Helen Vardons Confession | Page 8

earth are you in such a fever to get this thing finished?"
"I'm not in a fever, my dear," he answered; "I'm only tired of seeing
this thing lying about unfinished. You see, as it stands, it is only so
many pounds of old bronze, whereas a couple of hours' work turns it
into a valuable piece of furniture, fit to take a dignified place in the
catalogue when we are sold up. Just consider how finely it would read:
'Handsome bronze scuttle, in form of Roman helmet, the work of the
late owner and his charming and talented daughter, capable of serving
either as a convenient receptacle for coal or as a becoming head-dress
for a person with a suitable cranium.' Don't you think that would sound
rather alluring?"
"Very," I replied; "but as we are not going to be sold up--"
The rest of my sentence was drowned in the din of the beaten metal as
my father returned to his hammering, and I only watched in mute
discomfort until this part of the work was done and the great brazing jet
was once more set a-roaring.
The work progressed apace, for my father was not only skilful and neat,
but could be very quick on occasion; and as I watched the completion
of stage after stage, I was conscious of a growing uneasiness, a vague
fear of seeing the work actually finished; as if this mere toy--for it was
little more--held some deep and tragic symbolism. I felt like one

looking on at the slow wasting of one of those waxen effigies which the
sorceresses of old prepared with magical rites for the destruction of
some victim, whose life should slowly wane and flicker away with the
wasting of the wax.
And meanwhile, above the roar of the blowpipe flame, my father's
voice sounded, now in a cheerful stave of song, and now in lively jest
or playful badinage. But yet he did not deceive me. Behind all this
show of high spirits was a sombre background that was never quite
hidden. For the eye of love is very keen and can see plainly, despite
quip or joke or jovial carol, when "Black Care rides behind the
horseman."
What a miserable affair it was, this pitiful acting of two poor,
leaden-hearted mortals, each hiding from each the desperate resolve
with smiles and jests that were more hitter than tears I For I, too, had
now my secret, and must needs preserve it with such a show of gaiety
as I could muster by sheer effort of will. The resolution of which I have
spoken was growing--growing, even as the toy that we were making
was growing towards completion, and as I seemed to see, as if
symbolized by it, the sands of destiny trickling out before my eyes. So I,
too, had my part to play in this harrowing comedy.
Works which have consumed much time in the doing have a way of
coming to an end with disconcerting suddenness. 'When I mixed the
acid for the "pickle." in the great earthenware pan, it seemed that a
great deal still remained to be done, in spite of my father's feverish
energy and swift dexterity. And then, but a few minutes later, as it
appeared to me, behold the finished piece standing on the bench its
embossed ornament telling boldly against the sulphur-browned
background, and my father stretching himself and wiping the blackened
oil from his hands; and it was borne in on me that, with the final touch,
his interest in the thing had fallen dead.
"Nunc dimittis!" he murmured. "It's finished at last. 'Now lettest Thou
Thy servant depart in peace.' And that reminds me, Jim; don't the shops
keep open late to-night?"

"Some of them do," I replied.
"Good," said he. "Tell Jessie to bring up the supper while I'm washing.
I've got to make a business call to-night, and I want to get some things,
so we won't make it a ceremonious meal. Not that I want to put you on
short allowance, for I expect you are hungry after your Titanic labours.
You mustn't take any notice of me."
As he hurried away, I rang the bell, and, when I had given the
necessary instructions, I went up to my bedroom to remove the traces
of the evening's work and make myself presentable.
At the supper table my father preserved the same quiet gaiety of
manner-- his usual manner, in fact; for he was always cheerful and
companionable-- though, on this occasion, the speed with which he
disposed of his food gave little opportunity for conversation. After a
very hurried meal, he rose, and, pushing back his chair, glanced at his
watch.
"You mustn't mind my running away," said he. "Time, tide and the
shopkeeper