The Great Race

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22166, 20 July 1935, Page 5 (Supplement)

The Great Race

They were along the back straight for the second lap, and Faulkner was looking worried. .More than once, as he 8-;rodo out with all his old grace and reach of limb, lie passed a hand over his forehead and shook h s head as if to clear it. He could see 110 sense in anything. He was too muddled atu', distressed. 'He knew only that he was oil the track and running automatically, with one man a yard ahead of him, and two more somewhere in the rear, and it seemed unlike his usual experience. The whole course of the race was upside down. Was he dreaming? If so, is was a nightmare. They started the third lap and he found himself passing the man who led him throughou*.. He henrd an almost wheezy straining for breath as he drew up. touched shoulders and strode out into the lead alone. And now the whole vast crowd were asking but one question. Faulkner had dropped Kingsbury isll right. But had that killed his chances? Blair-Smith had bee'n unflurried arid was running beautifully in third place: his restlessness had gone now that he was in action and his style was poetiQ. True he was a hundred yards back, but 110 man could hope to run the four laps at the pace at which Faulkner had so misguidedly set out. All round that third lap things stopped practically unaltered. Kingsbury, labouring, was dropping back all the time. Wandsborough was, still a comfortable fourth, and as Blair-Smith camo up and presently passed Kingsbury, the crowd could see that lie and Faulkner were moving into the front of the picture for a thrilling last lap that would never be forgotten.

Fiulkner was slowing up. It looked as though his stride were shortening. He looked across his shoulder dazedly, and saw a red-haired man. Blair-Smith was opening; out a little nil the time," and the distance between England and New Zealand was shortening. Mankel was racing about in distress and muttering: " He's beat . . . he's done for . . . he won' t hold on when that chap crowds on all he's got," Brownfield was getting ready to run the last fifty yards beside his man. Mr. Bruin looked like the President of a State, out alone in' the middle of the grass, his brows bent on the track, and his hands folded on his umbrella. At any moment now, control would snap, and he would- seize that umbrella, charge across the green and join in the mad rush of the Mew Zealand team, pacing Faulkner round. Along the back straight Blair-Smith was settling down to it in earnest. He was now only fifteen yards away, and here he challenged his man at last. A roar came from the crowd He's going up! Look at that running . . . well, run, boy . . . well run, well run!" Blair-Smith had the action of an artist and the soul of ono. He loved emotion ar.d the roar of a crowd. It spurred him on now and his spurt; was academic. Ho sprinted to the corper, and was close at Faulkner's back! Then some instinct broke through Faulkner's semi-consciousness telling him that something was expected of him. Always before he had challenged, and now a challenge was coming out of the blue and it was his turn to answer it. He had never before had to reply to a spurt of this sort. He had never been so pressed. But he did reply. Ho forced himself like a flogged horse to get back his lead. For a few moments they ran gloriously level, then it was seen that Blair-Smith was being beaten off. Ho dropped ono yard, another, a third. They were swinging round the last bend and now they realised that he had dropped back, only to collect himself. Blair-Smith clenched his Hands, and set his; teeth. Again, coming round that bend ho challenged, and this time he prolonged his spurt. The frenzied roar from the packed stands drove him on like a coming deluge. He knew Faulkner was beside him but-hb had no time to look. They were round the bend and entering the straight. He saw the tape ahead of him and he made a super-human effort to get another yard in front. Faulkner, who felt that ho was falling, held on as a man holds on by his fingertips.

Ho kept his chin and his chest still level with that red-haired nightmarish runner at his side. He had never known defeat and ho struggled subconsciously against it now. Tn those strides the crowd saw Blair-Smith slipping back inch by inch, and then, as they prepared for the fact that after all he had lost, they saw the boy call out at the critical moment of his life, tho last unspent ounce of endurance and for tho third time challenge. Tt was a, finish sonic men could not see and others dare not look at. BlairSmitb closed his eyes and put every nerve and sinew into it. Faulkner, still not realizing what was happening, running a race which lie himself would never remember taking part in, kept in tho hunt as if a man were behind him with a knife. In the last two strides, Blair-Smith flung himself forward, but he was not tho first to breast that tape. Faulkner Lad broken it a

By Hylton Cleaver

Chapter XV.—A Glorious Finish?

fraction of a stride ahead of him; ho took a lew agonised, unsteady strides 011 .. . swerved out on to tho grass and was caught in the arms of the New Zealandors. Only then did he recall that they had run alongside shouting in Ins ear, and only when he saw BlairSmith supported by another group did he come to tho mystified conclusion that he had done something important. There camo then bursting into the picture like an exuberant Teddy Bear, tho bounding, capering and hysterical figure of his benefactor. Mr. Bruin still wore a beard like heather but now it. seemed to be overcome by his smile, so that the smile was, in a manner of speaking, on top of the beard instead of being underneath it. His black hat, not.unlike the top of a giant tobacco jar, was in his fist and he was flourishing it in the air one moment and using it to fan Faulkner tho next. He was running from Blair-Smith to Faulkner and from Faulkner to Blair-Smith as if taking Valentines and bringing back the answer. A pleased timekeeper hurtled up to him and shouted in his ear that both men had broken tho record by two seconds and four-fifths. Mr. Bruin wont off into tho blue looking for someone to scream the news at! No faithful dog, delighted at tho homecoming of the family, scampered with greater gleo than Mr. Bruin. Ho was concerned 110 longer with three cheers for himself. He was occupied with giving them to everybody else. Somebody must bo chaired . . . but who ? There must bo healths drunk. . . . when . . . what in ... ? There must be speeches, presentations .. . cables .. . He tried to think of everything but could do nothing for himself. Spike passed with a look upon his battered face which Mr. Bruin took to be a smile.

The band was playing. The crowd were standing. Someone tapped Mr. Bruin on the arm. For one melodramatic moment Mr. Bruin believed that at long last his turn had come and that ho was to bo the subject of three cheers from the whole of this vast crowd. He stood there with his hat off, facing the crowd with pleasure, as if the sun were on his cheeks and he had nothing in this world to worry over now.

Then the reaJization gripped him with ft terrifying spasm of embarrassment i;hat this was not that sort of thing lit all. The crowd wero on their feet for another reason. They were singing God Save the King . . . Mr. Bruin, blushing to think what a fool he had made of himself, joined in with every intention of making up for it. He held his big black hat above his head and his - mouth opened and closed; from it came his own hoarse and hearty rendering of the national anthem with such zeal and devotion that he was practically leading the whole choir by himself. The singing ceased, and as hats were put back on bare heads, a man came hurrying across the open, ono finger raised and crooked and beckoning Mr. Bruin who fastened his eyes upon it. Then the man called and Mr. Bruin turned one ear towards him shielding it politely. I " Mr. Bruin, Mr. Bruin, please! At once ... at once, sir, please. Wanted Mr. Eruin, in the Royal Box, if you please . You have been asked for .. .

asked for specially ... to have the honour. . ." .Mr. Bruin had made so many mistakes of this sort that in this moment of his greatest triumph he was afraid to trust his ears. He blushed and paled, and siammered, but he did not move. . . . How could this be? It couldn't. Ho w is a struggling chemist from the provinces. He had come into money . . . and had been round tho empire on it—nothing else. Ho was no empirebuilder, scarcely a diplomat . . . was, in fact, often laughed at, as half-goofy. So snail ho was—so thickly bearded . . jS'o 0110 had even met him when ho arrived hero at Southhampton. If he had done anything at all it was because he had always thought so keenly of the British Empiro and his Flag— and Country. Ho hadn't minded much who won to-day . . . they were all one great family . . . such friends together . . . everyone had been so generous . . . Tho man tapped his arm impatiently. " Come, Mr. Bruin, please. . ." Mr. Bruin turned and went, stumbling, breathing a little hard, blushing, his hat removed long, long before ho got there, his heart in his boots and a, lump in his throat and his eyes nearly starting out of his head, while everybody in that vast crowd (his own boys, Spike, and everyone) stood stock still and watched him go . . . and then for sonio reason he could never understand, they started clapping . . . and the clapping grow. . . . Before ho could collect himself, there he was, bowing, and wishing the floor would open and swallow him up. Ho could not speak. Ho could not look. Ho only kept on bowing . . . and all tho time ho was wondering how ho should ever get away again in front of all these people . . . having to walk backwards and downstairs.