HERO.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 224, 21 September 1935, Page 7 (Supplement)

HERO.

Byiiiii Agnes L. Winskell.

PART n. "Edgar!" Stephen' was determined. His voice, though quiet, held a depth of meaning as lie stepped before his friend to bar the latter's way. "Try to leave this room with that money, and I'll knock you down!" The champion boxer of school days gave a spft laugh. "Try it on, Stephen," he invited. "I fancy, though, that it won't be mc who'll come to much harm!" The tone of patient amusement in Edgar's voice aroused Stephen's anger. As the other tried to push roughly past him he let out with his fist, sending the unwary Edgar spinning into the room, io crash, with no little disturbance, into a small table.

Edgar righted himself, glancing nervously about the room, before liis livid countenance faced Stephen again, black eyes gleaming anger.

"You fool!" Stephen paled at the viciousness of the outburst, and there passed through his mind on the instant the wonder that he had ever made such a boy his friend. "Do you want to bring dad here? Get out of the way!" The savagely lunged body sent Stephen staggering helplessly out on to the balcony, but his hand instinctively clutched at the two canvas bags, his tightly gripping fingers withstanding Edgar's fierce tugs.

With the latter's breathless gasps the only sound between them, their stamping feet making little noise on the concrete balcony, the two boys struggled silently. The verandah above shielded them from the rain and the wind, which had surprisingly now almost abated.

There was a sudden sound—that of the vicar and Marty conversing loudly in the hall. Edgar heard it and increased his vigour to obtain possession of the bags. Stephen's keen ears caught the vicar's parting words: "So don't forget, will you, Marty? In the morning will do." And the servant's assuring reply, "No sir, I'll remember. Good-night, sir!" Then silence.

Stephen raised his startled gaze to meet Edgar's desperate, fear-stricken eyes.

"Go! Quickly, Edgar!" he advised urgently, although his hold on the bags remained as firm as ever. Then wildly: "Quickly! Do you want your father to find you here like this?"

Edgar made no answer, but his eyes gleamed smouldering fire. He struggled, panting, with increased strength, but the cough that echoed from the hall was perilously near. He released his hold, terror lending him speed as he jumped the rail and on to the top rung of the ladder. As to Stephen, his relief knew no bounds, although his heart was pounding madly as he threw a swift glance into the room. And the door handle! It was turning . . . He darted to the edge of the balcony, to see the ladder swing outwards and downwards, and a boy and his burden vanish, a shadow among shadows. "Stephen!" v Stephen swung round at the surprised voice. The vicar's calm eyes travelled from the desk to the canvas bags in the boy's hand, from there to the open casement and back again. They lingered' unbelievably on the money bags, and Stephen, stepping into the room and mechanically closing the casement behind him, numbly followed his glance. His whole body was stunned. He was about to speak, but a persistent voice within him demanded attention. "Are you going to give Edgar away? After all he has been your friend! What are you going to say 1" The last words seemed to be shouted at him and Stephen realised that he did not know! But surely—the vicar couldn't believe — not that he—not .. . But yes, the deep set, thoughtful eyes were accusing—reproachfully it was true —but cruelly accusing.

Stephen could not stay the flush that swept his face, could not keep his own eyes meeting those cold, steady ones. They dropped—condemningly! He tried to speak, but no words came; some part of him that demanded justice wanted to explain, to say the easy words: "Vicar Manly, I haven't tried to steal from you! It was somebody else—it was —"

But no, he couldn't give Edgar away! To hurt Edgar that way meant wounding the vicar still more • —and the vicar had been his greatest and kindest friend.

"Well, Stephen, I'm waiting." The man's - voice • was now quietly calm, resigned. "Haven't you anything you want to say 1" £*tephen could have laughed. For another aspect of the problem had presented itself —his mother!_ She, who was already laid on a sick bed, it would kill her to find her son accused —a thief! And besides, there was his painting. It meant so much that if the vicar should refuse his aid .. . Stephen reached a quick decision. He must betray Edgar! Edgar must pay! Vicar Manly broke in before he could speak. » "Then I am to take this silence as a confession of guilt?" He paused, then his vwee droned dully, disappointedly. "I am s 9 rl T' Stephen. You could not have hurt me more had you been my own son!

The hysterical mirth bubbled up in Stephen again, to give place quickly to a heavy depression. It was going to be hard —hard to tell him. . .

"Whatever possessed you, Stephen ? Won't you tell me?'' And now he spoke softly, pleadingly. "But perhaps you are thinking of your painting. \ I had forgotten. You may rely on me, Stephen, disappointed though I am, to keep my word—to help you until you have attained success!" Stephen looked up ijuick.ly. Then he found his first words. "You'll keep it from mother?" he faltered, "and—and Edgar?" The vicar looked at him in surprise. "Edgar?" he echoed. "But, of course, he is your friend. lam glad to nee that you have at least a little shame. As to your mother, I wotild not give her such pain." The relief made Stephen reel. He could stand the shame of the vicar's lost faith in him, if no one else knew. For the vicar to know his son as a thief! It would be too cruel! And Vicar Manly had been so kind . . . The room was growing dizzy. The beautiful pictures adorning the library walls seemed to be turning round and round.

"I'm sorry, sir," Stephen said thickly, "sor-ry." The words trailed away into nothing as Stephen fell in a dead faint, the contents of the money bags jingling evilly as they dropped heavily beside him. Vicar Manly studied the huddled form, his soul wracked with pity. "A thief," he thought sadly, "and at heart a weakling and a coward as well." And only He, who knows all things, and to Whom all men owe life, knew that an ambition had been realised, and that Stephen was a hero, after all! (THE END.)