The Rhos Herald

lAm Bmøø Bssssym} The Hand BY JOHN FOSTER FRASEB, Author of A Woman of Fire," When Mary .1 Were Wed.' The Professor's idea," &c. The rain forced the woman to the side ot the street and she kept her shoulder close to the houses and nursed the shelter. They were loir-built two-storey houses, with the eavesgutter broken in places so that, every frOW and then, the woman had to move into the middle of the pavement to escape the spluttering plash. But whenever she could, she kept in to the wall. It was a dreary, grey anj, and the air was sodden. The woman did not heed. She was in black. It was not a mourning dress, but one evidently worn not to attract attention. There was a thick spotted veil hiding her features. This was unnecessary, for she kept her head down. Over the way was a high, stone-faced sul- len wall. It was well built, in great oblong blocks. But there was never a window nor a doorway—nothing but a long stretch of hor- rible soul-shiveriug bare wall. It was the wall of the prison. When the woman had passed the houses she came to a piece of waste land. Formerly ic was swampy, but these last twenty years it had been the tilting ground of all the rub- bish in the town. It was railed in, and at the far end of the waste was a chalky-faced and stoue-bnftered board warning that "tres- pasel"s will be prosecuted." No one took any notice oi it. As long as anybody in that shifting populace could remember, the youngsters of the neighbourhood had made that waste their playground. She never looked round, but splashed thrangii the mud to the far corner where, on a grassless knoll, was the gnarled trunk of a tree that never shed any leaves. It was the favourite spot for the little ones to play King of the castle." She had not been here for a week. It was late autumn, foggy, and chill, and she had spent a restless seven days in her lodgings, sick, and feeble, but determined to gain strength to again make her daily pilgrimage. A little exhausted with her walk, she sat down on the humped root of the tree that bulged from the hard beaten wet ground. She knew her cold would become worse in the damp. Her limbs ached and shook. She could not help it. The rain fell with a soft insistence as though it had always rained and would al- ways rain. The warehouses were shadowy in outline. The prison rose black and forbid- ding. Exactly from her position she could see ever the wall to higher buildings. There was a stunted tower with a bare flagstaff. She often looked at the flagstaff and shivered. It was where the black flag was hoisted when murderers paid the Behind the tower was a severe building with little square windows heavily barred. Ose-two-three-four-five-six-seven! Yes, it was the seventh window from the end she was looking at. It was not time yet for the signal. She J had come early in case of accident. She knew that from the little six inch ventilator in that window a hand would be pushed about four o'clock. It -would only be there for a few seconds. But/oh, it would IW. like.. a sign- from heaven, to -i Ier, It would be the hand of her husband, the hand of the man in whose love she had been sorely tried, the hand she had never kissed and fondled for over three long months. And there remained another three long months before he would be released. The woman watched the prison and thought. Sometimes she thought it was a dream imd that she- would wake up and laugh at all her terror and put out her arms and hold her hwsband to her breast. Loss than a year ago she was a bride, as I happy ins any woman m the land. And she married Jim—Jim, her king. She didn't know anything about business. She only knew her husband had to do with shipping and insurance and money matters. It had bee-JS Ms father's business, and Jim had taken it. True, long before he married her he had told her the business was not as good as it had been, that indeed, it was falling away. But he and she risked it and they were mar- ried. Then there came that day-that evening when they were at dinner. Two gentlemen, said the housemaid, had called to see him. And he was arrested and taken away in a eab. Poor, poor Jim! Jim never meant any harm. But, oh 2 at the trial, she thought th» sockets of her eyes would burn out. What terrible things were said about Jim. He had etood like ice in the dock while the judge spoke to him as though he were a cur. He sailed Jim a heartless scoundrel, a man who had insured a rotten ship for four times its value and sent it on a voyage to the Brazils, knowing it would bring him a fortune if it foundered. But the ship had been stopped and condemned before leaving the river. Thw judge said it was heartless, cruel, attempted murder. He sent Jim to prison for six calen- dar months. All this went through the woman's mind again and again and again. She recalled there had practically been no defence; only a plea for leniency because financial affairs had gone wrong with him. But she lacked the faculty of understanding how crime and her husband could be welded in one. When subsequently she was permitted to visit him in the prison he was completely broken. She had given him words of cheer and love. But he only said, "I could bear it but for you, Milly; it's harder for you, Mflly." One day there came to her a note from her husband, written with a lead pencil. It was a quick scrawl that if she visited the waste ground on the west side of the prison, in the far corner by the dead tree any afternoon at four o'clock, he would find an opportunity of waving his hand. She had marvelled often how that letter ever got out of the prison to her. How did her husband know about the waste ground and the dead tree? Perhaps some good- hearted prison warder had told him. Per- haps it was a warder who had actually posted the letter! Maybe it was a released prisoner who had done this kindness. She didn't know. She only knew the fact that, every afte-rnoon she had come there a !hand had appeared at the little window, shaken two or three times and then withdrawn. This last week, every day when four o'clock came round, she had suffered agonies at the idea the hand was shaking there hopefully, lovingly, yet to the air, for her eyes were not I there to see. It was a mockery to Jim. Ting-clang. Ting-clang: I That was a clock striking the half hour. It j was half-past three. She had half an hour to perhaps longer, before the hand up T" peared. It would only be for a moment. But it would be like a caress. Steadily fell the rain, enclosing everything in grey, misty mantle. She pulled her black cloak about her, for she was cold. She might have walked up and down. This would pro- bably have attracted attention. Suppose I any prison authorities had been watching I from those slit like windows in the stunted 1 tower? Better stay where she was and wait. The woman looked up and suddenly saw another woman. The other woman was slowly, slitheringly picking her way over the muddy path. She was lightly clad in short, fawn jacket, and there was a big red feather in her wide straw hat. She was holding her skirt up and showed low summer shoes and coloured stockings. She was a piece of be- draggled finery. Well, I'm struck," she exclaimed, when she saw the mute figure in black. A puzzled look came into her pretty but dissipated face. The nose was short and the lips were pouting and sensuous, and there was indolence in the blue eyes. Well, I'm struck," she said again as she drew nearer. Good afternoon, marm." Good afternoon," said Mrs. Blagdon, mildly. She wished the woman would go away. She was vulgar; she was over-dressed; she looked as though she had been drinking. "I never seed such a blessed day. Rain, rain, nothing but rain. I'll have to shake this feather afore the fire when I get 'ome, or all the bloomin' curl will be taken out oa it." She bent her head and shook herself like a dog that had emerged from a pond. They might 'ave stuck up a sort of shed 'ere to keep the rain off, don't you think, marm?'" "Mm-, it would be a good plan/' answered Mrs. Blagdon coldly. She sat still on the humped root, and the other woman stood in front, holding up her skirts, squelching the water out of her thin patent shoes. "Do you often come 'ere, marm?" and the little creature looked at her out of the cor- ner of her eye. Mrs. Blagdon felt the skin all over her body grow hot. She felt her heart go thump- thump-thump at being spoken to by a de- graded outcast like this. She saw on the woman's hand a lot of false jewellery. Yes, she had a wedding ring; but then- She was insulted by her familiarity. "I don't think that is a matter that can interest you," she replied in frozen words. Hoighty-toightv, and who *inay you be when you're at 'ome! Quite the toff, eh! Drop that, marm! You don't come out 'ere for the blessed air, do you? Got any friends about 'ere?" and she gave her head a signi- ficant jerk towards the prison. A scalding heat tingled over Mrs. Blag- I don s body. She was ashamed, and would that the ground could open and swallow her. She was rebellious, and would that she could have jumped at the throat of this woman and squeezed the life out of her for her infamous suggestion. But she only sat still, replying ¡' nothing, her eyes on the ground and her fin- ger nails biting into the sapless wood. "Lord, what's there to be ashamed on! I've done my bit of time myself. Oh, I say, yer needn't look at me with eyes like them. I ain't agoin' to rob you. Just a bit of off a conuter-an' I got two months for it, straight T I could 'ave bought mileil of stuff like thai. But there it was lying careless like on the counter, an,' says I, that'll do nice I ter go on my 'at ter go to Manchester races, an' in less than no time, quicker'n I could .see 1 it myself, it dropped nicc into my umbrella. But whnt eyes them private 'tees 'ave as walk them big shops. I was nabbfd; straight! I was nabbed as clean as a whistle. Two months' But that was nothin'; I could 'ave done it oil mv ITev-—hev——" and she again jerked her head in the direction of the prison, 'ave yer ever 'ad free bo:, rd lodgius yerself ?" She as V "No, I. have not," wisuered ?.lrs. in wrath, while a rush ox salt a U Kciu.iiuf? tears blinded hor. No I marm, no 'area, marsn ex- claimed the other with n, tnvch of ioi:n-.v' :v- tion. "I didn't mean no ';>v;n. Upou my dickey, I didn't. That's my way. I just a silk-tongued 'un, but I ain't—well, you just ask the bookies on the race courses of 'arf England about Tolly Simpson. They'll tell ver! Lord love yer, marm, I wouldn't 'arm a babby. Rough and ready, a drop too much now an' then and get!in' slewed a bit; but no 'arm, no bloomiu' 'arm about Polly Simpson, you bet." For awhile there was silence between the two women. U What's there to be ashamed of?" asked j the girl Polly again. I ain't ashamed. Its all in the course of life. Soine goes up and some comes down. Some is ligged and some isn't. Everybody knows as 'ow my old Joe I; is in there," and she gave another jerk of the head. There isn't a better husband than Joe Simpson nowheres, and I don't care where you pick. He's that liberal why, when things have gone well on the course— 'e'8 a bookie, you know-an' he's got a bag of money, why he'll buy jewellery and silks an' lor' knows what for me. You see my Joe on t' course with his big draught-board suit wi' the blue buttons an' the red silk topper, an' see 'is big fat jolly face, an' 'ear 'im shout, I lay the field,' ye'd say, that's the sort o' man fer me.' Mrs. Blagdon had a cold tremor gs through her. I "Yes, but 'e's that reckless is my Joe. This is the blessed number three turns of 'is doin' time for the bloomin' same thing. He do like a bit of sport, an' no kid. But 'e's a fair baby in business, an' 'e'll walk into a trap like a blind owl. First it was at the Seven Chimes, and then at the Peacock, and then at the Seven Chimes again. 'E would make a book in the bar parlour. An' as sure as you're sittin' there catchin' yer death o' cold, if there wasn't a plain clothes 'tee sit- tin' there sippin' 'is whisky like a suckin' dore, an' collars my Joe. Downright swindle I calls it, playin' pranks like them on an 'onest bookie havin' a bit of sport. Two months first time; three months second time, an' now six months this time. They might just as well- Ting-clang! Ting-clang Ting-cláng A quarter to four. The harsh ring of the bell met the ears of the women jarringly. There was something eerie as the sound shivered the damp air. The last clang was loth to die and shook long and mournfully. "This is a wet sviot to -ang about in, ain't it?" Mrs. Blagdon nodded Then she said, r' Yes,; it is." But she fretted at the pre- sence of this woman. Why didn't she go away? What right had she to come there and gloat over her? She didn't want to hear her vulgar pride in the low vices. Did she in- tend to stay on to torment her and pry into her secret and let her wicked eyes look upon the beloved hand of the best man in the world5 "Now, marm, straight, atween two women, ,IP. i what are Ter 'erf,, for?" asked Polly Simpson I inquisitively, holding her head over on one side. For an appreciable time Mrs. Blagdon made no anawet.. That has got nothing to do with jmi," she said, tarfJv. "'Oft, J •: r,1 i.-tfiruceuted tar ctm. 'liio.n swiftly sfes exclaimed. Look 'ere. Pals is pals, an' I sever tarns on a pal. Women 1', "stcytea., a.a' it doesn fc make no count whether its a or—or—or a woman like me. I ain't no bloomiu* fool. Yer 'ere about some bicomin' toff in quad. I'm telling yer; vcv sa», I knows. It ain't fun as brings a woman out 'ere. Yer can get as red as a bloomin' bit o° beetroot; I don't care. I'm tellin' yer. An' I'm tellin' yer what I'm 'ere for. I'm "ere on business. I'm 'ere ter see my bloomin' man, Joe Simpson. He'< besn ^ere afore, an' some on 'is best pals his been 'ere afore. I've come 'ere ter say c How fl'1 do' ter Joe, to pass the time 'o day, as it was wi' 'im. He can't see me, but 'e don't forget 'is Polly, not a little bit. He ain't a- known me these last eight year fer nothin'. He knows I'm as straight as they make 'em. You wait 'ere till the bloomin' clock strikes four and you'll see-well, you'll see som-j- thin'. You see them cells wi' the bars at the tack o* the tower. Well, you'll see my Joe put is bloomin' fist out o' one of the winders j an' wa-vo ter me, 'is wife. That's what you'll see." i Mrs. Blagdon broke into a shriek—a silent I shriek that died in her throat ere it was ut tered. A gasp escaped her hard skinned, white lips. But she sprang to her feet, her long lithe figure quivering with passion. Xou lie," she said, bitterly, you lie. How dare you come here and lie to me? God should strike you dead for such a lie. It's i not your swindling thieving Simpson who will put his hand out of the window. It wili be my husband, ray husband, do you her. What trick is this you would play ?" Now go, before the hate that is in my heart makes me strike you. I have listened enough to your drunken boasting. Now go Polly Simpson was dumb at this outburst. She staggered before the wrath of the other woman. Then she halted. She was a medium sized wiry worn fa, and her body as- sumed a crouching- attitude like that of a tiger before it springs. The easy sensuous- ness went from her lips. The eyes dilated, but for air instant, and then the' lids shut- tered till they were mere slits. "6o>r repeated MíHy Blagdon. echoed Polly Simpson, as though her ears had not heard aright, "You tell me to go? Yen-and who are you? You're a beauty, you are! And who are you the wife of? Not of a man nabbed in fair business, I lay a sov You look the wife of a man who could forge," and the woman threw a bitin-, eneer into the words. ° "You lie; you are a vulgar, low woman, and you lie," said the other, with a shake ;n her voice. "Mr. Blagdon is not a low crimi- nal." "Blagdon? The name of vour bloke is Blagdon!" Polly repeated the name as though she found a fresh interest in the pearance of Mrs. Blagdon. ologdon Then she his. "Do you mean that white- livered scoundrel Blagdon what got six months fer try in to make money bv drownin' sailors,? D'ye mean that cur?" Mrs. Blagdon quaked. There came a swift shot of fire from her eyes. But she said no- thing. She tried to speak. She didn't, for her mouth was dry and her tongue would not move. An* you tlunk you're somebody, an' ysm puts on airs, you—you the wife of a man what ain't good enough for hangin'. You want ter come the fine lady over me! Don't yer try it on; take my bioo-in' tip; don't yer try it OD. Polly Simpson is as 'andy with 'er dukes as she is with tonrue. Your man's 'and! Wouldn't 'e be afeared as the fire from 'eaven 'ud wither it if 'e put it into honest air? Your man's 'and! Don't yer think I know the 'and of my Joe? You bet! D've think I've come Jere these six days an' not know Joe's 'and wavin'. You hold yer chirp an' we'll see; we'll blessed soon see." Ting-clang Ting-clang! Ting-clang! Ting- clang It was the quarters striking. There was a pause during which the women forgot to breathe. Then metallic and shrill sounded the hour bell. One, two, three, four! It was four o'clock. Realising for the first time she was too far off to plainly discern the hand of her hus- band through the damp gloom, Mrs. Blag- don gave vent to a little cry. She ran for- ward over the he op of rubbish. But when she raised her head the great evil wall shut the row of windows from night. There was a pang at her heart as she saw this. She had an awful dread that in that brief interval the hand might have been shown and with- drawn. She turned round and ran back, ex- pecting to see vindictive glee on the face of .,t her rival. No; Polly had taken a step nearer the tree and was peering, with strained eyes, through the murk. She had forgotten the other woman. She too, had all a woman's passion, j She was waiting for Joe's band. She was waiting for Joe's hand. So the two women stood side by side watch- ing and waiting; and more eagerly watching. I How the time dragged! Was there to be nc sign? What had happened l' The pent breath of both women escaped with a gasp. A hand and half a forearm had been thrust from the ventilating pane in the seventh win- dow from the end. "God bless you, my Jim I" Good on yer, Joe I" The women recalled one another. They turned with hate hinting ia their eyes, and their lips were apart and pale. Their eyes went back to the hand again. It was slowly moviug. In the damp gloom it. could b. rd1 v be* ?. en The hand stopped moving. Then it moved again. Then it gave a wave, a good-bye shake, and was withdrawn. Polly Simpson' sighed heavily. "There," she triumphed, what was I tell- ing yer? Whrre'a- yer bloomin' Blagdon, the murderer, now? Piece of imperence, too, you standing there staring at what doesn't belong to yer. Anyways, now yer satisfied." Mrs. Blagdon stiffened, and her cheeks were like chalk, "Yon wretch; that was my husband. Don't I know isy husband's hand? Oh, you wrctch." Au' don't I know mine, eh?" asked Polly with darkening hr-ow, An' just a little less of that wretch,' business, please." Mrs. Blagdon's long suppressed excitement now jumped the boards. You are a wretch, she shrieked, hiss- ingly. Yen think that hand—oh, my poor Jim's, ha ad—was waved to you! You lie; you ars a cruel Mar." It was done. With furious heart Polly leaped forward. Her fist fell in swift blow on Mrs. Blagdoa's cheek. Mrs. Blagdon stuck out her arms, and with closed eye--A tore savagely. She felt the dull sting of finger nails tearing her face. There was a tug at her hair. There were choked, wrathful words. She fought back blindly. She fen 9)' the f»reasj ground and she tug- "C" ged and tore at the other woirrV? dress as she fell. She was stupefied. Sue wondered- what it all meant. "Yes, yon cat, you'll call me a liar agftix* will \"8,:?" Polly Simpson was standing over her, her t dt, >\or I;1 n'-f-hed and her Nor-ds coming^ between long gasps. You'll call sie a liar again, will yer?" She had her fin- g-er.3 crooked like talons ready to strike. ) You just call me a liar again." I' e' G.a, please, please," wailed the woman on the ground, please go away." "Yes, I'll go away, you cat. This 'as been an iriterestm' afternoon, ain't it? An' look yer 'ere, missis fine bird, don't yer let me catch yer poaching round 'ere any more afternoons. Y e' ears me' An' thousrh I ain't e-ot a 'usbaiii as tries to drown folks, rye got a good man. An' that was 'is blessed 'and—as though I didn't know 'is blessed 'and when I see. it." "Oh, why, why "Shut up; I'm on in this scene. 'An when yer murderin' 'usband comes out o' quad, i you tell 'im 'ow yer got those scratches. Now I'm going. You'll have time to cool your bloomin' self if yer sits there long enough." Polly Simpson went. She held up her torn bedraggled skirt- and picked her way across the mud. The grey mist swallowed her. Mrs. Blagdon sat on the wet ground. She didn't think to rise. She had been outraged. Jim, her husband, her beloved, had been out- raged. It had all been so low, so vulgar. 'In was And that woman—wasn't there a God in Heaven to punish women who lied? Slowly she rose. Her dress was all miry. She straightened her hat and pulled her thick veil over her burning cheeks. She felt sick and her limbs trembled. It was easier walking over the loose rub- bish than over the slippery path. Before she reached the street she stopped, took out her handkerchief, and wiped away some of the mud from her dress. Then she put the muddy handkerchief in her pocket and went on. There was nobody in the street. She was thankful for that. Some drunkard was sing- ing guttrally in the beer-house as she passed. Her feet were cold and damp. She uttered a prayer of blessing on the man behind that grim wall. She hoped the fire would be burning brightly in her lodg- ings.

tl \1B POMiMN'iS t.rju .'ht, any .hide. 3s. lb.—Loui* .1; l.-fii-v. rs'i. t'r-" v Lo'i-lon, W TO .V: Vr;pg. Iw-t :1':f¡l:1hIL 1J}/)\ eivinff the simplest '*trn -in i y- K" it ng nl (Ira i ev-rv kind of I 'A'OO I.F.N" ItARMHXT I'Oll BAHlEsi. efi.titl«d~ tWH LA I) VS HIP'S f KN1TTINO BOOK. T from f incy p'Vi 4 £ d., or -r-J !i uir n j*f (' e •. U.vLinVlN .v VLivr !mtte.l (Oopt. B), r f '■!H i .-ax. -r. r .m it 'd Wim'Ti -aill nut- 'ouvb tbnfc hav- ) 'i' -<l *it<' Cor msine T> G | R I' :il "<.<17.1.. p. p.i J {■' 'i wi:' not ij.r-uinsiH.iT* nnd prevent* I O i rn* nt «.< <51. -.1., 1-. I i.~ trou> •«.! 8 ti <••>!•••«. »>r di from I Arth\ r E. Hav/lrer, 59, M.irk 7,ondon. E C f t, pnv t T-' •«". •• p'v J f l"<AltS T i«, 9/ and 13, <s a liuivlv.l, <sir paid, V. Kx'- ;.t brait'is. pny- 1 «,<»n 5/«. 7' «•: 7 <" :iu:ire<! rf-t' <»< d<»li>1: Kanca v -r, minimum ii», by cross. P O. or r•. £ <■;we, H-. Js»rrA-4? 2". Av«ia,: des Klatrwie.is, _n_ Bi-u.vst: Belgium. ) 0 Art I (It IS THi BSvST .(-AUT!SIIT XiyxBJodnari. ^gjitpiv e-piorng,, SEW aoip.ioA aqj •apsj}. puq passAidap PUll pUll t:z mOlJ po.isjins pw paswdoop pajuad -dn F ',«o.iTf} stq iuo o<v.i !;soc-S 'n; 'esiBia rcinilLAl n0 isaubui bit.v ;.y •ojoAoi.n usp^s v uo uopn^t^sm <)111 p. TsfAaj put, 'Joq pro uv SBm. ao\i&oq jooiros A -31 purpay u JO doTTS^.TOA\. IT I O-J-ur u I Y, z -,j joj al-eS;a-a q-e ^usmuosudun (sqiuoiu oo>.it?j 0+ poouo^uas stiAv Xa^Avo^ uxurji^

MAKE YOUR OWN HAUl TONIC. A SPECIALIST'S ADVICE. In a recent issue the "Dr.ilv Mail of Lon. don published a special article un the caie of the hair in which was given the 'onn^ila for a home-)n:ide hair tonic that was hi^'ily r- iwu- in»>;ided for its remarkable ha:k'r.»*"ip- i) v- per ties, as well as for stonmng failing r, e- vitKiizing the hair roots, and dve-. r< ■■ ->g dandruff germ. This article was of :-v is; in- Wa_ terest to me, as the formula was one E, myealf, have seen used ill courtiers cases « h rnont astonishing beneift, thus c<>>irn ing ny belief that hoTw?-n:ade hair preparations a e the best. For the benefit r-f those who h ive not Been it before, I gif the formula herewith. Procure fvoi'.i vour chem:st a bottle containing three ounce*? of Bay Tium, o'-s omioe of Lavona de Compost (Smith's) and i drains Menthol Cryst:<ls. in the Bay K«m, and then add the i -ie Composee; shake thoroughly and apply nig::t and morning to the roots of the hair, nibbing into the scalp with the finsr-r tips. This pre- paration contains no colouring b :t reo 8t"r'' gry hA.:r 10 it. ilrigi:.aJ CD' )1.1' ;'¡ action on the hair ro,,tt. If von d'-Hi-e i> r- fum^-d. add half a r-jwrnful of Frerx F<<« F1 '-nr perfume, which combines perfeerlv with fie other ingredients, and iuyparts a met I. ¡\sÍ!: g scent. (Do not appl" where hatr ix not de*i■•••d.)

SPARE TDIE EMPI-OYML-XT. rIOOD If o,.N-LY to be either "t, I Anyone can ll. I'er:u-.nellt bUi\j"i<, is, and jnwmfi KtJ insumnc or book ouivass;?. F." !i>se :1', "d. pn'')op" for p»Tticn]i!g.—Sales Manager, Frankfyn'- i.td., 2A0. H jfU ll'dbora. W.C. •

Semolina and Currant Pudding.—Put two ounces of semolina to soak in warm milk. Mix well in a basin with one ounce of finely- chopped beef suet, two ounces of currants, and one ounce of sugar. Add one pint of boiled milk. Pour the mixture in a buttered pie-dish, and bake slowly for about an hour. Do not use tea much force in polishinr shoes. A gentle brushing with a soft brusft is better than tlie vigorous work of the boot- black. Never allow a thick crust of blacking on your shoes. Wash it off occasionally, an apply" a little castor oil; then polish over ia an hour or two. If mothers would make short-sleeved, loos# flannel waists for children to wear under the first spring dresses, many colds might be prevented. These are also useful on cool days in summer and in the autumn before it is cold enough for winter flannels or heavy dresees. They take the place of an extra outside garment which alwavs hampers a child.