IN THE GARDENS
IT was Sunday morning. Bertha, with her old friend the Professor by her
side, was walking in the Botanic Gardens. For the third or fourth time
she had re-told the tale of her abduction, for a third or fourth time
they had speculated as to who the author of the outrage could be, and as
to the identity of the bushy-whiskered man.
“Has Mr. Booth been to the cottage again?” asked the Professor.
“Yes, he went back at once, but it was empty, all but the one furnished
room I was in, and no one was there. He inquired of the neighbours, and
found that the place had been empty and to let for some time, and it was
only a few days ago the board was taken down. Then he went to the house
agent. This agent said that a bushy-whiskered man, giving the name of
Brown, had taken the place and paid a month’s rent in advance. The
furniture he happened to know, for it was part of his business to keep
his eyes on new tenants, was obtained on the time-payment system. He
told Alec—or, rather, Mr. Booth—the shop. The furniture man had seen
this Mr. Brown, who had paid him a deposit on one room of furniture. He
could say no more than that he was a middle-aged, bushy-whiskered man.”
“And has no more been found out?”
“No, nothing else. Alec wanted to put it in the hands of the police, but
I would not have it. I would rather die than have to go in a
police-court.”
“And so the villain is to escape?”
“Well, he did not do me much harm after all, Pro, and he will get his
desserts some day. All bad people do.”
“That is a very consoling theory for injured people who can obtain no
redress, but I am afraid experience hardly warrants it. The stage
villain may walk to the scaffold during five acts, but the every-day
scoundrel is more often carried to Parliament by a carriage and pair.
Have you no suspicion in your own mind as to who it was?”
“The girls in the bar think it was an old gentleman we call the Squatter.
He certainly asked me to marry him, and offered me several rich presents
at different times; but I hardly think he was the kind of man to have
planned an outrage of this kind. It is strange, though, that he has not
been seen in Sydney since the day I was taken away. But there, I am
weary to death of talking on the subject! Let us speak of something
else, Pro. I have left that horrible bar for ever, and I have some news
for you. Now guess what it is?”
“You have found a new and wonderful dressmaker!”
“You horrid thing, as though I cared twopence about dress!”
“Then it is a new admirer who has told you that you are the prettiest
girl in Sydney, and you have believed him.”
“That is really cruel of you, Pro? As though I cared what people said.
You do not deserve to be told anything!”
“I will give up guessing then. Tell me what it is.”
“Alec—that is, Mr. Booth—has asked me to marry him.”
“And you have consented?”
“Not exactly. I thought I would ask you first. I hardly know what to
do.”
“Do you love the man?”
“He is brave, and strong, and kind. And then it was so good of him to
come and rescue me from that horrid place. I really think he loves me,
yet he is not just the sort of man I have fancied in my mind. But
somehow I am afraid this ideal man of mine will never come along; perhaps
he would not have me if he did come. And then Alec loves me, and he is
very nice when he likes—and I don’t know what to do or what to say!”
“You have not mentioned another of his advantages, Bertha. I hear that
since he won the Cup he is quite a wealthy man.”
“Now you want to scold me. You think I like him for his money. But I am
sure a man is no worse because he has means of his own. Why, the
Squatter was ten times as rich as Alec, and I never even looked at him.
It is not fair to expect every one to be poor like you, Pro, and I am
sure it is better for those to have it who will enjoy it than rusty old
misers who hoard it up.”
“And about the horse-racing, Bertha. I thought you hated all connected
with it?”
“Oh, Alec has promised to give up betting altogether. He says the
consultation, or sweep as they call it, pays better. There is no risk,
and he means to go in for that.”
“And you find this Mr. Booth a man after your own mind—not the ideal, as
you said, but an every-day representative you will be willing to live
with till death do you part?”
“I have thought it over, Pro. Of course Alec is not clever. He has read
next to nothing, and can talk of very little outside his business, but
all the same he might be pleasanter to have about a house than some one
who was very clever. I fancy these clever people are not very nice to
live with, particularly if you are not so clever as they are.”
“But then, Mr. Booth is not like you in any respect, either in taste or
ideas?”
“That is one of the reasons that makes me think we might do very well
together. Two people who were much alike would soon be tired of one
another, don’t you think so?”
“I think, my dear Bertha, you first made up your mind, and then found all
these fine reasons to support you afterwards. You ask my advice, but
what you really want is my approval. I give you, instead, my
congratulations. The wife of a poor man you might have been, as you
know, any time these two years, but I saw clearly that in such case you
would always have been regretting that fortune which you might have had.
Now you are marrying a man of money. I hope it will turn out as you
wish, that the gold will gild your future; but, as in a marriage of
poverty I clearly foresaw on your part a life of regrets, so in this
other union I have the same misgiving.”
“Then what am I to do, Pro? Shall I remain single?”
“No, my dear, by no means. For a girl above all it is better that she
should marry if she can wisely do so. I cannot give you my wisdom, no
one can. Wisdom can be bought only by experience. There is no other
price. So marry, my dear; be happy while you can, and remember if
troubles and trials come that they are your life lessons, to be met
bravely, not as evils, but as disguised friends.”
“You ought to have been a parson, Pro,” said Bertha, with tears in her
eyes. “You are always so serious. Now, tell me honestly, don’t you
think Alec is a fine-looking man?”
* * * * *
Alec Booth was not the man to hide his good fortune. All his friends,
more particularly those at the Golden Bar, were soon acquainted with the
news of his proposed marriage to Bertha Summerhayes.
Ruby wished him joy, and hoped very kindly he would not be deceived in
the object of his affections. And when he inquired what she meant,
replied—
“Oh, nothing! Of course, Bertha is an angel—a little chipped, perhaps.
It’s about time she settled down, and, like a wise girl, she knows it.”
Florrie was diffuse—
“How kind of you to marry her! You must be a real good sort, Mr. Booth!
There’s not many men would have your pluck, if what they say is true!”
“What do they say?” inquired Alec hotly.
“Oh, you have heard nothing? You dear, simple man! Then I’m sure I
shall not be the one to tell tales out of school. Besides, it may not be
true; people do tell such lies. And Bertha’s not a bad sort, though she
does hold her head up. You just shut your eyes and do as she tells you,
like a good boy!”
Alec, never fluent of speech, did not know how to reply to his tormentor.
He knew their ways too well to take them altogether seriously; but the
poison of their malice left a sting behind. His only defence was a
hearty “Ha! ha! ha!”
The unanswerable reply of a small head with a big stomach.
* * * * *
In his turn Huey Gosper was not slow to hear the news, and Ruby even gave
him the details of “the lark,” as she called it, they had had with Alec.
“And he just was mad when we rubbed it into his angelic Bertha! You
should have seen how red he got in the face! Why, the fool is fairly
crazy about her! It would only serve him right to play a trick or two on
him—the conceited fool!”
A gleam of malicious joy shone in Huey’s eyes as though a sudden unholy
hope had sprung up. He whispered words to Ruby and she to him, and by
their pantomime it might be understood that a plot, mutually agreed on,
was arranged.
“You’ll keep your word?” interrogated Huey as he left.
“Like a book, Mr. Gosper! Never you fear! I’m not the girl to back
out!”
And as he passed into the street Huey’s melancholy face bore the first
smile it had worn for many days.