The Moon out of Reach. Margaret Pedler

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       And hearts may break that cry for the Moon,

       The silver Moon out of reach!

      But sometimes God on His great white Throne

       Looks down from the Heaven above,

       And lays in the hands that are empty

       The tremulous Star of Love.

      MARGARET PEDLER.

      NOTE:—Musical setting by Adrian Butt. Published by Edward Schuberth &

       Co., 11 East 22nd Street, New York.

THE MOON OUT OF REACH

       Table of Contents

      CHAPTER I

      THE SHINING SHIP

      She was kneeling on the hearthrug, grasping the poker firmly in one hand. Now and again she gave the fire a truculent prod with it as though to emphasise her remarks.

      "'Ask and ye shall receive'! … 'Tout vient à point à celui qui sait attendre'! Where on earth is there any foundation for such optimism, I'd like to know?"

      A sleek brown head bent determinedly above some sewing lifted itself, and a pair of amused eyes rested on the speaker.

      "Really, Nan, you mustn't confound French proverbs with quotations from the Scriptures. They're not at all the same thing."

      "Those two run on parallel lines, anyway. When I was a kiddie I used to pray—I've prayed for hours, and it wasn't through any lack of faith that my prayers weren't answered. On the contrary, I was enormously astonished to find how entirely the Almighty had overlooked my request for a white pony like the one at the circus."

      "Well, then, my dear, try to solace yourself with the fact that 'everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.'"

      "But it doesn't!"

      Penelope Craig reflected a moment.

      "Do you—know—how to wait?" she demanded, with a significant little accent on the word "know."

      "I've waited in vain. No white pony has ever come, and if it trotted in now—why, I don't want one any longer. I tell you, Penny"—tapping an emphatic forefinger on the other's knee—"you never get your wishes until you've out-grown them."

      "You've reached the mature age of three-and-twenty"—drily. "It's a trifle early to be so definite."

      "Not a bit! I want my wishes now, while I'm young and can enjoy them—lots of money, and amusement, and happiness! They'll be no good to me when I'm seventy or so!"

      "Even at seventy," remarked Penelope sagely, "wealth is better than poverty—much. And I can imagine amusement and happiness being quite desirable even at three score years and ten."

      Nan Davenant grimaced.

      "Philosophers," she observed, "are a highly irritating species."

      "But what do you want, my dear? You're always kicking against the pricks.

       What do you really want?"

      The coals slipped with a grumble in the grate and a blue flame shot up the chimney. Nan stretched out her hand for the matches and lit a cigarette. Then she blew a cloud of speculative smoke into the air.

      "I don't know," she said slowly. Adding whimsically: "I believe that's the root of the trouble."

      Penelope regarded her critically.

      "I'll tell you what's the matter," she returned. "During the war you lived on excitement—"

      "I worked jolly hard," interpolated Nan indignantly.

      The other's eyes softened.

      "I know you worked," she said quickly. "Like a brick. But all the same you did live on excitement—narrow shaves of death during air-raids, dances galore, and beautiful boys in khaki, home on leave in convenient rotation, to take you anywhere and everywhere. You felt you were working for them and they knew they were fighting for you, and the whole four years was just one pulsing, throbbing rush. Oh, I know! You were caught up into it just the same as the rest of the world, and now that it's over and normal existence is feebly struggling up to the surface again, you're all to pieces, hugely dissatisfied, like everyone else."

      "At least I'm in the fashion, then!"

      Penelope smiled briefly.

      "Small credit to you if you are," she retorted. "People are simply shirking work nowadays. And you're as bad as anyone. You've not tried to pick up the threads again—you're just idling round."

      "It's catching, I expect," temporised Nan beguilingly.

      But the lines on Penelope's face refused to relax.

      "It's because it's easier to play than to work," she replied with grim candour.

      "Don't scold, Penny." Nan brought the influence of a pair of appealing blue eyes to bear on the matter. "I really mean to begin work—soon."

      "When?" demanded the other searchingly.

      Nan's charming mouth, with its short, curved upper lip, widened into a smile of friendly mockery.

      "You don't expect me to supply you with the exact day and hour, do you? Don't be so fearfully precise, Penny! I can't run myself on railway time-table lines. You need never hope for it."

      "I don't"—shortly. Adding, with a twinkle: "Even I'm not quite such an optimist as that!"

      As she spoke, Penelope laid down her sewing and stretched cramped arms above her head.

      "At this point," she observed, "the House adjourned for tea. Nan, it's your week for domesticity. Go and make tea."

      Nan scrambled up from the hearthrug obediently and disappeared into the kitchen regions, while Penelope, curling herself up on a cushion in front of the fire, sat musing.

      For nearly six years now she and Nan had shared the flat they were living in. When they had first joined forces, Nan had been at the beginning of her career as a pianist and was still studying, while Penelope, her senior by five years, had already been before the public as a singer for some considerable time. With the outbreak of the war, they had both thrown themselves heartily into war work of various kinds, reserving only a certain portion of their time for professional purposes. The double work had proved a considerable strain on each of them, and now that the war was past it seemed as though Nan, at least, were incapable of getting a fresh grip on things.

      Luckily—or, from some points of view, unluckily—she was the recipient of an allowance of three hundred a year from a wealthy and benevolent uncle. Without this, the two girls might have СКАЧАТЬ