

ONE LEG TO GO ON

(By Jane Belfield.)

Crawley was down on his luck. ! “Things might be worse,” his wife had- assured him that very morning, with the usual smile —for Molly had

slid bravely downhill by his side, never forgetting the smile. “I don’t see how they could be any worse,” the man had responded gloomily. “I’m still losing money —still living on my principal.” “But your principal, Art,” she had returned with gentle emphasis. “Oh. yes, it’s mine—l haven’t borrowed it; but it’s rapidly growing less.

You’re overworked —oh, I know it — _ you’re not strong.” ( “In body,” Molly corrected depre- 1 eatingly. /‘ “And the three children —oh, I see what they ought to have. How could < things be worse?” i “Well” —his wife counted, on her lingers—“we have the children —all three. ] I have yon —you have me. You're not ( sick. I’m not really sick; only tired. , Nobody’s going blind; nobody’s going , to be operated on in the morning for .appendicitis or cancer; and we’re none of us crazy.” “Yet ” he had supplied suggest- . ively. “And we’re not going to be. Nothing is real trouble that can be changed. Your prospects may brighten any day. Art”—hesitatingly—“are you very busy this afternoon?- I promised to take Fred” —that was the second child —“to the matinee benefit for the Home for Crippled Children.” “But you’re played out, Molly—you’ve been up all night with the baby. It isn’t necessary for Fred to go to the show.” Crawley was aware that his wife had been on the verge of asking him to take their hoy; but she knew he hated matinees—hen parties, he called them. Besides, he really was busy. But an hour later, over the office ’phone, she had asked him. The baby was too fretful to leave —Fred- was so disappointed. Could his Daddy take him to the show? So his Daddy had promised—ungraciously enough and now as he waited at the door of the theatre for his boy and the nurse, and idly watched the gathering crowd, the man assured himself again that things were about as bad as they could be. His wife was not able to endure the strain of added pecuniary distress. His oldest- girl had inherited her frail constitution but not her buoyant temperament. The boy had his mother’s disposition and his own physique. Tne baby—too young to display anything but clamorous needs! Well, the boy was something to bank upon. Crawley had worked indefatigably, but his early marriage had crippled his resources. Wad now the present hard times —the dishonesty of a man he had trusted—the failure of a number of his best customers—and at last of the bank in which he had deposited the bulk ot his fortune ! Well, there was a limit even to making failures. Crawley v> as discouraged —he did not feel capable of making the one effort more that succeeds. His wife was fond of quoting to !„.*t “In due time ye shall reap ye faint not.” He had threatened to have °-n illuminated motto of the text- hi ng over her bedroom door. In due time! Well, it was cue time —he had hustled —he was a failure, and it wasn’t in flesh and blood never to faint. Defeat was forced on half the world. He wondered vaguely how Molly could keep up her own unfailing courage in- the face of failure. She must have been born that way. It occurred vaguely to the man’s mind-how much worse their case would be if his wife had not retained her natural buoyancy; but he lightly dismissed the thought. Yes, things were as bad as they could he! Crawley’s eyes lighted absently upon an ambulance driven up to the door of 1 the theati-e. He wondered what had happened —then he- noticed the inscrip- ' tion: “Children’s Hospital.” He had forgotten the occasion. They must he bringing some of the crippled littlfl ones to the show. They would, have been better off in bed, he thought 1 grimly. • The young doctor in charge of the ambulance jumped down, a white-cap-ped nurse brushed past. She beckoned - to a big policeman; and the giant in brass buttons stooped and lifted the ■ first child in his arms. “Do you think you can carry me up?” a thin little voice quavered. “I think,” the giant answered as ho 1 swallowed hard, “that I can manage it.” L He lifted the twisted body, in his ! arms —more tenderly than Crawley > would have believed possible for one so 1 massive—and then—quite suddenly, ! Crawley found himself by the side of the big policeman. He never knew l how or why he reached there; “ “Can I help?”—he seemed to speak r without volition. The young' nurse smiled -at' the expression, on the man’s ' face as she handed him a pair of crut- : dies and another child. Crawley lift-: [. e d the child and the crutches and fol- ; lowed the policeman--up-stairs to the; - tiers of boxes reserved for the crippled little ones. His guide made a cot of two chairs by the boxrail and tenderly placed his frail burden where the child could look down upon the wonders underneath. Crawley humoly started to follow the .policeman’s example, but the boy he had carried put out one thin pressing hand. “I don’t need two chairs”—the •child, proudly lifted a shining, emaciated face. “You didn’t notice—did.you ? —that I Ifau one leg—did you, now ?” “No,” his conductor responded so-. ; lemnly. “Forgiye me-rl am very stui pid. I did not notice:” ; /" VAre you going: to stay arid look on from here? Are you crippled, too?”

“No, not that way. I’m going to bring up some more of you.” Crawley hurried downstairs--making his way through groups of young girls in Dolly Drake costumes, selling papers and candy. Brushing by pretty trained nurses, marketing programmes, lie passed out in the wake of the big policeman, who seemed to take it for granted that he was part of the programme. They went from one -ambulance to another until all the distorted little bodies were comfortably bestowed along the upper tiers. Then, as Crawley stood by the last empty ambulance, he was conscious of a moist; clinging hand thrust into his own. , “Daddy !” cried a hearty little '-oice —a voice that had no quiver in it—and Crawley -looked down in ip the glowing ruddy face of his own boy, Fred. “Daddy, I almost was late.” “Yes”—Crawley absently pressed the clinging hand. “Yes- We’ll go in now.”

Every seat had been sold. In the lower boxes Mrs George Cadwallader entertained a party of children whose white dresses and broad ribbons gleamed against the green velvet curtains. Crawley’s, gaze wandered from the well kept, straight bodies* the round faces glowing with health, to the pale, drawn brows, the gaunt frames, leaning over the upper rails. Nothing was to be gained by drawing comparisons. Such conditions existed, and they had to be accepted until they could be made better. The matinee was given to help make them better. Crawley was glad to be here—to be a- part of the programme. After all, no eyes in the lower boxes shone with such a light of expectancy as the blue ones of the little boy who had one leg to go on. Crawley singled him out leaning over the balcony; The child recognised his friend, and bent further over to wave his hand. At that Crawley rose in his seat, lifted Fred’s red cap, and waved in replv, as though the bov in the upper tier'and lie were alone on a desert

island. The children below glanced up curiously, their laughter hushed. Many eyes in the audience followed; and the boy in the upper tier laughed aloud, feeling a part or the show. • “What's lie laughin' at, Daddy?” Fred strained forward. “He's laughing, little son, because we are- all looking at him, and because he is happy.” “Why is lie happy. Daddy i “Because he has one leg to go cn, little son.” ■ Fred stretched out his own straig.it-, sturdy members. “I'wouldn’t be,” he returned ith an air of finality. “Ain’t it awful, Daddy?” , , , “It might be worse,” Crawley heard himself answer. “He might have no leg at all.” The orchestra began the overture. The play was “Mother Goose.” From his seat Crawley could watch the faces in the upper boxes; and the enthusiastic comments of his little son fell upon deaf ears. Presently a large ogg was brought in. Mother Goose tapped it with her wand, and out stepped a little fairy and a huge white Polar bear! The little fairy shook wide her spangled gauze sturt. Pointed white wings spread from her shoulders. A .shining star glittered upon her forehead. The Polar bear smoothed his thick white fur, and the little fairy and the huge Polar bear began to dance. So did” the eyes in the upper tiers—their twisted limbs forgot. ■ After the dance there was a fairy ballet of twenty little fairies and twenty Polar bears, and then the show was over.' “What are you looking at, Daddy?” The audience had risen and was making ready to depart. ‘•'Don’t you see the little- boy standing up? He is leaning over —he is looking at you!” Crawley lifted his own boy upon his shoulders. “There —wave your cap to him —so!” 'The boy in the upper tier leaned upon one crutch and waved the other in smiling response. “You needn’t come to carry me down!” he shouted; and again the audience looked up. “I can get- along on one!”

“I think,” said Crawley reflectively, “that I can, too.” And he went home to return his wife’s smile.