SHORT STORY COMPETITION.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 264, 7 November 1935, Page 27

SHORT STORY COMPETITION.

NOVEMBER AWARD.

\ The first prize in the "Star" Short Story Competition for this j \ month goes to M. Nation for the story "The Bridge Parly." \

THE BRIDGE PARTY.

(By M. NATION.)

Uliss Baker bu.=tled importantly about W small flat. *he was giving a little fcridee party—just a four—that evening, And despite her 40-odd years, the young Wood tingled doliciously in her veins at the pleasantly disturbing thought that contrary to the usual custom, the fourth player was to be a man. Hitherto the quartet had been comTwsed solely of women, but on this occaSon the rule was to be relaxed. Mrs. Prunvmond, a recent acquaintance, had ■willingly accepted the invitation to a eame°of bridge, at the same time asking if she might bring her brother.

"Such a dear," she said, "just a nice, simple country fellow. He farms miles away in the backblocks and, being a widowe-, leads rather a lonely life. There is nothing he enjoys more than a good game of cards." And so it was arranged and one must forgive Miss Baker if all manner of foofish and romantic notions flitted through her head as she happily busied herseff about her domestic duties. Romance dies hard in a woman, and though the fact of her single blessedness did not disturb her unduly, and she found life a pleasant and amusing adventure notwithstanding, there still lurked in the back of her mind a faint but persistent hope that some day her soul-mate would materialise. Absurd, you say? Not at all. Don't we all live on hope and aren't we all perfectly well aware in the innermost recesses of our brains that in all probability our dreams will end in smoke? Force of circumstances, however, ordained that at present Miss Baker should live alone save for the company of a large black cat —"Budge," so called "because," as she pathetically explained to two friends, "he simply won't." Which meant that, once having firmly-planted himself in a chosen spot, nothing short of force would induce him to remove himself. That spot was usually a.most inconvenient one. The top of the piano in the sitting room at present claimed his fancy. Other cats doubtless were content to curl cosily and decoratively before the fire, contributing a charming domestic touch to a room, and purring in a pleasing manner when stroked —not so Budge. He preferred the cold, hard surface of the piano top to the downiest of cushions or the softest of rugs, and was to be found in his hours of ease reclining in stately fashion between an atrocious photograph of his mistress taken at the age of ten and a simpering Dresden china shepherdess, for Miss Baker was old-fashioned enough to cling with tenacity to the pernicious Victorian habit of loading a piano with .useless knick-knacks.." :.','"'. . '~.-•

Thus it 'will be observed that Budge

■understood women. He had, in his kittenhbod, quietly taken stock of Miss Baker and mastered her. He rarely relaxed from his sheik-like and contemptuous treatment of her and, accordingly, eha.washis abject slave. Td'day, however, Miss Baker's thoughts were far removed from Budge aid his eccentricities. She pondered deeply on the important subject of the brjdge party. Only one cloud marred the sunny horizon—the fact that she had .been compelled to invite as the fourth player a woman whom she cordially detested. iW people aroused such feelings of antipathy in her. She was herself a fiibst charitable and lovable woman, definitely belonging to the category which includes those women classed as "dears," whereas just as definitely Mrs. Russell belonged to the genus known as "eats." But she was undoubtedly an

excellent card player, and it was this * characteristic that had decided Miss Biker, albeit most reluctantly, to invito her.

• ''So long as all goes well, and that wretched woman finds nothing to criticise, ' I shall be content," she said to herself, mentally vowing that nothing should go wrong. "I shall dress first, then prepare the. 1 supper," and she marched resolutely into her bedroom, gazing into the mirror purposefully. A . comely face looked back at her, fresh comp'lexioned, clear blue eyes, hair becomingly grey on the temples. Alas, that hair! In an age of curls and waves, corrugations and rolls, Miss Baker's hair remained distressingly straight, hanging limply on either side of her face, uncompromisingly un-modern. True, sho could have remedied matters by a visit to the nearest beauty salon, there to endure the tortures of a permanent wave, but that was an extravagance which she could not bring herself to permit. She knew only too well the quagmire of expense in which the unwary seeker after curls found herself — ever-recurring shampoos,. interminable settings. No, her income, adequate for her modest everyday needs, would not nut to these extravagances. So she clung to the old-fashioned curlers—queer little metal cylinders, round*which the hair was tightly wound, each one owning, what appeared to.be a species of miniature poker, which, when heated and driven firmly into the hollow provided for it, remained in place until removed. And what an amazing appearance the head of Miss Baker presented when the last curler was thankfully put in place!' Bristling fiercely, for all the world like a field of small eteel machine guns, the metal caught the rays of the setting sun streaming into the*bedroom and gave to the peaceful lady a positively warlike aspect. One might have imagined that a Lilliputian battle was in progress, the. light artillery spitting balcfully across her scalp. But tho willing victim, slipping on her black marocain frock, smoothing it over the hips, snapping the clasp of her pearl necklace, saw no cause for ribald laughter. She knew only too well how completely satisfying the result would he, when, having endured an hour's compulsory imprisonment, the tortured locks

were. at last released from bondage, with what gaiety they would riot over ler head, seeming in their thankfulness for freedom to be doing their utmost to present an engaging appearance! Glancing at the clock, Miss i Baker hurriedly donned an overall and entered the kitchen, immaculate in its primrose yellow paint and blue-checked curtains, for the next step towards a successful evening—the supper. Arming herself with a formidable knife sharpened to the last degree of efficiency, she cut thin shavings from a loaf, placing an asparagus stalk in the centre of each slice, then with a practised hand rolled the wafer-like bread; finishing with a firm pinch at one end, thus obviating any risk of disaster

should the filling feel inclined to slide from its covering. Laying aside the implements of her labour she gazed with pardonable pride at her handiwork. There they lay in their silver dish, two rows of tiny arum lilies, an asparagus tip, delicately green, protruding from each apex, matching to a nicety the spring-like colouring of the small crisp lettuce leaves which nestled around them.

Xext, the cream for the sponge cake must bo whipped, and in consideration of the fact that one of the male sex was to be present, she gaily slipped a thimbleful of rum into the frothing concoction. The savoury biscuits, like miniature boats, wore each given a sail of cream cheese, with a morsel of dark green olive for a passenger.

These delicacies took their rightful place on the second storey of the tea wagon, expectantly awaiting its load nearby. The upper storey was already occupied by the tea service, the caddy of China tea, the small discs of sliced lemon on their yellow dish. Over all was flung a square of organdie muslin, lavishly encrusted at the corners with embroidered violets.

Invented and christened by some tinknown benefactor to womankind, and known as a "throw-over," articles of this type were much in favour amongst tho .fiat-dwellers, and frequently presented the solution of many an acute anniversary problem.

Trundling her clanking burden up the passage and into the sitting room, Miss Baker thankfully reflected for tho thousandth time on the blessing of these time savers. Why, she had merely to wheel it into a corner, where it would unobtrusively remain, discreetly veiled as any bride, until the moment when the electric kettle should be boiling, when it would be brought forward, its covering removed and its glory revealed to the eyes of the guests.

On entering the sitting room she anxiously glanced at the piano, hoping against hope that Budge had forgotten his present mania and would not shame her by spending the evening in his favourite elevated position. Alas! he was already ensconced there, peering from between the ornaments, his green eyes shining uncannily, one ear adorned by a large yellow chrysanthemum drooping from an adjacent vase. This imparted a somewhat rakish air to his usual decorous appearance.

"Oh, darling," she said helplessly, "why can't you be normal and behave like other cats?"

Her gaze wandered to the clock. It was later than she had expected and sho quickly put a match to the fire, taking up a magazine while waiting for it to burn up. The heading of an article, "How to bo slim though forty," immediately engaged her attention. She sank into a chair—became absorbed.

Slnulderingly she read of the dire resultof "careless "diet, and of injudicious over-indulgence in cakes, in sweets, in everything, in fact, dear to the plump woman's heart. Mercilessly it attacked the potato. A sinister vegetable, according to the writer, there was no end to its iniquities. Miss Baker felt guilty. No drink addict, struggling against his besetting sin, ever fought more valiantly or less successfully than she did in her war against the insidious charm of the potato. She read some more about its crimes—the evils it perpetrates with its superabundance of starch; its amazing capacity for moulding, with diabolical cunning, and deftly as any sculptor, rounded contours where they were least welcome.

"Moreover," warned the writer, malevolently, "should the woman in her forties persist in clinging to the pernicious potato habit—" A bell shrilled through the silence and she was recalled to tho present and to the fact that her guests had already arrived, surely unusually early, and were even now at the door or the little hall.

Tearing off her overall, she quickly thrust it into ambush behind a convenient couch, and hastened to tho door. There stood Mrs. Drummond, accompanied by her brother, both full of apologies for their early arrival. "Dear Miss Baker, forgive our overpunctuality. We had no idea the car would make such good time or that we should find you so easily," she said. Then, turning to her brother, "I want you and Miss Baker to be good friends. You are both such keen bridge players that you should have plenty of interests in common."

As they entered the sitting room Miss Baker had her first clear view of John Marsden. Was she to be blamed if her heart beat a little more quickly than usual and a delicate flush spread over her cheeks? He looked so kind; such twinkling blue eyes, such a bronzed face and genial hand-shake! As they took their seats by the fire she could not help noticing that he seemed unable to take his eyes oif her —positively if he hadn't been so Well mannered one would have called it a stare. Most disconcerting! Could it be—Miss Baker was not a conceited woman —but there was such a thing as love at first sight —could it possibly be that he — "Don't be ridiculous, Caroline," she apostrophised herself sternly and turned resolutely, to Mrs. Drummond. That lady, contrary to her usual pleasing custom, was being rather tiresome, apologising once again, with quite unnecessary vehemence, for arriving before the appointed time. "Just go on with what you were doing when we came, dear," she said; "leave us here and we shall be quite happy entertaining each other until your other guest arrives." "Nonsense, nonsense," laughed the hostess. "I was merely sitting by the fire reading an interesting article —nothing more important I assure you," and she inwardly prayed for the speedy arrival of Mrs. Russell, who lived in the opposite flat. Once tho game began all would be well ( and these trying people would have something to occupy their minds. She began to talk rather quickly and nervously, determinedly taking no notice of the somewhat unusual behaviour of her guests, who seemed so ill at' ease that she began to wonder whether some disaster had occurred on their outward journey.

I Bitdgo created a diversion by stretching and yawning, and by the time his mistress had apologetically explained his unusual and eccentric habits 'she heard with thankfulness the footsteps of Mrs. Kussell crossing the corridor.

For the first time in their acquaintance her welcome of that unpopular lady was genuine.

"Come straight in," she cried, going to meet her at the door, and leading her in. "We are longing to begin on our game. I hope you are in your usual good form to-night, and will put up a stiff fight against your opponents."

As she made the necessary introductions she noticed with surprise that Mrs. Russell seemed to share in the universal air of discomfort that pervaded her other guests. What could be upsetting them? Really, it was too absurd. She marshalled them determinedly towards the bridge table and her thoughts ran riot. Should she ask them point blank if anything untoward had occurred, or should she leave things as they were, trusting that, once immersed in the game, they would forget any little disturbance that had perhaps happened before they left homo?

And yet why should Mrs. Russell show signs of discomfort? She surely could not also be the. victim of some disaster—such a coincidence would be most unusual.

Sho raised her hand to her worried brow and as sho did so an expression of amazement, followed by one of horror crossed her face as the awful, the devastating truth dawned upon her consciousness—

Sho had forgotten to remove her curlers!

There are certain occasions in everyone's life which do not bear dwelling upon. Caroline Baker was never able to think of the tragic beginning of that evening without shuddering.

When sho discovered the reason of her guests' discomfiture, she hysterically muttered an excuse and fled. Gaining the sanctuary of her bedroom the first thing that mot her eyes was her own absurd reflection in the mirror. As she gazed in fascinated dismay, two tears welled up and rolled unchecked down her cheeks. In a flash she realised the excellent opportunity afforded to Mrs. Russell to indulge in her favourite occupatioii of gossip and ridicule. She visualised the lady paying a round of visits among the flat-dwellers the next day, regaling each one with the delicious tit-bit. She would certainly make an amusing story of it! And her other guests, what must they think of her? What a fool she had made of herself! ITer little bridge party seemed doomed to failure from its very commencement. She longed, how she longed, to give' way to the very feminine instinct which prompted her to fling herself on her bed, bury her head in the pillows and weep unrestrainedly.

But indulgence in such luxuries was not for her. Miss Baker was a soldier's daughter. She was game. The blood of her intrepid ancestors flowed strongly in her veins. On the present distressing occasion, when she was on the verge of surrender, memories of the talcs she had heard of their undaunted courage came to her aid, causing her shoulders to straighten, her backbono to stiffen. She wasn't going to let a stupid mishap upset her—not she.

Flinging back her head (now mercifully restored to its normal appearance) she marched resolutely back to her guests.

"Dear people, here I am, and you must admit that my present appearance is an improvement on my last," she cried gaily; then turning to Marsden, "you of course can't be expected to sympathise with me. Your hair never required artificial encouragement, you lucky man," and she gazed with open admiration at the ripples of his closelycut hair. "It is most unfair, ifen't it, that a woman should be cursed with straight hair and a man should possess those alluring waves?" She laughed up at him with such good humour that he felt a thrill of admiration for the pluckylittle woman who was so gallantly carrying off what must have been a most annoying mistake. He had not failed to notice the tell-tale signs of tears nor the slight trembling of the hands that were dealing out the cards so deftly.

"At all events the result fully justifies the trouble," he replied, smiling across the table at her, and indeed Miss Baker, lashing herself into feverish gaiety, a hectic spot of colour in each cheek, her hair fluffed out riotously over her head, had never looked so attractive. With the courage of desperation she plunged into the game, chattered entertainingly between the hands, and played quite brilliantly, taking risks she would not have dreamed of doing in her saner moments.

John Marsden became decidedly interested. They laughed and joked like old friends, and Miss Baker would have been less than human had She not now and then cast a triumphant glance at the discomfited Mrs. Russell, who .might say what she liked the next day about the hair curler contretemps, but would have to admit that her hostess was still capable of attracting a really nice man. At last the evening came to an end, and as farewells were being exchanged, who so happy as she when Marsden, clasping her hand firmly in his, set her heart beating tumultuously as he murmured the tender inquiry, "When may I see you again?" "All the same," remarked Caroline Baker grimly to herself as she switched off her bedside lamp that night, "tomorrow I ehall make an appointment for the most elaborate permanent wave procurable, and," turning over comfortably on her side, "hang the expense!"