# Ainslee's Magazine/The Passing of Aunt Deborah

Extracted from Ainslee's magazine, March 1924, pp. 120–124. Title illustration omitted.
THE PASSING OF AUNT DEBORAH
BY
RALPH STOCK
“AUNTS interest me,” said Peter, dipping two long fingers and a shapely thumb into Dalton's jar of high-priced tobacco, and retrieving by instinct the precise amount necessary to fill his brier, “especially maiden aunts. They're a surprise packet; a mere nephew never really knows what they think or what they are going to do. A really successful maiden aunt combines in her personality the few sterling qualities of man together with all the unexpectness of woman. She knows, she—— Even other people's aunts interest me,” he ended thoughtfully, and we waited, mutely expectant, while he lit his pipe.
“I was thinking of Pritchard's,” he continued presently; “Pritchard, of Taviuni. I don't suppose you've ever heard of him, but he's something of a personality in Fiji these days. At that time he was the cheerful sort of idiot that the public schools turn out in battalions every year—no particular vices except a fondness for the company of his kind and a whole-souled detestation of work; and no particular virtues beyond an easy generosity, and a really remarkable leg break. It was this break that saved him from ruin at the start—if there is such a thing as ruin in a country where a man can live in comfort on fourpence a month.
“He had read Louis Becke, and had come to the islands with five hundred pounds to 'go in for trading,' 'midst 'swaying palms,' 'murmuring reefs,' and 'shimmering seas'; and the palms had swayed, the reefs murmured, and the seas shimmered to such effect that at the end of two months his cutter might have been seen—through the window of a diving helmet—neatly tucked away under twelve feet of shelving coral, with multicolored fish playing tag round three sacks of water-logged copra, and a safe containing one pound, four shillings, sixpence in silver.
“Pritchard was not the sort to drown. He swam two miles, crawled ashore at Bau, and surprised Ratu Kadavu Levu practicing at the nets in a white silk shirt, a pink silk tie, and a cream silk sulu.
“Pritchard began introducing himself in two-months-old Fijian until the grandson of King Thakabau asked him in a bored, hyper-English drawl, if his impediment were habitual or merely the effect of too long immersion in salt water.
Then followed lunch, and after it practice at the nets.
The first time Ratu Kadavu's wicket spread-eagled, he looked mildly surprised, the second pained, and the third interested, and if you can get a Fijian to display interest openly, you've got him. You may show him the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Bridge of Sighs, or even the Sydney town hall, and he will probably yawn, and make inquiries about the next meal, but show him something he doesn't know about cricket, and he's your friend for life.
“Ratu Kadavu was no exception. In fact it was the one ambition of his life to take the Fijian cricketers to England: so that in rather less than a month Pritchard found himself the owner of a native house and two hundred acres of jungle, on the one condition that he impart that leg break to the bowlers of the team.
“Now it happened that this two hundred acres of Pritchard's cut a wedge out of Craig's estate, which I was managing at the time, so I saw a good deal of him. He would roll out of bed about eight, make coffee on a spirit stove, and roll in again to sleep until ten or eleven; then, after a bath in the stream that ran almost past his door, he would wander out with a twenty-two rifle after pigeon, and return to the hammock on the veranda and lie in dirty ducks and a pajama jacket, dreaming about the work he was going to do in the near future.
“In the evening he would come over to my bungalow for advice, which he never took, and whisky, which he did. This went on until one evening I handed him a letter just arrived with mine from the coast. I watched Pritchard's face as he read it, and it seemed to me that he'd broken out into a cold sweat.
“'Good Lord!' he said softly, and then, again, 'Good Lord!'
“I waited developments; and they came.
“'Have you any maiden aunts?' he demanded.
“'Three,' said I.
“'That have lent you money?”
“'Yes?
“'That you've lost?'
“'I haven't lost them yet,' said I, 'but——'
“'You ass! I mean the money.'
“'Oh—ah; yes.'
“'And have you written and said how splendidly you're doing, and what a really great future there is before you if you only had a couple of hundred more to work the place as it should be worked?”
“'Of course I have,' said I.
“'Then perhaps,' wailed Pritchard with a hopeless outflinging of the hands, 'perhaps you can tell a fellow what he's to do when this same aunt—Deborah by name—whom he has always pictured as quietly mildewing in an English cathedral town, writes from Suva to say that she is on her way to see the nephew and the plantation she has heard so much about?'
“My eye wandered over our strip of three-year-old palms toward Pritchard's two hundred acres of virgin jungle, and if it hadn't been for the heat I think I should have laughed.
“'The only difficulty about the business is the “Deborah,” ' I told him, when the internal convulsion had passed. 'I never did like maiden aunts named Deborah.'
“'Then you have an idea?”
“Pritchard's tongue was literally hanging out, and I hadn't the heart to keep him in suspense.
“'I have,' said I; and when we had talked the big hand twice round the clock, Pritchard executed the Highland fling, with Fijian variations.
“I'll never be able to repay you for this, old man!' he yelped—and he never has.
“Aunt Deborah's advent was a trifle hurried. The Amra anchored off Vuna Point, and a copra punt came ashore with a gray-haired lady in glasses, and a delightful girl in pink, surrounded by a medley of brass-bound cabin trunks and nondescript feminine impedimenta.
“There were several whites as well as the usual horde of natives on the tiny wharf, and Pritchard elbowed his way through them as if some one had stolen his watch.
“'How are you? Let me introduce my overseer, Mr. Moreton. How d'you do?' This to the apparition in pink. 'Charmed. Yes, most picturesque, but we must hurry—looks uncommonly like rain. Yes, comes up in a minute, you know—horses waiting. There, is that right? Oh, the boys will bring the luggage. Now, just follow me.'
“And the next thing I have any clear recollection of was a devastating smile from the apparition as I rode beside her up the mountain road.
“Aunt Deborah was enthusiastic. 'Beautiful,' 'wonderful,' 'picturesque,' and 'fairylike' were some of the adjectives that floated back to us, and when the Craig estate's mountain bungalow hove in sight down an avenue of pandanus and coconut palms, she deliberately reined in her horse and gasped.
“'It's too wonderful, David!' she breathed. 'Too, too wonderful!' And I was beginning to think that perhaps it was. But Pritchard was ready.
“'I thought you'd like it,' he beamed. 'Bought it as a going concern—gift, absolute gift. Previous owner drank—went to pieces. I nursed him through three attacks, Took a fancy to me, and there you are!'
“Aunt Deborah murmured ecstatically, and we passed on to the house.
“My boys could cook, or they wouldn't have been my boys; also they waited 'on the run.' It was a fancy of mine, and amused our visitors no end. Everything amused them; the evening was a howling success from the soup to the moonlight and the gramaphone on the veranda; and when it was over, Pritchard and I exchanged mute thanksgiving over a well-earned night-cap.
“The next morning, after mummy apple, grilled saqa, and coffee, I was detailed to escort Aunt Deborah over the estate, while Pritchard rode ahead with the apparition. I could see only the back of his head, but by the occasional angle of it, I gathered that he was getting in some useful eye work: and this, I discovered from Aunt Deborah's attitude, was precisely as should have been.
“'I can hardly believe my eyes, Mr. Moreton,' she said with the happy laugh of a girl. 'Of course, you are David's friend, as well as his overseer, or I shouldn't mention it; but I never dreamed he had it in him to do what I can see he is doing here—such order, such splendid management! I can't help thinking he must owe a great deal to you,
“I smiled modestly, and said I hoped that I had been of use.
“'But work,' I added; 'good, solid work—steady endeavor—will accomplish anything. If you had seen your nephew stripped to the waist, with his boots full of perspiration, and his shirt a wet rag, you would understand. You may not credit it, but I have had to help David to bed more than once.' Which was perfectly true.
“'Dear, dear!' murmured Aunt Deborah.
“But just then my attention was attracted to the apparition. She had reined in her horse, and was pointing with her riding crop at Pritchard's native house, set in a tangle of scrub and creeping vine.
“'Isn't it pretty?' she called back at us. 'Just fancy, it belongs to a beach comber, one of those dear Robert Louis Stevenson men. Do you think we might call?'
“Pritchard was feverishly tugging at his absurd mustache.
“'Well, hardly a beach comber,' he stammered. 'Too far from the sea, you know—a sort of river comber—you know the kind of thing.'
“'Mayn't we just peep in?' insisted the apparition. 'I'm just dying to see a beach—I mean river comber.'
“I flung myself bodily into the breach.
“'I'm afraid not,' I advised in an undertone, 'He might not like it. Well-educated man—excellent family, I believe, but a waster. Drinks, too, and he's sensitive about it. The islands are full of such cases. “Mat fever,” we call it. Come along, or he may see us.'
“But the morning was marred. We had struck a note with that river comber that continued to vibrate throughout the day. Aunt Deborah was for reclamation, the apparition for anything that would give her a glimpse of a real, live 'comber' in his native lair. David's plantation sank into insignificance beside him, simply because the plantation was all that it should be, and the river comber not. There is nothing a woman detests like perfection; it leaves no room for her.
“'I think he's more to be pitied than blamed,' said Aunt Deborah; 'and I really wonder that, with all your success, David, you haven't done something for a less fortunate neighbor. At any rate, I intend to try.'
“In this I recognized the 'Deborah.' I had dreaded it; and here it was.
“'I love him,' said the apparition inconsequently.
“'It's no good,' I told Pritchard over the nightcap. 'We shall have to supply a river comber, or we shan't last out.'
“Hence the sudden abduction of one Tassy O'Connor from his corrugated iron humpy at Somo Somo, and his moonlight pilgrimage to the mountains, lured by the promise and part payment of a bottle of whisky.
“He was a true type of the present-day beach comber; beyond this, nothing need be said; and, after a rigorous priming, he was left in sole possession of Pritchard's grass house, and a carefully measured allowance of neat spirit.
“Exactly what went on inside that flimsy building the next day is known only to Aunt Deborah and Tassy O'Connor, for the apparition tired of the reclamation inside of an hour, pleaded a headache, and went pigeon shooting with Pritchard, returning late for dinner, with hair considerably mussed, and eyes shining.
“'One of the most interesting afternoons I have ever spent,' said Aunt Deborah. 'The man is full of humorous anecdote and useful information. He tells me that, given two hundred pounds, he could convert those few acres of jungle into a coconut plantation that would return five hundred pounds a year. I shall think about it.'
“Pritchard winced.
“'You don't mean to say——' he began.
“'I mean to say,' snapped his aunt, 'that you are altogether too hard on that man. Obviously he was a gentleman once; and it is not too much to hope that he may be one again; and if in any way I can help to bring the transformation about, I shall certainly do so. Already he has promised to try and give up the drink. Isn't that something—the thin end of the wedge? What he needs is a little capital to work on, an incentive—just as you did at first, David—and—I shall think about it.'
“'B—but——' Pritchard's mouth opened and shut impotently; then, realizing his helplessness, he confined himself to the main issue.
“'Did you give him any money today?' he asked in a strained voice.
“'Ten shillings,' replied his aunt, and Pritchard wilted in his chair.
“'River combers interest me intensely,' she added defiantly.
“'I love them,' said the apparition.
“'Tassy O'Connor with ten shillings in his pocket. Pritchard hissed into my ear as he turned the key in the back door an hour later. 'Keep your eye skinned!'
“But there was no need.
“About ten o'clock, to the accompaniment of the 'Blue Danube' waltz on the gramaphone, the river comber made a dramatic moonlight approach down the pandanus avenue. He carried Pritchard's pigeon rifle under one arm, and steered an erratic course among the deeper shadows, under the evident impression that they marked a yawning abyss. Out on the little patch of lawn he came to a halt, and stood swaying gently in the moonlight, while he surveyed the bungalow with marked disapproval.
“Tassy O'Connor was not a pleasant sight when he ran amuck—which was just as often as possible; six feet two in his naked, gnarled feet, with a shock of grizzled hair and a matted beard that unfortunately failed entirely to cover his face, a ragged shirt, moleskin trousers, and a filthy pith helmet, long since reduced to a shapeless pulp by the exigencies of life in the tropics.
“Come out into the open, ye crimson impostor!' he yelled.
“A house boy, emerging from the corner of the bungalow with a pail of water, promptly dropped it, and fled for his life.
“The gramaphone finished the 'Blue Danube' unattended, and continued to emit a monotonous scratching as the needle carved a new path in the virgin celluloid.
“'Mr. O'Connor,' came Aunt Deborah's voice in tremulous appeal, 'Mr. O'Connor, what can we do for you?'
“'Do for me?' roared the river comber. 'Do for me? I'll see about the doing for. I want what's mine—earned by the honest sweat of me brow this very afternoon, and I want it now, or by——'
“At this point Pritchard seemed to come to life.
“'You had better go inside,' he said in an authoritative undertone. The apparition had already taken the initiative.
“'What are you going to do?' bleated Aunt Deborah. 'I insist on knowing what you are going to do.'
“But for probably the first time in her life, insistence was of no avail. Pritchard hustled her bodily into the house, and slammed the door as a bullet crashed through the dining-room window.
“'Stand there, old man, and if I go under, don't let him in!' Such were my instructions, and for some reason—possibly surprise at receiving them from such a quarter—I obeyed.
“'Let's have a look at ye!' yelled O'Connor, brandishing the rifle as if it had been a wisp of straw. 'Deluder of innercent wimmin, pretender to the throne of Billy Craig! Come out of another man's house, ye scarlet trespasser——'
“And Pritchard went.
“There was something reminiscent of the early martyrs in his descent of the veranda steps.
“'Perhaps it would be better——' I began, but he took not the faintest notice.
“What followed on that strip of moonlit lawn I can see even now. Pritchard had reached the path, when a bullet shattered the window behind him; he ducked, ran on all fours for perhaps three yards, and sprang at O'Connor for all the world like a cat, receiving a blow in transit that should have stunned him.
“Then followed a wild waving of arms, a rifle shot, and muffled oaths, for Pritchard had grasped the brim of O'Connor's dilapidated helmet, and jerked it down over his face.
“The man's head was in a pulp-stuffed canvas bag, and Pritchard was gripping it under the chin for dear life, while the other struck blindly at his writhing body. The thing was accomplished so suddenly that for a moment I stood there like an idiot.
“'Rope!' he yelled, as he was swung off his feet for the third time, and in rather less than two minutes the river comber was a trussed bundle of ineffectual blasphemy.
“It was splendid. Even Aunt Deborah admitted that, while Pritchard lay back on the grass, feeling for teeth that were not there. All the stuffing seemed to have been knocked out of him—which was hardly surprising.
“'Do you still find river combing intensely interesting?' he queried faintly. But Aunt Deborah was dabbing his face with an eau-de-Cologne-soaked handkerchief.
“'And do you still love them?' But the apparition was smoothing the hair from his forehead with what struck me as experienced fingers.
“'Because if so,' he went on, still more faintly, 'there's one here who—can—do—with—both——'
“Then he fainted. And I know now that in the eleventh hour it had been vouchsafed to Pritchard to do the one thing required by Aunt Deborahs and apparitions the world over.”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1962, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 61 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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