HALF HER KINGDOM. A STORY OF STAGE AND TURF.

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 248, 18 October 1924, Page 40 (Supplement)

HALF HER KINGDOM. A STORY OF STAGE AND TURF.

By E. C. BULEY.

CHARACTERS IN THE STORY. lIALIMI HAKWOOn, n stem and solitary nan of 4.".. soured by the tragedy of his early domestic life. Having married a sweet and beautiful girl, while a poor man, he. ■was suddenly culled away to Mexico. He stayed there more than a year, returning a comparatively wcnllhy man. On his return he found his wife—or the woman he believed his wife—had disgraced herself. Harwood makes her a liberal allowance on themselves in England. His lire is wrecked bj the blow, and he lives only for success. GORDON HAHWOOD. a handsome, flery youth of twenty, who believes himself flarwood's sou. He thinks his mother a deeply wronged woman, and Ralph Harwood a flinty-hearted scoundrel, against whom any device, however unscrupulous, may fairly be employed. ELDKKD HENDON. a theatric-nl magrate, of Jewish extraction. The real father of Gordon Harwood, and Halph llarwood's lifelong enemy. LYDIA SOAMES. who calls herself I.ydla Ilarwood, the mother of Gordon Harwood, and really the sister of Ralph's dead wife. A bad woman, perennially beautiful, who lives an ambiguous life In I'aris, bleeding Ralph, who thinks her his wife. MARK WELLING, an American multimillionaire. Young, shrewd, kindly nt heart. A man who goes in for big thiugs In a big way. Races in the States aud In France, and owns more horses In training than any man in the world. DENIS BRAND, the champion jockey In England. Hides for Halph Harwood, and is one of the few human beings Halph really trusts. Loyal, honourable, aud —apart from bis profession—a simple-minded and modest young fellow. By chance he attends a second-rate theatrical performance In a dull seaside town, and falls in love with SYBIL CAHLING, a struggling and ambitious young singer, who is lighting for a place In the theatrical profession. Sybil Ik charmuig, talented, innocently gay. cenerous, and scornful of the more sordid side of her profession. She has been brought up by a weak woman, whom she calls auntie. THYLLIS HICKLINO, otherwise Auntie, was a chorus girl with Lydla Soames at the time when Ralph Uarwood was absent In America. A secret addict to the cocaine habit, by means of which Lydia holds her in her power. She suffers tortures If Lydla withholds the drug which she secretly supplies, In spite of Sybil's efforts to wean her Auntie from the habit. • HOW THE STORY PROCEEDS. The first instalment introduced DENIS BRAND, a jockey, and SYBIL CARLING, Denis is attending a poor show for the second time, to get another glimpse of tne Ctrl who has stirred hie difficult fancy. It is a half-holiday matinee, and at the conclusion of the show, the two ;irincip:il performers refuse to go on with the tour. The company is stranded. Denis intervenes to pay the fares of the chorus girls to London. He tries to slip modestly away, but Sybil catches him and expresses her warm gratitude. He finds that she. though n principal, is as destitute as they; and on lier need a romantic acquaintance begins. She accepts his help naturally. They havu a little dinner together; and before thej separate she Insists, as she cannot nt once repay the money, that he shall accept half of her worldly goods. They consist in one ticket in the Calcutta Derby Sweep, which has come into Sybil's possession because some stage comrade needed a pound even more than she did. Denis, too delicate to refuse, nnd feeling thnt anything which may bring them together again is worth having, takes her little written acknowledgment that half the ticket Is his. They go their ways, both already in love.

We now mfft UAI-ril HARWOOD, MARK WELLING and ELDRED HENDON. who are In the rooms of tlio Cei'ole nt Mop. They havo been the heaviest players ill the rooms, where play runs high. Welling proposes a oovel horse race He owua the best three-year-olde in America and France, Hendron owns the winter favourite for the Kpsom Derby, aud Harwood Iμ among the foremost owners on the British turf. Welling puts £"iO,OOO in a pool, and the others i'Wi.OOO each. Welling will run ii French horse nnd an American horse, and the other pair will each run an English horse. This race for £100,000 is to take place iv Paris In the autumn of the year. Sybil reappears dramatically, and The startling disclosure is made that Sybil's ticket has drawn the favourite for the Derby. Sybil writes to Denis to tell him the wonderful news, but the letter goes to Newmarket, and Denis Is at Newmarket. He only receives it after the race. Ilendon, working through O-ordon Harwood, has contrived to nobble Cold Button, llarwood's colt. In the rueo Gold Button, is beaten by, (Iraspan, aud It looks very much aa though the fault were due to Denis Brand, who seemed to have the race won. Next morning the sensation of the Derby Is the fact that a chorus girl has won the Calcutta sweep nnd fliU.Odi). The evening papers interview Sybil, who Innocently ami very honourably tells them the w.iudcrful news that one half the ticket belongs to her friend Denis Brand. The whole world naturally settles it that Denis pulled Gold button for the sake of EKWO. CHAPTER IV.—Continued. "For what followed, it would be hardly fair to blame Denis Brand too severely. He had endured an experience, calculated to unbalance any impulsive young man, however generous his natural feelings. A cruel blow had been struck at his personal honour and hia professional reputation; and he believed himself tricked and cheated by the girl who had sakl she loved him. In a passion of self justification he gave rein to all the unrelenting cruelty of youth. ''I want you to say,"' he said, facing the attentive pressmen, "That 1 am not to marry Miss Carling to-morrow, or on any other day. The story of the wedding, I assume, has been circulated by her press agent for publicity purposes. There is nothing in It. "My acquaintance with Mis? Carlinf! is a very slight one; so slight ihat 1 dit not even know she had drawn Cira.span in the Calcutta sweep. In fact, I had only met her twice, until to-day, wher I went to her box to complain of the association of my name with hers. "I want it to be understood very clearly that I have no interest of any Icind in the good fortune of Miss Carling. Our acquaintance is at an end; and to show you how casual it was, I may as well explain how I ever came to know her." In a few brief sentences, full of savage mockery, Denis related the incident oi the stranding of the '"Lucky Lou" company. It was all jam for his auditors, and gave more spice to the story thej had to dish up. "And the wedding story is all cod Denny?" one of them asked. "There was some joke about it,' , Denis answered. "And some jesting arrange. ment about sharing a sweep ticket Misi Carling held. But the matter has now become a serious one for mc; and I want

it clearly understoW tlat X do not benefit in any way by Misa Oafling's pood fortune. She is a c' arming young iaJy, and I congratulate her upon her luck, and her prospect of professional advancement, I can <"o so the more readily because I am not in any way connected with her successes." And so, bit by bit, the after-the-Derby pensation was pieced together. All unconscious of what was in store for her, *\ybil Carling had gone home, to make, hor preparations for ciearing up a misunderstanding which threatened to be fatal to her happiness. After a broken night's rest, the girl picked up the morning paper to see her own photograph staring at her from tlie principal news page. The headlines informed her that she was the luckiest girl in England, who had won a and the position of a musical comedy star, all in one brief day. With a gasp Sybil turned to the text and read Hendon's authoritative announcement. She waited to read no more, for r passion of fear and anger gripped her. She dressed hastily and hurried away to Hendon's office. Early as it was, Hendon was already at his desk. He had the untiring industry which enabled him to give personal attention to every detail of his numerous enterprises; and yet to appear on the racecourse with the air of a man of pleasure. Sybil was shown into his private office without any delay. "What does this mean, Mr. Hendon?" she asked without any preliminary. "What right have you to tell the newspapers that you have arranged to star mc?" Ilendon rose, smiling pleasantly. "It means about as much as it Kays." he replied. I have arranged to star you. Sit down, while we go into the details, I find—" "There is no need for mc to sit down," Sybil interrupted, striving to maintain control of herself. '"I came to tell you that you must correct your statement, for which you had no shadow of foundation. I shall not appear on the stage any more; I intend to marry. It is only fair, sincp you have circulated this false report, ; that you should see that it is corrected." i "You intend to marry?' mocked Hendon, "who is the happy man this time? I see Brand has been at greal pains to deny that it is he." "What do you mean?" Sybil demanded, her hand going to her bosom. "What , has he denied?" I "I am afraid you could not have read the papers very carefully," Hendon went on, smiling as he again motioned her to a chair. "Denis Brand has made a statement to the Press, which is worth your attention." i Sybil extended eager hands for the i paper, and subsidised into the scat he had placed for her. Hendon pointed out the report of the interview Denis had given, and then pretended to occupy himself with some papers, while Sybil read it. But he was watching the girl furtively; until she raised the paper to hide her blanched face. For live minutes he sat rustling his papers, and allowing time for the leaven of Denis , cruelty . to work. i "Now let us get to business," Hendon i said briskly. "This rumour of a planned wedding, of course, was the joke which • Brand says it was. Nobody shall ever j hear anything else from mc." I "Thank you," Sybil answered, in the most business-liko tones she could command. "As you guess, I am not likely i to be married after reading that, And

so, I suppose, I had better make the best of your oilier —if it really is an alTer, that is." "Oh, it's an offer, right enough," Hendon replied. "I have a contract already drawn, with only the terms blank. I thought it fair to give you a chance of investing some of your own money, if you cared to back the piece— and yourself. Or I can give you a salary of £00, fur the run of the piece, with an option in my favour to extend the contract for two years, if I see fit." "Why should I invest money?" Sybil asked, for the sake of saying something. She was striving with all her force to appear unconcerned and indifferent to the burning words she had just read. Her pride supported her generously, and her quick wits showed her that Hendon was offering her a way of escape from the public humiliation Denis had put upon her. But deep in her soul an aching pain tortured her; and Sybil knew Unit she would never escape that pang until her dying day. I 1 "The reason I invest money is to make more money," Hendon said. "You had better take the book and the musical score of the piece; and then back your judgment. If you believe in it, as 1 do, j you will see that I am offering you a line opportunity of getting rich. If you doubt ' the piece at all, we'll make it a salary, | nnd I'll keep the profile to myself. Is that fair:" "It sounds fair," Sybil said, taking J the roll he pushed across the table to her. "I ought, of course, to be overwhelmed with gratitude, but at present "Not at all; nut at all." Ilendon replied, waiving the suggestion. "It's a ■ business proposition. You always had the talent; now you have the publicity value. I couldn't allord to let you slip through my lingers. Try the stuff over, and let mc know how it strikes you. ! We can settle business details another . time." • Sybil escaped, clutching the roll of I music and script tight to her bosom. She I wanted to be alone; and to think. The picture of Sybil Carling, staring from the news page of the morning paper ' created si wave of interest at every I British breakfast table. "The Lucky I Chorus (Jirl." as Sybil was dubbed, was . generally pronounml to he as beautiful ' as she was fortunate. For Kldrcd Ilen- ' don had taken care to supply the newspapers witli a photograph which did Sybil no injustice. Mark Welling, waiting in bhn break-fast-room of the club for Harwood, whose company the young American sought with some impatience, studied the face with a puzzling frown. The expression was not what lie had expected; for neither the glint of satisfied vanity nor the fatuous self-satisfaction of the brainless beauty could be discovered in the photograph. "Say, Ilarwood," he began, as Ralph Harwood joined him at the table. "That jock, of yours has come back with a i flat denial of everything. He's not marrying the girl, and not going to benelit one red cent from her winnings. Sounds pretty genuine to mc." "Of course, if Hendon is pulling the strings," Harwood replied impatiently, "he would inspire Brand with a fairly plausible and convincing story." "Well, I'm a bit puzzled," the American went on. "This girl now. She's not the type I expected to see. She's easy to look at, of course; but there's more, to her than that. She's got character in her face, Harwood. I miss a guess if she's not a gritty girl, of a

pretty good kind. Too good to be mixed , up with Hendon in any roughneck busi- ' ness. Here, see for yourself." ; Harwood cast a careless glance at the : picture; then set the paper down with | an exclamation of pain. I "What is itY Welling asked. j His companion was grey to the lips, and his forehead was beaded with moisture. Welling did not fall into the blunder of supposing him to be suffering from some physical pain; for he divined that mental anguish caused Harwood to look so ghastly. Harwood poured himself a cup of coffee, and drank it mechanically in great gulps, never taking his eyes from the picture which, looked at him out of the newspaper. "You have seen her before somewhere,' , asked Welling, unable to endure the tense silence. "Excuse mc," Harwood replied, and left the table. Presently he returned with a faded photograph, which he compared with the picture of Sybil Carling. Finally he handed the two" to Welling, without saying a word. Mark Welling compared the two picture, casting an inquiring glance at his companion from time to time. "There's a general resemblance, Harj wood," he said, "if you are asking my , opinion. But they are women of different types. The girl Carling has more to her; she is self reliant and strongly capable. The other gentle lady is more beautiful, if anything; but she is one of the sweet, self-effacing women who were more common a generation ago than nowadays." Harwood laughed mirthlessly. I "Sweet and self-effacing!" He reI peatcd. "You are no physiognomist. Welling. That is a portrait, of my wife." Welling bent his bead. "Doadr" he asked sympathetically, ignoring the laugh. "To mc. At present she is living the life of a woman of fashion, in Paris, on an allowance I have made her ever since we parted, eighteen years ago." He uttered another harsh laugh, as he took tin- photograph placed it in his i pocket. Welling folded the paper up, I unci sought to change the subject. "I've seen that girl in the flesh." Harwood continued, ipnoring Wcllinji's attempt to discuss other matters. "We passed her outside Hendon's door, that day we arranged the triangular race. The strange resemblance struck mc then; it recurs with double force today. I wonder ... it would be like Hendon . . ." "I think you are imagining things," Welling said firmly. "There is a general resemblance; nothing more. Unless you have some reason for connecting this girl with . . . with your wife." "You've not heard the story, I suppose," Hurwood said, speaking with difficulty. "A man who has lived through my experience imagines everybody knows of his misfortunes. lam not in the habit of making confidences; quite the reverse. But there are circumstances ... if you would not object to hearing .about it." "If I can be of any assistance,"' Weiling murmured, amazed at the other's insistence. "1 married twenty years ago," Harwood began abruptly. "I was a struggling man, and chose what I considered a suitable wife. S,hc was a governess; an orphan. I had the idea that she was what she appeared, and what you judged from her photograph—a sweet woman whose one fault was that she put others before herself."

Welling turned aside bis head; the other man's repressed emotion was a painful thing to witness. "Business called mc away to Mexico, where I was to lay the foundation of I my fortune. I had to leave my wife j behind, for she was hoping to become a mother, Welling, or wo she made mc 'believe. I left her in comfortable circumstances, and whs absent in Mexico fifteen months. In all that time no letter from her reached mc, but I was not altogether surprised at that. I moved about a good deal, to places where letters seldom came. I returned to Kngland a made man, and full of the most plcasureable anticipations. I longed to take her in my arms—her, and the child i 1 hail never seen." ! llarwood paused, his eyes lowered, and his chest stirring to a. passion which had . lived with him for nearly twenty years. "She had left the house wo called home," Harwootl went on, "and moved to a fashionable seaside resort a hundred miles distant. 1 traced her there. She had a child three weeks old. Welling I —a boy. She laughed in my face when I approached her; she told mc that there had never been a child of my own. She bargained witli mc for monncy, daring mc to divorce her. Slip knew the scandal of it would be abhorrent to mc. I made my terms—that she should take her child out of England, and never return. When she has wanted money since, she lias known how to levy black-mail-heavy blackmail. I think that is all." "And you imagine that the child was not a boy, after all,"' Welling said, intent upon the connection of the story with Sybil Carling. Hurwood shook his head impatiently. : "The child was a boy," he said. "She , has brought him up to believe that I iam his father, and she a deeply-wronged woman. lie has written impudent, violent letters, claiming what lie calls his rights. Indeed, at this very moment lie is in London, I understand, preparing some fresh annoyance for mc. 1 have advised his mother of the possible con"Then this sirl—Sybil Carling?" Weiline pressed, 'how do you connect her it' l your wife?'" "There i-u.il be no connection, of course," Hnrwood admitted, "yet the likeness is remarkable; it coes deeper than you can know. Welling. It is strong enough to make mc recall the misery and wreck of my life. Tt is Ftronir enough to force mc to confide to you a story I have buried for so long. Stranae, that this girl, should have come from nowhere to cross mv life, with Hendon behind her. For llendon—" "Yes?" said Wo.llinir. for Harwood had ceased abruptly in his narrative. i "They both denied it."' llarwood said, "hut I obtained proof that, during my absence. Hendon was on intimate terms with mv wife." "Well," tlir> American BUlgestO ' briskly, "if this girl Sybil Purlin? di> turbs you, because of the likeness you think yon have discovered, it should not be difficult to find out who she really is. That would lie worth while, in order to save yourself such distress as (lie association of ideas naturally causes." "Be sure I'll do so.' , llarwood said, revertincr to his usual maniipr. "Now let's talk about something else." But the subject whs not so easily to i be dismissed. As Hurwood walked to I bis oflier, the face of Sybil Carling was i displayed on the newspaper posters nt i every turn. The editor of the "Couripr" rang him up, as soon as he was seated

at his desk, to consult him upon the urn to be made of the story in that days edition. . "Cut it short," directed Harwood, and ; closed the receiver with a bang. "A lady to see you, sir, on important business," announced his capable ethnographer, laying at the same tune a card before him: "Miss Sybil Carhng. Harwood resisted an impulse to bid the lady go to the devil. He twisted [he Lrdin his fingers, hesitating. A few tactful questions might banish all his unreasoning association of this girl with bis absent wife. "Show Miss Carling in," he directed, and placed a chair for Sybil where the light would fall upon her face. "Good morning," Miss Carting," he said grimly, having installed Sybil in this seat. "I can spare you five minutes. "My business should not take mc so lon-" Sybil answered. "I came to inform you that you have been shamefully unjust to Mr. Denis Brand. Harwood looked at her in reluctant admiration, out of hard, narrowed eyes. Welling was right. The girl had character She had come to the point with dignity, and with commendable directness. "You wish to restore the faith in your friend which his riding yesterday destroyed," Harwood suggested. "'I am afraid you will not succeed, Miss Carling; there is a limit even to luck bo good as yours." "He is no longer my friend," eaid Sybil in a low voice, which pulsed with suffering "We were to have been married to-day, Mr. Harwood, but now he publicly disowns my very acquaintance. You sec, he know nothing of what you choose to call my good luck. I kept it hidden from him. »« that ne ""f 4 be free to do his best for you, undisturbed by any other thought except that of his duty to you. The last friendly word he sa"id to mc was that it was his I highest ambition to win that race for you You must believe mc, Mr. Harwood. Ah! I see you do believe mc, ,in spite of yourself." (Continued next Saturday.)