Peter and Paul.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3406, 23 December 1911, Page 5 (Supplement)

Peter and Paul.

(By J. J. Bell- author of “Thou Fool,” “ wee macgregor ,” etc

; No . one. ; wo.iild ;fiavo taken the two men fdr/brotb,er6; i much less;for:.twins. Ho wlio.stood behind, the, counter, of the \,little ° shop ’ vfas pale ofcountenance, .ffull-boarded .and grizzled, and stooped'./ ;slightly •, he who’r lounged against the opuntor’s, edge, ,was almost smartly, dressed/and. shaven, save for a. trim ‘moustache," .'while his dark hair . w^^ ( . but slightly streaked' with'!'grey/" arid .his complexion that of a man who has lived fliuch in'the opbn air of sunnier climes than ours. Both, however, had the same brown eyes, and although \ at the moment one pair was dull and the other [.brightj rjit would have been hard to judge which was the more kindly. ‘II; was afraid you; were making A' bad i spec,, Peter,” observed the bright-eyed man, as he lit a cigarette, “when you bought ; that, job lot of toys—especially when you paid oash for them.” f The man behind the counter sighed. “I thought: I might do well with them at Christmas,” he said, rather apologetically. “As I told you some time ago, the stationery and newspaper business has been falling off. It took me all my time to raise the forty pounds to pay for the toys, but I did feel sure I was going to make a good profit, Paul.” His brother wagged liis head 1 sagely. “If you had taken my advice, you wouldn’t have dono it, my boy. No use trying to compete with the big shops and stores, especially at Christmas. It’s only three days till 'Christmas now, and you seem to have as much rubbish in the shop as you had three weeks ago.’’ “Pratcically as muoh,” said Peter dismally. “And I expect I’ll still have it three weeks—possibly three months — hence. When Christmas is over I don’t suppose anybody ’ll give me five pounds for the lot. But liow goes it with yourself, Paul? I’ve been expecting you every day lately.” “Been desperately busy, dear boy,” said Paul lightly. “But”—he became serious—“it goes well with me, Peter, it goes well. I am now on the eve of a great coup!” Peter said nothing. The words were familiar to him, familiar in writing as wall as in speech. “On the eve of a great coup,” repeated' the man who, for the last thirty years, most of them spent abroad, had, according to himself, been on the verge of making himself wealthy. Unfortunately. though he might have touched tlie skirts of Fortune on numerous occasions, he had never once seized Fortune herself.

Paul Fergus had never done a> v - thing, in the common acceptance of trie term, to earn a living; but somehow' he had so far contrived to make, one; not, perhaps, by the most admirable methods possible, yet without overstepping the bounds of everyday honesty. He was.simply a. speculator who woimi speculate in anything that dad not soil his liands or tire his body. Doubtless he ought to have come to a miserable end long ago. but as yet he had not even tasted real poverty, which statement' is tested by the fact that he had never in all his borrowings asked his brother for a loan of less than ten pounds. Indeed, he usually asked for twenty-five.

“It’s the biggest thing yet, Peter,” he remarked, blowing the ash from his cigarette. “Is it?” said Peter Fergus dully. Paul was not in the least discouraged. ; -- . . “Ever hear of the Persimmon Diamond Mines Peter shook'(his head.

“Of course, you don’t fake any interest in such things,” said Paul kindly. “Fortunately for us both I do! I’m- up to the neck in Persimmons,, all bought under ten bob a share. A l they are going up to twenty pounds. How’s that?” , “I’m, afraid you’ll " Kave to tell me how it.is,” his.brother'said,with a faint smile.. Somehow he could not. get angry with jßaul;'f',hhwever deeply he deplored'‘hisV miode.’of, life. Phe ’latter laughed, and . leant over tlie counter. “Persimmons,” lie whispered, “are going to twenty pounds, because they are going to be squeezed, See?” , n “I thought a thing got smaller, when it was squeezed.”. _ . Paul laughed again. “I m afraid my previous teaching has been lost on you, old man. Perhaps I ought to have said it was the bears who are going to get squeezed—and cornered. Persimmons have been tremendously over-sold, and no end of-people are going to get caught short —you understand? The shares aren’t really worth a bob apiece, and they’ll reach that price before long; • but that doesn’t matter., I information from a man I once did a god turn in’, Johannesburg—he’s a millionaire now-

.so - there’s .- ho ':dduM ; ;;a.bo4m'it :. , : By ChristmaavEvo y#u atfiS I shall be worth ’ thousands 1 : SureP ’;;' ~ The shabby'grey” Than looked wisrfullv 1 At : a ; ‘-hidy you - are!” ; !ho 'saidi^suddenly?' ■ ; “YbiiTl-feel 'like' a boy yourself when I’ve paid bhck !! 1 I[',!owb you, with a ‘thou’, or two for j’ihterest, old chap. Gf couhse ,1 know yOtir ol> jection- to spedulatibribut what iaboiit tlie -'fbrty quift® you :/ 'gambl^!/'on : ; these rotten 1 toys ? :,v Eli ?' ! ' Don’t;’be ‘vexed, Petfev. *’ ' It’s iriy;jlitti©. rtay!, ;A,nd , n<pw I qvonder if you cari ( give a leg up—- . for, the- last time. T Ajvekr It’ll bo for the lart' ! time/ : foot; i Fye got just 1 as many >' Persimmons .open ' as I can carry, arid the slight [to-dky has madd l my broker' a;' trifle" nervous dHe doesn’t know of';the dojfhing and wants’ 1 more ’.cover, by five o’clock’ You soo ho might talce fright and close my account/ ’ To-mor-row he’ : ll be regarding me with awe and envy. Well, old chap, could you possibly oblige; me with twenty-five ? That’ll give him a shilling cover on each of the five hundred shares I’ve open,. And, then ” “Stop, Paul!” exclaimed Peter. “I can’t lend you any more money.” He turned away. . ~ , ■ Paul drew himself upright with something like a gasp. . Presently, as a man who lias received a severe shock—• “You can’t lend me any more money, Peter?” he whispered. ; ; “just that.”; v•> ■ r . - was a long;, heavy silence Petbiv? .turnod-vand- glanced at his brother. “Oh, man I” he cried “don’t do that!” For Paul Fergus, man of the worul and iliardened speculator, was wiping real tears from his eyes. For the first time in nearly fifty years his brother had spoken harshly and refused his aid. A shock indeed ! But ho pulled himself together, ai.u placing his cigarette between liis lips looked out into the street as if about to take his departure. “Paul,” said Peter, with a beckoning gesture, and led the way to the dwelling-room at the back of the shop. Paul followed and dropped into a chair. “You should have broken it more gently, old chap,” he remarked with a poor attempt at lightness. ' Peter, bending over a small metal box in the foot of a cupboard, did not respond until a minute later. Then he rose and handed his brother a slim b(X)klet. “Look at the balance, Paul,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I don’t want to know your private affairs, Peter.’ ’ “But I want you to know. Tlie book was made up by the bank yesterday, and I haven’t lodged or drawn anything since, so you’ll see what money I have. Apart from the stock in tlit shop—which I’m afraid to think of—the balance is my only asset, and I’ve a few debts. I’ll be back in a minute. There’s someone at the counter.” On his return he found Paul staring blankly at the pencil jotting of the balance—£22 3s Id. “But —but you have your share of Auvt Esther’s legacy,” said Paul at last. “Have you, Paul?”

“Oh, you know I haven’t. But you were always a careful; sort of chap.” ‘‘Well, that balance is all the money I have,” said Peter slowly. “You see, the shop is not very profitable affair, [t keeps; me, but ■—■” . “What ’is your -income from the shop?” - “For the last few years it has been about a pound a week.” “A pound a week!” “You must remember that the locality Has’i beeri‘going steadily down,” said Peter apologetically. “But did you never think of removing to a better locality and a better shop?”:.;! The grey man, ■ said never -a- word. Paul eoptimied to stare, at. tlie page of the bank-book. After-ilittle while, as if speaking .to himself,/he said-—“T believe I couldi; scrape through with twenty. Yes; I belieVe I could.” “Better with twenty-five, Paul, better with twenty-five,” said his brother softly, and held out a slip of green paper and three soverigns. For a moment Paul hesitated. Then ho took the cheqe and gold, rose, placed them in his hip-pocket, and, averting his eyes, grasped Peter’s hand. “I’m obliged to you, Peter,” he said, or rather mumbled. “I’l pay.you back on Christinas Eve, honor bright!” “Oh, that's all right, Paul. 'But I —l want you to take it as a—“ Christmas present, you know,”, said Peter awkwardly. “Shall I see you before then?” he asked abruptly. “You’ll see me on Christmas Eve — with our —er —joint fortune.”

“Oh, ; that’s all right, PauV’ said Peter again, and laughed, feebly, i But —I should like to see you on Christmas Eve. I don’t want you to bring anything but yourself, brother.” “Good old Peter i But I’d better get off tb'that broker of mine. A million thanks l” ; I And Paul hurried from tlie shop. Peter gazed at the -door long after his brother., had disappeared, j “I could'’ut;help. dbing it,” he said to himself. I’ve no one but Paul, and I’in .tlie elder,'evbn if it’s only bv half an hour. I suppose I was a;fool, but —Paul depended on me; arid the Lord knows how • lin going to pay ; niy rent. But if Paul should bo right this s time ? < God J If it, were only possible! I’m.-beginning to feel old.” ; ! A rapping' on the ' counter -‘ shattered his train of thought, and he-hastened into the- shop to supply' a young woman with a-, penny novelette. He threw the. .penny into the till, and ■as he did so a. large/'gaudily dressed doJljxfch© ’highest'.‘ipriced-'of- his job lot purchases, eanglit liis eye. I was seat-, ed on tlie counter—-one of .those fairhaired,'; blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, smugly smiling Rolls/poinilarly supposed! to be French, and for some reason it mad- . dened him. Peter Fergus, who in all his dull, existence had never done wilful injury, (suddenly clenched his right fist, drew it back, shot if forward, and smote the doll on its face. Having described in ; the air several back : Somersaults the doll reached, (the floor, bounded, there-" from, and rolled across the doorstep. ■Calling himself an idiot, Peter rushed up the inside of -the counter and thendown the outside to recover that which at his lowest estimate he had reckoned worth two-and-six. But ero he reached the door of, the shop a little girl, illclad and ill-fed looking, had picked up and clasped the doll to her bosom, and was murmuring sympathy for its slightly damaged countenance while she looked about her fearfully. At the sight, of the shopkeeper she made to drop it, and bolt. But she was too late. He seized her by the arm. She squealed'. Peter swayed where lie stood. No one had ever cried out over his touch. “Tveep it, keep it,” lie stammered pitifully. The child gaped, then -hugged the doll closer. “Little girl!” said Peter, “ if you want the doll take it away home with you.” She looked up in his face. “Mine,” she cried unbelieving her gaze falling again on the doll. “Yes, yes. It’s yours if you want it.” Once more she looked up. “Oh, you kind man.” Still clasping the doll with her left arm she suddenly grabbed Peter’s fingers with her right hand, rubbed her cheek against them, and fled. Peter went slowly back to the receipt of custom. “G-od knows,” he said to himself, “Goi? ®nou\s how it will all end.” 11. On tlie afternoon of Christmas Eve Peter brooded miserably behind the counter. He had lit every gas jet in the sohp, but the illumination served but- to increase his depression. Tlie heaps of toys, tlie trays of cards, tlie array of “seasonable gifts,” the colored glass balls dangling from the roof, the white banner stretched across the rear of tlie shop bearing the words, “A Merrv Christmas” in vivid scarlet—one and

all seemed to mock him. Trade during the last few days had been simply wretched; even the ordinary stationery and newspaper sales had been smaller than- usual.

A boy ran into the sho pthrew a parcel of early evening papers on the counter, and ran out again. Peter opened the parcel, arranged the papers in their customarv places, retaining on© for his own perusal. He opened it with fingers that shock, and lyyui to search the financial columns. Since Paul’s visit lie had turned to the “Mining Market”, in every edition of the morning’arid everiing papers. so lie was not long in sighting the little! patch .of tiny figures headed “Diamond Shares.” But ere he could pick out /‘Persimmons” ainong the figures' the name caught his eye above tlieni. , rt ‘The feature of the in-o.rnin g, hasheen the further collapse of Persimmons, whicli, after opening at 5s 9d. fell to 25.” He let- the paper drop and sat down on his stool, rubbing his eyes. ■“This’ll be a Sad disappointment to Paul,” he said, half aloud. A customer entered and made a small purchase. Left to himself the shopkeper began to move restlesslv ire and down behind the counter. He did no't crirse himself for having given l Paul tlie twentyfive pounds, but he did call himself a fool for having hoped for any return. For, somehow, he had hoped. He had even dreamed of a small fortune and of what ‘he would do with it. All Ins life he had been “a bit of a reader,

as he expressed it, ,of .becks of,travel,, ‘and the boyish longing to see some of the world had never Left him. But circumstances- —he did hot include his brother—had prisoned him in a email shop in a street that grew meaner with the years. He fed to wondering if Paul would come that night as he had promised. If not, he would seek him at the last address Paul had given- He hoped he anight find his brother there; but Paul had a way of changing his lodgings every week ,or so. What a sad world it was! And misery seemed now to have claimed Peter - Fergus for its own. , Doubtless he would be able to worry through his own difficulties ; but. he could do nothing more for Paul:"' That was the great trouble. ~With Ixnved head he had been pacing the floor for perhaps twenty minutes when lie became aware that lie was boing watched. Halting and looking up lie saw in the doorway two little girls and a little boy. The elder of the girls was hugging a doll and her face was wreathed in smiles. Not so the faces of her'companions. which wore wistful to a degree, while she whispered confidentially, nodding in the shopkeeper's direction. On realising that she was observed, however, she made as if to withdraw, and the others were quick to follow her , example. “Here!’' called Mr Fergus, suddenly. Tile trio hesitated. . . “Don’t run away. Come inside.” The children looked tat him, then at each other. “Don’t be frightened,” said Peter“l’ll not hurt you.” The boy took a short step forward, and drew back. “Little girl,” said Peter to the child with the doll, “why ar e you afraid?” “I’m not afraid, sir.” “Well, then, come in and bring your friends. I’m going to give you each a toy. Come and choose.” Huddling together, round-eyed, they ventured to cross the threshold. “Take vour choice.” The-u regarded the speaker with stunned expressions. ! “Well,” said Peter, after a long silence, “it looks as if I’ll have to choose for you. What would you like?” He addressed the smaller girl, who promptly gagged herself with a dirty forefinger. “She would like a dolly, sir,” said the other girl with an effort, in a hoarse whisper. “Choose one for her.” He turned to tlie hey. “He would like a horse with wheels, sir,” said the bigger girl, with hoarseness increasingMr. Fergus smiled. “You seem to have arranged it all,” lie remarked “They’ve been pretendin’ what they would get for Christmas,” he said, almost inaudibly. “They’ve been pretendin’ for weeks, sir. They pretended last year, but- Oh, sir, do you reallv mean to give them something?” “I’m asking you to choose- for them, litle girl,” said’ Peter. “So just choose the doll and the horse that suits them. And if you look behind, you’ll find a carriage that’ll maybe fit your own doll.” The little girl’s eyes seemed to be about to jump out of her head. Speech deserted her. “Choose,” said Peter encouragingly, and forthwith appeared to become engreased in a tray of Christmas cards. In three minutes the children were garphig with delight, clasping treasures.

But it was. only the elder girl who could express thanks, and she did so rather incoherently. “Never mind, never mind,” Peter cut her short with awkward kindliness. “Pm sorry I’ve no sweets, bnt here are three pennies- Now run away and enjoy you rselves. ’ ’ “Oh. sir!” Peter leaned over and patted her head, and just then a queer idea came to him. , , . , “If you: know any other little girls and! boys that have, no toys, just send them to me. Good-night.’ He Waved his hand, and the little girl followed her companion, who were already yelling their satisfaction to the 61root.' * But at the door she turned and came back. Very shyly she held out- her hand and whispered:— “A Merry Christmas, sir.” Then bolted. . _ , “Well, I’m sure,” muttered Peter. “I hadn’t thought of that. It’s curious, But I don’t feel quite so low as I did ten mirnite® ago. . . I—l wonder if I’m going mad-” * * * *

About half an hour later he was quite sure he was going mad The narrow shop was packed with eager, excited children, and a little mob, - blocking the pavement, clamored at the door. . For the news; of the.man who was giving away toys for nothing had gone round the district like an alarm of fire. It is true that at first the children had halted outside the shop, doubtful and incredulous. But at last a couple of hoys, peeping in at the open door, had received an invitation to

enter: '< TheyJiad i crowd'held its breath. But when, tiiey | reappeared, yelling and exhibiting a tan ! tram and a tin motor car, the storm ! had burst and the shop had been inundated. , Peter was at his wits’ end to manage the children, who could not help being disorderly. He was afraid, too, lest the very little ones received injury, though so far he had heard no cries save of rapture. But some of the bigger boys were beginning to help themselves, and it looked as if the affair might develop into a mere raid. A policeman, his countenance a study in amazement, pushed his way in, and a hush fel on the children. _ p- ff ; “L want, to give each child atoy,P explained lector, wiping his brow, “btit I never thought of such a crowd as this. * I reallv don’t know what to do.” “Better turn' ’em all out,” said the constable- “They’M wreck your shop.” He raised his voice. “Come, boys and girls! Gut of this!” “No, no,” pleaded Peter. “But what can you do, Mr. Pergus?” . . ' “The Lord knows,” said Peter, helplessly. Then he gave a cry of relief. “Paul!” Paul, more smartly dressed and with brighter eyes than ever, was gently forcing'himself' through the press. “Hullo, hullo!” he shouted. “What price a run on a toy-shop? Hood man, Peter 1 Some of the kids outside told me. . But you seem to have got stuck up. I’d better give you a hand. Here, constable.” He passed a coin,- which £ the man thought at the time was a shilling. “Shut the door and hold it till we get this little lot satisfied. Then we’ll send them off and let in another lot. Eh,. Peter?” Peter nodded!' gratefully. As Paul afterwards remarked it was the hardest work he had ever experienced. Batch after batch of children w r ere admitted expectant and dismissed happy. Doubtless there were greedy youngsters who gained more than one ’ admittance, but neither of the brothers troubled about that. What worried them wan the fact that the “good” toys were being rapidly exhausted, while the army of applicants was constantly being reinforced. “We can’t give the poor little beegal's wlio happen to come late such rubbish as this,” said Paul in. an aside, and in a most lordly tone, indicating the remaining rows and stacks of “penny things.” “It wouldn't be fair. Eh, Peter?” 1 . “But what can we do, Paul?” “Let’s get rid of this lot, and I’ll fix it,” said Paul confidently. He spoke quietly to the policeman, who nodded, and when the batch of cliildren had been sent away rejoicing the door was shut and locked. * Cries of despair arose without.

At the end of a couple of minutes Paul opened the door, and in a loud, stern voice shouted—- “ All children who have received toys must ran home at once, or the detectives who are watching them wiE take them to jail and take away their toys.” Several grown-up people laughed, but manv children ran awav in terror.

“Now, constable, how many are left-, do you think?” “Between forty and fifty, sir,” replied the policeman, used to reckoning crowds. At a nod from Paul he shut the door again, and once more a wailing went up. ' “We'd better give 'em two bob apiece,” Paul said casually to his brother, whereupon the constable realised that he had. a sovereign in his pocket. “How are you off for change, Peter? I’ve about thirty bob in sEver only.” In blank despair Peter gazed at his brother.

They were both going mad! Panl swung himself over the counter and examined the contents of the till. He pocketed the silver and swung himself back.

“Constable,” he said pleasantly, “'would you mind going out- and getting three pounds in silver? —no halfcrowns.” And he placed gold in the policeman’s- hand. “But this is four sovereigns, sir.”

Paul waved his hand in airy fashion. “We’ll call it three, if you please. Don’t be long, and tell those kids not to give up hope.’’

It was all over. The outer doors were shut and bolted. The brothers sat in the back room, Peter very white, Paul somewhat flushed.

“A great experience, old chap.” said Paul, breaking the silence. “'Yes,” said Peter, absently. The reaction was severe. “Peter.” “Yes, Paul?”

“Could you lend me a couple of pounds ? ’ ’ Peter looked up at his brother. “Certainlv, Paul.”

Something like a sob came from Paul’s throat. “Three days ago I deceived you, old chap,” he said with some difficulty. “I led you to believe that my spec in Persimmons was yet to come off, whereas it had ended about 10 davs previously. I had to wait till to-day for the cash. But I couldn’t help trying your patience with me—for the last time—the very last time, God helping me. You gave me all you had—and I won’t be happy till I return the compliment. I can’t return the twenty-five quid, because. I want to keep the cheque as a souvenir. But —I say, Peter, will this do anything to make up for all the trouble I’ve given you?” . He passed a slip of pinkish paper to his brother.

“I want you to buy an annuity with, it, old man, and then, to begin with, stand. yourself—and me, if you will—a first-class trip round the world. . . . Thank God; it’s my turn at last!” . And Peter Fergus,, all trembling, saw before him, first his brother’s face, and then a bank draft in his favor for the sum of £10,500.