THE PEDESTRIAN

New Zealand Mail, 27 August 1902, Page 10

THE PEDESTRIAN

(.By G. Vincent-Hoiytoivn.)

CHAPTER I. When the Reverend Horace Melvin, D.D., equipped his son Victor for tha battle of life, it was perhaps natural that he should choose for him such weapons as those with which he himself had fought, and thus it came about that when the boy merged into the man his chief mental armaments were Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and some other similar branches of comparatively tiseiul knowledge. Had Victor Melvin followed his father’s example and living wish, this somewhat ponderous panoply of erudition would have been very useful indeed, not to say indispensable; but unfortunately for himself, if not for the public and the profession, Victor Melvin, Artium Magister, possessed no taste whatever tor the ministry. In vain did the worthy father strive to create that taste; equally in vain did the dutiful son strive to acquire it; yet neither relaxed his striving towards the goal cf the father's ambition till Hoiace Melvin lay upon his deathbed, and realised that the end was near. “Victor,” my boy,” murmured the old man huskily, “come close to me. I have something to tell you.” The sen bent down, and the dying man snoke—

'•’My sen, I gni leaving you for a rime, and if I asked you to fulfil what has been, my dearest earthly wish by entering the ministry, would you do it?” “Y'ou know I would, dad,” faltered ike young man bravely. A gleam of paternal joy illuminated the wistful features of the dying divine. “Yes, my lad, I know you won Id. _ but I do not wish it new. I was blind :o attempt the shaping of your future ihu , and only now I see that the great cause of religion has no need for pressed men. I no longer seek to fetter your career by any wish ci mine. Your path through life may lie through pdeasant places or through environs of the most sordid kind, but however prosperity or poverty may cause yc-u to rise or sink in tbe estimation of the world, remember, Victor, to be a man, and whatsoever thy hand findeth tc do, do it with thy might. . Geod-fcye, Victor, the great Master ;s calling me . . The tremulous lips were silent .now, for the spirit of Horace Melvin had rendered willing obedience to the summons, and thus it came about that the young student of divinity was thrown upon the world indifferently provided for and incongruously equipped for the practical battle of life. The sudden, abandonment of his intended career, and the stern necessity of doing something for a living, induced Victor Melvin to enter the service of the Imperial Bank cf Scotland, Limited, and in one cf that highly respectable company's branches he went through a praiseworthy course of genteel starvation for four years. At the end of this period, he found himself a full-blown c;eik, with a princely Income of £6O per annum, and the prospect of advancement by rapid strides of AiO every three years or so, until he reached .£l5O. by which time fee might reasonably expect to die. The young man, however, did. not repine at his lack of money; fee did not, in fact, realise his abject poverty until fee fell in love with Maijory Lisle. Then only did he grasp the insignificance of the pittance- fee earned, and the utter hopelessness of a junior bank employee where money and marriage were concerned, but Mallory smiled on him. and her smile fired him with an exalted ambition to make the one and propose the other. While there was c-ertamly great diSeuity in knowing how to start moneymaking, It was obvious that the most important preliminary was to cut feis connection with the bank, to which step he was daily goaded by the petty tyrannies Indicted on him by feis immediate sen;or, Philip Brierly, the accountant. This man afforded a striking instance on » small scale of “’man’s inhumanity to man,” never missing an of trampling on the feelings €>i his subordinate by means of every malicious meanness, insult and slight that bis paitrv ie*> lossy and spite could suggest-

to ;„cli an individual, a perfect right to tread upon everyone lower than himself in tll£ SOClfll SCtllP* _ j I Under all these circumstance*. therefore? one may easily imagine Melvin s anxiety to quit the service ot the ImSl with its poor pay and prospects, and simultaneously to free himself fiom the persecutions of Brierly and to coinrner.ce carving out for himself some vague but pleasant path to fortune and liappiSLV But Melvin, with all these intentions', was yet painfully aware that to thiow up his situation, with no definite prospects of anything, elsem view, would ' simplv bean indiscretion that might make matters worse instead of bett x, and he paused ere ho leaped into, the dark. The poise of circumstances, however, rvas such that the merest incident thrown into the balance would end Jus hesitation aru l swing him into action regardless of consequences. The incident was inevitable but when it. did occur, was so overwhelming in its nature as to develop events with startling suddenness. Fortuitously or by design, Brierly becune Melvin’s rival in the affections of Marjory Lisle. She was inconsiderate enough to allow herself to be poisoned against Melvin by Brierly’s specious tongue and lying trickery. She passed Victor Melvin in the street without recognition, and his letter ef appeal was returned unopened. Filled with indignation and despair, he set out for the young ladv’s house. As he approached the door lie saw Brierly handing her into a cab, presumably bound for some place of entertainment. Bitter thoughts surged into Melvin’s distracted brain, and were voiced in the words he murmured to himself —

“Tie can afford such tilings,. I can’t. His money buys her favour. Until I can bid higher than he my suit is hopeless, and 1 cannot bid until I find the money, monev, money.” The jingle of the word seemed to fascinate him as he softly repeated it again and again. He stopped short in Ins walk and watched the cab drive away; then turning abruptly, he strode off in another direction, muttering as he did so—“I will go-and find the money.” . . -

Tbe streets- were quiet and the night was dark. Not even a solitary star shone forth, and Victor Melvin mentallycompared the darkness vUth that of Ins own inward night, unrelieved even by that star of Hope, his love for Marjory Lisle, obscured .amid the blackness of his despair. . . . Out of the town, along the country road, on through the long night, recklessly, almost aimlesslystalked an athletic figure. It was Victor Melvin seeking fortune aud happiness as a madman might.

The staff of the Imperial Bank of Scotland, Limited, was to he one man short next morning. By a curious coincidence the golden specie of the branch was also found to be short next morning—to the extent • of JE2OOO.

The bank felt positively annoyed about it. A mere man missing was nothing. They could buy men or; the hire-purchase system for a pound a week anywhere, lint gold had intiinsic value, and the Bank felt justified in getting a warrant issued for the arrest of Victor Melvin.

CHATTEL 11. . If the fugitive was fleeing from justice he was taking the very best method of eluding that purblind personality. The police might watch railway systems, stations, and trains for .a day or so with laudable vigour and problematical success, but they could scarcely be expec- ■ ted to keep an eye on every radiating road and patch of landscape in the country. Especially not when they knew,what will inevitably have struck every banking official who reads: these lines—viz., that a man carrying ,£2OOO in gold, or a weight of smnething like three stone, t could travel neither fast nor far on his -feet. Hence we deduce that Victor Mel. : ,vin, in his weird, mad, unmetlioclic pedestriaiiism, did not carry the missing specie, and was therefore hot the r thief.. In Vj 1 ? a j 6n 0 Watery of the matter,, the gold had not necessarily gone amiss-' mg in the slump, although its. loss tvSSJ discovered all at once. Thefdisclosurewas a perfectly natural occurrence coin-' cident with and lesulting phj the ’disappearance of Victor Melvin, -and though it was customary in the’lmperial, as in many ether banks, for every member of the staff, from the agent down fo the apprentices, to handle or intromit cash, with equal-freedom; it was obvious that blame could only be allocated to the missing man.

He, poor foolish fellow, knew naught of the cloud that was doomed to descend on his name, and doubtless at tbe time he would have cared as little had he known, for his brain was a seething volcano of passionate thoughts and chimericnl imaginings. The ieast nebulous of these ideas, and doubtless the best under the circumstances, was a vehement desire tor self-effacement, an obliteration, a veritable burning up of the timid, hesitating Victor Melvin of the past, and a irnoenix-like rising from his ashes of a re-created Victor Melvin, who would be adventurous, strong, successful. Under this revwrscent process what might he not. become? He puzzled vaguely for a onlv u th i? self-set query, but tbe wa? bought ho could frame in answer "Ah! Who. shall'tell?” * *

etr ° de till the early hours of vlirl »li he turned in fo a farm,cllin^ed into a stack of hay. half u-flk a< ? pa i't of its length chopped fortabfJ down ’ Making himself as comdremuiL p ° n ssiblc > h « fell into the tired, heabb i Bleep • of Perfect physical was will awak iuff when another day farm-hoL« v, anC «: d * 'j? ro f eedinff to tlle and w ’ ! he offorod to buy some milk, wanted 01l] y received as grucli as he to mrfaf ree, i! k u .t was hospitably forced and of a hearty meal. Refreshed vigorous, he resumed his journey,

and when another night fell he made, a more conventional sojourn in a modest village inn. Dawn was just breaking when he again sallied forth on his strange, indefinite travel. He could have given himself no reasons for it other than the joy lie felt in being quit of the shackles cf the Bank and the persecuting presence of Brierly; In the glorious balm of morning he revelled in'his liberty and obscurity. He was going to start a new chapter'of life, unfettered, untrammelled, free Half-a-niile from the village a sharp bend in the road brought him in sudden proximity to a waggonette, from which a mysterious quartette of men near by had obviously alighted. They were certainly not country folk, and their very presence, in this lonely spot at such an early hour awoke Melvin’s curiosity, and seeing they were in trouble of some sort lie loitered up to them. Three of them were grouped sympathetically around the fourth, who sat at the roadside nursing an injured ankle. His boyish and somewhat common face was white with pain, but his features were stoically inflexible.

“ ’E sprained it gettin’ out o’ the trap,” was^ the explanation volunteered lo Melvin by one of the group, a florid-coinplex-ioned, hearty-looking individual, whose gorgeous light suit proclaimed him to be a professional sporting man. ‘ r A;re yer sufferin’ much. Chicken ?” queried another of his companions anxiously.

“Oh! choke off yer grieff,” snapped the grateful Chicken, "yer fice would .make any man suffer. I cau bear pine, but I cawn’t abide pity.” “Don’t molest ’im. Jeeves,” intervened the sporting gent discouraging]}*, “yer knows as ’ow Chicken ’ates fuss.”

‘•All right. Mi - ’lggins,” replied the suppressed Jeeves, adding resignedly, “I ’spect that there .trial spin’ll ’ave ter be pos’poned." Mr Higgins nodded his head in gloomy acquiescence. - "M’yes,” he admitted sorrowfully, "it seems like it. Trinket can’t run for nuts unless ’e ’as some ’un in front ter pull ’im out.” The man .who couldn’t run for nuts listened to clie criticism unmoved. He was a lanky youth of 23. who seemed to have been built expressly for speed, although, according to Mr Higgins, lie had his little failings, and'was clearly aware of them.

"Mebbe this gentleman ’u’d oblige,” he suggested, indicating the interested Melvin.

•Mr Higgins took up the suggestion with unfeigned alacrity. "Would yer care ter be trial ’oss. sir, for a ’undred an’ twenty yards spin with this man ’ere. Yer see, sir, it’s like this. Me an’ Jeeves, 'is trainer, wants ter know ter an inch w’at Trinket can do afore 1 puts down the money on Tm, the w'ich we trusts ter do in a certain little ’andicap some o’ these dyes. Well, we drives miles an’ miles ter this ’ere secluded spot, w'tre no ’liman eye can freeze on ter our gyme, as we thinks, an’ then Chicken skips out o’ the trap incautiouslike, sprains ’is ankle, an entire stranger appears ’wot lio’ upon the scene, an’ the ’oie thing’s in the soup—unless,” concluded Mr Higgins persuasively, "unless that stranger ’u’d condescend ter ’elp us out if we make it worth ’is while.”

"I’ll oblige you with great pleasure,” responded Melvin heartily, "but I am afraid my running won’t be up to much. I’ve done little or nothing at it since I left the University five years ago ” “That don’t matter, sir,” intervened the delighted sport, “Yer’ll go off five yards start from Trinket, an,’ stay in front as far as yer can; Trinket ’ll get ’is speed up catchin’ yer. I’ll give yer a quid for yer trouble, win or lose, an’ ter put some life in yer, I’ll make it ten if yer can keep ahead all the way.” Trinket smiled faintly as he reflected on the amount of "life” his friendly opponent would require to beat him— Trinket the fast man—off five in the "hundred and twenty.” Melvin entered into the spirit of the affair with a zest which was heightened by the prospect, of the promised sovereign, a sum', "by the way, that would more than double liis slender store. Melvirq was supplied with the unfortunate, .Chickieii’s spiked shoes, and outfit, and'both men stripped for the fray, while .Mr. Higgins and Jeeves measured off the,'distance and the start on -suitable ground, stretched a piece of •worsted across the finish, and made all other business-like preparations for the trial.

A When all was in readiness, Mr Higgins and his satellite, Jeeves, produced their stop-watches and posted themselves at the tape, whereupon the lame but useful Chicken fired the pistol, and started the race.

The result was staggering. Up to 20 yards from home Trinket’s most desperate efforts completely failed to lessen the gap between Melvin and himself, and though in a final terrific rush upon the tape the professional reduced the five yards to less than one, it was obvious that want of training on the part of the novice w)as chiefly responsible for his fading' pace, and the defeat of the flyer was none the less decisive.

"Well, Tin blowed,” he remarked, somewhat truthfully, as he stood gasping while his employer and trainer anxiously compared the tell-tale dials of their chronographs. "It’s all right, Trinket,” said Mr Higgins, jubilantly, at length, "Yer ’ave been an’ done three yards outside evens —a yard better’n ever yer did—an’ that’s all because yer ’ad a runner in front o’ yer a-sliowin’ yer on’ ter run,” and turning to Melvin, he continued—"An’ that reminds hie, that I’m apayin’ over on number ’oisted. That number’s yer’n, an’. Josiah ’lggings is a man of ’is word, ’e is.” Mr Higgins drew out a haudfuTof gold and counting out ten sovereigns, he handed them over with an airy flourish to the delighted Melvin, who could scarcely credit his own good fortune. "I don’t know 'oo or wot yer are, mister,” continued Mr Higgins chattily, "an’ I’m not awskin’, mind yer, for I’m a gentleman, I am; but wot I say is that yer have missed yer purfession, w’ich is runnin’. I know yer not a purfessional runner yer see, because I know every runner that can really run in the Bri-

tisli Hisles. x vails yer a hundiscovered gem—a good man, without a repytation, an’ it’s only men without repytations as can make anything worth torkin’ erbout. W’y if yer was discreet erbout it, could make thousands ",

“Do you think so, sir F” queried Melvin with marvellous interest.

“I knows it, sir,” replied Mr Higgins with emphasis ere he rattled on. "Now, take Trinket there. ’E’s a. runner with a repytation; everybody knows ’e’s a flyer; ’e’s 'andicapped out o’ races so as 'e’s uo manner o’ use, an’ '*e ’as ter keep on findin’ yards for 'isself ter win, an’ no cert at that; ’e exposed his form inju-dicious-like ter the public at the bgginnin’ o’ his career, an’ as a consekence 'e’s been burdened with a repytation ever since.”

The man with the reputation shook his head sadly as he reflected on the vanity of fame and its meagre results in hard cash. Melvin made up his mind with a rush, and spoke it. "If I knew how to set about the business, I’cl be a professional runner right away ■” "Yer would,” exclaimed Mr Higgins rapturously. “Then Josiah Higgins is the man as’ll take yer in 'and. I say, chaps,” he concluded, as he beamed upon his retinue, “I thinks as ’ow we’ve got a rod in pickle for ’em now. By the way, mister, wot name shall pie call yer,” and Victor Melvin threw away his identity, as he promptly answered, "R, I. Pickle.”

A CHAPTER 111. More than a year had elapsed since Josiah Higgins’s protege had embarked on the Career of a professional sprinter, and though the name of R. I. Pickle was familiar enough on the race cards of pedestrian meetings held here and there through England, his reputation as a runner was still to make. He turned out frequently, ran his heat, and invar«bly got knocked out first round. If er his name was alluded to, it was to marvel that Old Joss kept him, and continued to throw away money backing him, for it was a well-known fact that Mr Higgins had backed him for tidy, little; sums on more than one occasion. Old Joss didn’t make a secret of it, and, indeed, he couldn’t, for the bookies Knew to their advantage that he had invested money on Pickle time ana time again, only to lose it. The punting public, never keen to back a man who invariably showed poor form, had long since consigned Pickle to oblivion. They preferred to back such men as Chicken, of Lambeth, Trinket, of Durham, and other such-like cracks, who gave them a good run, plenty of excitement, and an occasional win for their money. Handicappers felt justified in giving the unfortunate, but persevering, Pickle a chance, and his'-start had risen with his nonsuccess quarter-yard by half-yard, till he was well over half-limit. Pickle was considered safe not to win. All this was very curious, considering that in private practice Pickle could give Trinket a yard in 130 and a beating; but, nevertheless, the fact remained that Pickle had no reputation. ... The Great New Year JMOO Handicap, which takes place annually in the Scottish capital, was drawing near, and bookmakers and sporting men were gathering from all corners of the kingdom to witness the chief professional event of the year. Out of the odd hundred runners who were entered for the classic event, the 130 yards sprint, it was certainly surprising that the neglected Pickle should suddenly become prime favourite; yet, so it was, and the reason was not far to seek. Old Joss had backed him to win *815,000. and those who know Old Joss

said that the handicap was as good as won. There were any amount of good men running—and hacked for thousands —but the nearer that the "preliminaryheat" day approached the more convinced the public became that Pickle couldn’t lose. Pickle’s reputation as a runner was made for life, ■whether he lost or won. It was immaterial now that the money was on.

The appointed day came round, aud Powderliall Grounds were packed with holiday-makers and would-be moneymakers. Heat after heat was run, and crack after crack went under. Speculators witnessed with dismay the hollow defeat of Trinket, of Durham, off the 4i yards mark, by Weir, of Macmerry, eff 13, and the difficulty with which Chicken, of Lambeth, off 7, succeeded in squeezing home six inches ahead of his crowd. Then came the heat in which R. I. Pickle, of Epsom, off 10£, simply romped through the tape, yards ahead of everything, disappearing into the dressingroom, with the odds on him for the handicap. The 24 hours that elapsed between the preliminaries and the semi-finals only increased the general confidence in Pickle, and when he smothered Cramond, of Aberdeen, off tlie confidence was increased-to a certainty for tbe final. . * 1 . A* ■ » •>

In a quiet back parlour near the grounds, Pickle lay on a sofa resting .for an hour before the final. The ' floor opened, and Mr Higgins peeped in. "’Ow de yer feel, Pickle?” .. i 1 "A winner all over,” was the confident reply.

“That’s . right, sonny. Did Trinket tell yer Chicken’s got beat tryin’ ter put down Wavers, o’ Coldstream, for yer? Pact. Wavers is the only man ye ’ave ter beat, but ’e’s a scorcher, ’e is. T’other two don’t count, s’posing they try. ’Seuse me. I’ll he back in ’alf a mo.” „ ;

Scarcely Iw'as Pickle left in solitude once more when he was startled by the appearance of a tall, dark figure, which had been concealed behind a window-cur. tain. The apparition at such a juncture seemed ominous, for the name of it was Philip Brierly. The accountant acfvancea and tendered/ his hand. Pickle eyed it contemptuously and made no responsive move. "Whail do you want ?” he said shortly. • "I want you to lose,” whispered Brierly, hoarsely. "I have backed Wavers for more than I dare to think of, and, barring yourself, he must win. I spotted you from the stand, and I knew that you’d let bygones be bygones. More than that. I’m prepared to stand you in a cooi thousand pounds to lie down, and that’s a bit more than you’ll get from Old Joss for winning. Come now, you pedestrian gentry are not above a little sharp practice now and then. If you’re squeamish about it. dmi’t turn out, and I’ll pay you in adyanew. See here " Brierly thrust his hand into his breasfc pocket and dragged out * a bundle of Bank of England fifties, as, with straining eyes, he tried to read the intentions of the man before him. "Keep your money,” interrupted Pickle coldly. "I’m going to turn out.” “I think not,” sneered Brierly, with a sudden change of tone. "But I nin,” was the pedestrian’s tmcompromising reply; "aud, what’s more, I’m going to win." “You shall not win.” snarled Brierly, , throwing off all restraint. “Within five minutes from now you will be arrested for embezzlement. Pickle, of Epsoin, will be absent from the final V* *

CHAPTER IV. The crowd within Powderhall Grounds throbbed and surged and palpitated as

the betting market fluctuated wildly over the final. In the last few minutes Pickle was barred, Wavers stood at “sixes,” Weir and (PH alio ran touched SB’s. Then suddenly a, rumour got about that Pickle wouldnt try, and Wavers rushed up to "evens,” and Pickle sank to "tens.” A minute later and the men turned out. Pickle wasn’t thereWavere's supporters smiled knowingly, and a horrid conviction flashed upon Pickles’s thousands of backers that he had sold them. Nonsense. There he was tying on his spikes at the pavilion gate. Of course he was; and the Pickle crowd—the biggest one by far—heaved a sigh of relief and tried to appear retroactively confident. Wavers looked worried. Pickle looked dazed. Weir looked determined. O’Halloran looked indifferent.

The starter’s voice rang out clear and sharp upon the frosty air. “Get on to your marks,” and on the ID}, 11}, 12 and 13 yard marks stood Pickle, Wavers, O’Halloran and Weir respectively. "Get set” —a breathless pause as the quartette seemed to freeze into Gihek statues, and then “Bang” went the pistol, and the race was off. In a fraction over 12 seconds the result would be decided. A shout of joy broke from a section of the crowd as Wavers rushed to the front and challenged Weir, and a feeble countershout as O’Halloran displaced them both for a few fleeting strides. Then a momentary lull ana a groan of horror as the cries went ap from raucous throats—- “ Pickle's hanging it up,” "Pickle’s lying down to Wavers.” "Pickle isn’t trying.” .... It was a fact. . . . Pickle’s movements were lifeless and slack; he was simply drifting up between his ropes as a man in a dream. Pickle was not trying. . . .

“No.” veiled Old Joss from the grandstand, ‘as his keen eye detected a new feature of the race, ‘‘Pickle ain’t tryin'. ’E don’t need ter try. ’E*s won now.” Even as he spoke a mighty roar of triumph went up from ten thousand throats. A kaleidoscopic transposition had come over the runners. In a twinkling Pickle had assumed a clear lead, which was widening, widening, widening at every stride he took; and yet not a symptom of dash, not a trace of energy, not a vibration of his superstructure, nothing but a trance-like gliding along oh lightning limbs, while Wavers, the Border Giant, was tying himself into knots with exertion. An instant more, and W avers ceased his useless force and judiciously allowed himself to drop into fourth place as Pickle swept through the tape a winner by two clear yards from O’Halloran, and extra inches from Weir and Wavers.

Men crowded round Pickle to congratulate him, but he heard them not, and his words were the words of a nightmare. “Bring the police now,” he said; “I’m ready.” Bystanders said he had gone crazy over his victory, and speculated over his winnings, but the reader knows better.

Brierly’s design had been frustrated bv the opportune entrv of Trinket and. Jeeves, who had assisted Pickle to detain him till the return of Old Joss -with Chicken, when it was decided to keep the accountant a prisoner till the race was run.

After t?Tat event, Briefly showed anything but a desire to call for the police, but Pickle insisted on it, and Brierlvwas helpless to resist. His newly-found reluctance was afterwards explained when the Imperial Bank woke up to the disappearance of a few odd thousands in bank notes and got awfully worried about it. Some of them, it seems, were, awkwardly enough, in the possession ef the accountant, and formed part of the “private means” which enabled him-subsequently to gain access to one of her Majestv’s prisons for some considerable time.

1 ictor Melvin very quicklv cleared his character, and with the <£2ooo he received from Old Joss for his services he was enabled to start in business for himself. He has abandoned running as a profession, but Trinket and Chicken continue to add yards to their “repytatione,” under the tutorship of Jeeves and the patronage of Old Joss, who stood them a handsome bonus on the strength of Pickle s win.

As a Master of Arts he doesn’t count tor much, but Marjory Lisle that as a Master of HeaVts Victor Melvin has made a very good start with hers.