WHEN BROWNE WOKE UP!
Page 13
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A Story with a Moral. By Hugo N. Bolton.
6 t HRISTMAS !" cried Hilyard Browne, of the Princes Garage. He was sitting in an easy chair before the fire one mid-December evening, and Mrs. Brcwne was engaged in mixing something in a glass. Perhaps it was Malted Milk ; but the electric light certainly gave the liquid a golden hue.
"What's Christmas ? Three years of war, and then you talk to me about Christmas presents ! Look here, my dear, you may as well know it soon as later— there's nothing left, in the motor trade nowadays. Yes, yes, I know we've got a bit of capital outside the garage—thank goodness we have ! But with a sovereign worth only 9s. 2d., according to the Trade Union people.—what's 2300 a year to live on ? Not much, eh?'
"I know, dear," said Mrs. Browne as she poured the boiling water into Hilyard's glass of—er—Malted Milk. "But things will look up soon, and, anyhow, the war can't last for ever, can it? I'm going to give you—'' "Give me ? " roared Hilya,rd. "I can't afford to give you anything at all, so, for heaven's sake, don't you start giving me presents," ' One of those Bruyere pipes that you've been want ing so long," Mrs. Browne continued, entirely ignoring the interruption. "And the girls have each got you half-a-pound of tobacco to smoke in it : Try this. Is it all right?"
Hilyard Browne took a careful sip. He had scalded his tongue with hot—er—Malted Milk before. "Quite right, my dear !" he said in a gentle tone.
'That sort of Malted, Milk certainly has a wonderfully soothing effect on a middle-aged man whose business has been shot to pieces by war-time conditions. I'll think the question of paesents over. Going up now, are you? Right you are ! I won't be long ! "
Another drink from the glass, his pipe.well filled and burning evenly, and Hilyard Browne lay back in his chair, enjoying the warmth of the fire without, the warmth of the—er—Malted Milk within.
Puffs at the pipe became slower and slower, and presently the pipe itself fell into his lap. Browne was asleep, and a smile came into evidence round the corners of his mouth. There was good reason for that smile, too, for Browne was dreaming that the war was over and business was normal— rather, business was abnormal. Never in its history had the Princes Garage been so busy, day in, day out. George was back again, Tom, Monty and Edgar, too, and three or four other men whom Browne did not recognize were busy washing cars. There were two new flappers in the office, and at least seven cars standing at the kerb. Browne looked at these cars casually, and then he looked again. That looked like an Austin, but somehow it was different. That big, blue ear—surely that was not a Sunbeam ! Still, somehow he could not get out of his head that it was of Sunbeam manufacture. Some of those small cars, too, standing further down the kerb—what were they ? They certainly were not Cakotts, Swifts, "[umbers, or, in fact, any light car he could recognize. His expert eye ran lovingly over their lines, and he said to himself that he must keep more in touch with the trade, otherwise he would be losing some good agencies for new cars. He walked down the garage, nodding right and left, and turned sharply to the right when he came out at the entrance. He walked some 25 or 30 yards down the road. This side of the road seemed to be almost filled by three or four big lorries, which hid the entrance to another garage headed "Princes Garage. Heavy Commercial Vehicle Department." Browne passed between the second and third lorry and went into the garage. Here was a busy scene. A solid tyre press was being operated expertly, and the drivers of the lorries stood by, exchanging chaffing remarks with the men engaged on working the press. Browne spoke to the drivers by name and made inquiries after their employers. Then he went into the office, and the man in charge joined him while they went into the matter of figures.
We have done very well this last month," said Browne when the sum totals were laid before him. "I never would have believed that the solid tyre business would have brought us such fine results, not only in selling and fitting of the actual tyres themselves, but getting us so much repair work in connection with heavy commercial vehicles," After a few minutes' 'chat in connection with the extension of the garage, Browne retraced his steps. The cars be had noticed in front of the kerb had all disappeared except two, but there were other cars in their places. There was one big touring car there with a long wheelbase, a very racy-looking car, and the driver emerged from the seat just a's Browne came off the 'tar.
"Why, hello, old chap ! " he asked. "How's business?"
" Fine ! " said Browne. "Never going so strong since I have been in business."
"You are glad, then," said the visitor, "that you kept the garage going right through the war, although things seemed pretty had about Christmas, 19177 You'll remember you were telling me then that you were of two minds as to whether or not you should close up and clear out of the business." , • • " That's true !" said Browne. "I am very glad that yea dropped in that afternoon and talked me out of such an absurd notion."
A lump of coal fell out of the fireplace with a bang, and Browne sat up in his chair with a jerk. He rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of both hands and put his hand ouflto catch hold of the glass that was standing on a chair beside him. To his surprise, he found that its contents were nearly cold. He had a vivid recollection of sipping it. gingerlyonly, he thought, a minute or so ago. Nevertheless, he finished off theer—Malted• Milk with considerably more satisfaction than one would have expected a middle-aged man to findtin so innocuous a drink. He stood up and stretched himself, and his eye fell on the clock.
"I must have been asleep," he said, and then the details of his dream came before him one after the other. He moved a small table from beside his chair to its ordinary position in the corner, gave the fire a rake-out, looked round the room to see that i everything was n order, and then moved towards the door. A cli,ck, and the room was in darkness. Whether or not the effect of his nap had not worn off, he did not succeed in completing his undressing as noiselessly as Usual, and Mrs. Browne woke up as some odd silver fell out of his trouser pocket.
"I thought you were never coming up,, dear," she said.
"To tell you the truth, my dear, I think I must have fallen asleep," said Browne rather Rhamef sic edly. "We were talking about Christmas presents just before you went up, weren't we? Well, as you say, things may improve any time, and, anyhow, the war can't last, for. ever. What would you like for a present, my dear, and what can we give the girls ?"
Mrs. Browne smiled that infinitely kindly smile with which a woman invariably favours the jdiosyncrasies of her own particular man. "Let's fix it up to-morrow," she said. "You dear old thing ; I am so glad you are feeling happier. You must have had a pleasant dream."