Pictures and the Picturegoer (April - September 1915)

PICTURES AND THE PICTUREGOER 494 A WOODEN BOX zc. ■X" O Z B 3R, S UPPER was .over, and Alfred Eveleigh, alone in his den, prepared to J i 1 1 i — 1 1 his packing. To-morrow he was leaving Oxford tor ever. He had been there just two years, and had grown to Love every stone of the place. No more "rags" with his" pals," no more fun. no more anything but hard work until he had made his pile, and that lie had no doubt he could do! lie was a tine fellow and was loved by all who came in contact with him — rather short, but broadly built, with a candid, open face, and teeth that had won him the nickname of " Odol." His people had been big shippers in the North of England, but owing to bad speculation had failed. When the crash was over they went to live in Jersey, and soon after they had settled there his mother died. Alfred was at the Jesuits' College at the time. His fatherdetermined his son should have a good education — scraped and saved out of the little which remained, and eventually sent him to finish at Oxford, to study engineering. Now, however, his father was dead, therefore Alfred was obliged to "• come down " from College and fight for himself. Alfred sat a few moments thinking of all the kind tilings his pals had said in their speeches at supper that night. 'It was damned good of them," he said aloud. *' damned good, and I shall never forget them. It made me chokey or twice, but someday— yes. I know it will come— some day 1 will give them Hie best dinner the Ritz or the Savoy can serve." He moved about the room fondling and speaking to his few worldly goods as he packed them away. He took from a, side-table an old, "urionsly shaped mirror — a gift from lis dead mother-; kissed it tenderly, and laid it between tissue-paper in his trunk. Eere, an antique silver cigarette-box, gi\en to him by the only girl he ever loved, who had run away with another man. Here well, he gathered his trinkets and packed them all away. The last trunk was now ready for Wilkins to take to ihe station for the 95,30 to-morrow morning'. Alfred crossed the room to a cupboard and unlocked the door — tenderly, yes very tenderly— he took from it a, roll of papers and a small wooden box. and placed them on tin; table. His face glowed with excited pride as he stood Looking down upon this ordinary oblong WOl iilen I" >\ . lie placed a chair bj the table and sat. down, opened the roll of papers, and drew t he |i. .\ to him " So. I cannot work to-night" speakingas if to a child, then he closed the box and rolled up the papers " wait until we are settled in our [Jew home. and then it will he all work until yen arc complete, my l>caut.\ ! " rap at the door, and without waiting for a reply, a bright, tall, handsome youth of about twenty-six bounded into the room. "' 1 say. Eveleigh, are you really going! Why. what's up! What's in the box diamonds or gold — are you afraid?" Before Leslie Thomas had finished speaking Alfred had snatched up his beloved box and papers and vanished into his bedroom. When he returned he carefully h the door of his bedroom and put the key into his waistcoat-pocket. " What in the world is wrong with you, Eveleigh, did you think I had come to rob you? " asked Leslie. '"Oh! it's nothing, old man. lam a bit nervy to-night, you must not forget it's my last in these rooms. I've been packing hard, and well — I am terribly upset over the whole thing. I anticipated another year here," he said, as he languidly sat on the armchair by the fire. Leslie was by his side in a moment and slapped him on the back with his usual breezy manner. " Buck upi, old chap, we all have to finish our "rags ' here some time, you know! Look here, I came to ask if you would come to my rooms for a" final gargle ;' we have been great pals since you came here, and I want you to myself for half an hour before you " Righto, Leslie, I'll be with you in five minutes ; I'll just slip on my dressing-gown. You go to your room and I'll come along," responded Alfred. " Good boy, now don't be long," said w m k k nd i ng Skit. 25, 1915 Li slie, as &« sailed out of the r a breezilj as he came. In the bedroom Alfred took his precious wooden Ijox ana the roll of pa and locked them safely away in the suitcase, donned a purple dr t wn, and went to 1 1 00m t" have his last di ink at Oxford with his best 'hum. • « • • It is twelve months since Alfred left Oxford a bright, cheery fellow twenty-seven -and took up his qnarl in London, in a {• ip-back, combined 1 • in .Soho. What a change, what a difference in a mail in so short a time! < ' a strong, healthy, bright-faced fellow, and now —a miserable-looking wreck : his big, laughing eyes were sad and wildlooking, his cheeks hollow, his w! features drawn through overwork, si less nights, and want of wholesome t He had worked constantly night and day at the roll of papers and thecontents of the wooden box. The box contained dozens of curiously, shaped pieces of wood, which represented his wonderful invention, and now— now it was finished — finished. His fortune made, if only he could get the funds to purchase the tools and materials to make the working model of his wonderful machine — an apparatus that would photograph and reproduce sound as well as movement. The world would only need to see it work, and then — then * If only he could obtain the money ! He had approached all manni people, but no one would listen to him. Had he been well dressed, living in a fashionable quarter, and able to invite these people to dinner and discuss the matter over a bottle of wine they would have considered the question : but being practically without a penny, his cloi shabby, half-starved in hi S >m, the world turned its back on him. " Oh. God. I shall go mad ! " he shouted to himself as he paced his •■TO Till-: llKll! OV Till: HOUSE!" His grown cousin (Stewart Kernel refuses to drink to the heir (the boy), who has been at last discovered by the old Duke. A striking scene from The CurUxin's & . A Hepworttl Cjuality Exvlusive soon to be released.