SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3591, 9 January 1923, Page 66

SHORT STORIES.

tCoPTfRXOHT.] I THE FAVOURITE. A STORY OF THE CRESTA RUN. By Herbert Jamieson. “Pateman ! Pateman ! What bids !” Immediately the auctioneer pronounced Pateman’s name, the interest of the large audience gathered in the lounge of the Kuhn Hotel, St. Moritz, visibly quickened. For Pateman was first favourite lor the event of the season—the Grand National Cup—and, according to old St. Moritzers, one of the finest riders that have ever gone down the Cresta Run. A little man ■with keen, sparkling eyes, standing near the auctioneer and bending forward to catch every word spoken, was plainly very contented with the world The magic ticket in the Grand National Sweepstakes bearing Pateman’s name had, wonclerlu to relate, been drawn by hiin, and he knew that he stood to gain at least fifteen hundred francs by his marvellous luck. “Now please concentrate your attention on Pateman! Ladies and gentlemen, you all know the colour of this horse. What bids?” . There was silence. At last some ; u.! etious person bid fifty francs. As might be expected, the bid from its lowness raised a general laugh. The auctioneer turned up his eyes to the ceiling and threatened with mock indignation to stop the auction. “Ladies and gentlemen, please understand that it is not Mr 1 axeman's toboggan that you are bidding for* but Mr Pateman’s chance of winning the Grand National. What that chance is I must leave vou to judge. If someone doesn't start "with a sensible bid, 1 shall leave this rostrum and adjourn the proceedings.” The threat, thought it was not in earnest, told. In a minute or two the bidding was brisk, and the excitement intensified. In a distant corner of the lounge, but within hearing of the auctioneer, stood Pateman himself, unconcernedly smoking a cigar. He had a fine, handsome, clean-shaven face, and a figure which in every line betrayed the athlete. Of all that numerous assembly he seemed the least moved, although the price put upon his racing abilities had now reached over two thousand francs and •was momentarily growing. The-sensation of being bid for was sufficiently novel to raise an almost incredulous smile upon his face. Truth to tell, in his heart of hearts, Cecil Pateman half despised the gambling spirit in evidence around him. There axe men, it is said, who disdain to ride the CrMta unless money has been put upon their heads; Pateman was not of their number. He had never venlnred a penny piece on a race himself, ana the fact that all these people around him were really betting on his chances of winning the greatest of the Cresta races proved to him distinctly amusing. He loved sport in every form for its own sake, and, most of all, the winter sports which St. Moritz provides in such variety. As for the Cresta run, Pateman felt for it an admiration almost amounting to adoration. It fascinated him firct as a perfect thing—the finest ice-run in the world, and really a marvel of engineering wit. He loved etery inch of its glossy surface, smoothed as with a plane by the hand of man and the friendly frost. Each point and section of the course — Church Leap, the Junction, Battledore, Shuttlecock, Stream Corner, the Pulpit, Scylla and Charybdis—was more than a name to him. By persistent practice he knew exactly the angle at which one had to take each of thte more difficult corners if the utmost speed was to be attained. And since that speed is in places nearly seventy miles an hour, there is not much time for calculation when one\is actually covering the distance. He was musing on the rnn at this particular moment, and oblivious to the progress of the auction. Suddenly the hammer fell. He turned to his nearest neighbour. “Hullo! What have I gone for.” The man was naturally amused at his inattention. “Thirty-five hundred francs.” “Goodness, why that’s one hundred and forty pounds. And who has bought me?” “Someone who takes a very big interest in you.” “Naturally,” said Pateman with a smile, in the simplicity of his heart attaching no double meaning to the man’s words. “Who is it?’’ “Miss Beddoe.” Pateman coloured. No one in St. Moritz interested him like Sybil Beddoe, and now he had accidentally learnt for the first time that the interest was mutual. He moved away, for the other man’s expectant, half-prying gaze was upon him, and Pateman did not intend to discuss Miss Beddoe with anyone; he cared for her too much. Presently the auction, its most interesting feature oast, dwindled to a conclusion. No other rider for the Grand National sold for more than twelve hundred francs. Pateman’s success was regarded as a certainty. Half-an-hour after the auction was finished Pateman came face to face with Sybil Beddoe in a corner of the drawingroom at the Kulm. “My purchaser.” he said, with a smile, sitting down beside her. If she had been possessed of less means, he would have unbraided her for her rashness ; as it was liis tongue was tied. Intuition told him that she had not bought him for the sake of making money—half the proceeds of the pool if he won. The eyes looking into his that moment were full of a real regard. “You see the bidding seemed likely to stop at about three thousand,” she explained. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t oe appreciated at your true worth. ”

A less serious man—certainly a man less seriously in love—would have passed off her remark with a jest. Pateman simply thanked her with a sober light in his eyes. Then there was silence, which neither felt inclined to break. Love is ordinarily a light-hearted matter in St. Moritz with all the qualities of that radiant air. These two had unwittingly reached profounder depths. “I hope I shall warrant your trust tomorrow, Miss Beddoe.” “I hope you will—for the sake of my money.” “You don’t mean that?” “No, I don’t.” She looked half frightened at the candid confession he had wrung from her. He looked around. They were absolutely alone in that corner of tlie drawing-room. He put his poverty in the forefront of his proposal, because he felt that it was the only honourable thing to do. But he comprised it in a sentence and then m deep, low tones came the story of his passion, and at once all sense of the material and of material conditions dwindled to nothing. Tne body of the athlete held the soul of the .lover. Half dizzy with the wonder of it all, but filled with an emotion that she could not possibly mistake, Sybil Beddoe breathed “Yes!” Their hands met and clasped. Each was filled with the thrilling joy of new-found possession. Suddenly a man with a strong but unpleasant face came round the corner, which partially screened them from the rest of -the room. “Miss Beddoe, Ive been looking for you everywhere. You promised to make up a fourth at bridge. “You must excuse me, Mr Cleveland. I can’t come now.” There was a good deal of venom in the other man’s gaze as he said, “Pardon me, I had no idea I was interrupting an interesting ” “Mr Cleveland, you know Mr Pateman. I have promised to be his wife.” Pateman had read of deadly looks of hatred; be got one that moment—vindictive, meant to kill. The man was—as he had guessed for some days—his ri '•' a l for Miss Beddoe’s affection. But Pateman felt too happy to be perturbed. “I hope he won’t do you harm said Sybil, -when, they were once more alone. '“Harm? What could he do?” I may he wrong, but I think that sort of man stops short of action. ‘ 11. Real Engadine weather reigned on the day fixed for the Grand National race. A hard frost overnight set the Cresta Run ,in perfect condition, and when the sun rose in an absolutelv cloudless sky of deepest blue, and there was no wind to bring even a sensation of cold, visitors to St. Moritz,: keen 011 watching the big race, congratulated themselves. To sit, minus overcoats or wraps, on either ol the grand stands and watch the progress of the race under the hot sun that floods ht. Moritz in March would be a positive There" was not a large number of entries for the great race. Strong nerves and real ability are needed to ride the C”esta from the very top, and the task is not one for absolute novices. In point of public favour, Pateman was easily first; his time down the run had never been beaten. It was thought possible that Cleveland might come in second, but a long way behind. There were the usual drawings lor places. Cleveland drew sixth place, PateInan seventh. The bell on the observation platform, indicating that the course was clear and open for the entire way (without which precaution no rider is allowed to start), rang out in the clear air, and the first rider prepared to go down. , Watching the various men waiting lor their turn, the eye easily picked out Pateman’s fine, shapely figure.. He looked and indeed was, in the pink ot condition. From liis tight-fitting cap floated the Cresta colours. He felt little doubt in his own mind that he was again going to win Cresta honours that day. The first three riders went down without mishap, but in only moderate time. Ihe fourth rider started, but in a few seconds the ominous “two bells” rang out from the observation tower, indicating that the rider had been thrown. Church Leap had proved too much for him. Oscillating from side to side, he had collided heavily •with the bank and lost grip of his toboggan, which went careering on without him, while he himself lav sprawling on the track. Fortunately, though severely shaken, the man was unhurt. In half a minute he had scrambled up the bank, and was waving to his friends on tlie grand stand . ~ When, the course was signalled Clear Cleveland went down the course in faster time than any previous man that dayhad taken, and now it was Pateman s turn. The word had passed that fateman was going down, and the spectators grew expectant. Pateman took ChuTch Leap in grand style, and the manner of taking Church Leap marks the pace for the entire course. Like a bird m flight, holding his head and body beautiful y forward, he skimmed past the junction almost unrecognisable to the spectators lining the banks at that point owing to his swift passage. He was Tiding in splendid form for victory—and perhaps the achievement of a record. He took the bank at Battledore at the most advantageous angle, and then quickly shifted hands and the position of his body for the taking of Shuttlecock on the opposite side. Then in a lightning flash something happened. The toboggan flew up Shuttlecock without its rider, and, rising a dozen feet in the air, went right over the bank into the soft snow on the further side. Pateman himself lay stunned and bleeding in the centre of the track. Exclamations of surprise and horror went up from the spectators.

It was some time after Pateman was brought back to the Kulm Hotel in a sleigh that he recovered consciousness. At first the doctors feared concussion,

but happily their fears were not realised. He was very bruised in places, and one arm from the wrist to where the elbowpad protected him, was horribly grazed, but there the injuries seem to end. By the evening he was sufficiently improved to be allowed to lie on the sofa in his bedroom—the luxury of so many Swiss hotels. Sybil Beddoe was seated by his side, quietly holding his hand. His nervous system had certainly received a nasty jar. He asked for nothing but to be with the girl who loved him, and to feel the soothing influence of her touch. “Perhaps it’s a good thing for me that the Cresta is now closed for the season,” said Pateman, half-sadly. “I shouldn't be fit anyhow to ride it again this year.” “Dear, I can’t tell you how sorry I feel. Can you bear to talk about it now—to tell me how vou think it happened.”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine. I seem to remember nothing. It was as if, when I moved my body forward m the usual way at that particular point, the sliding-seat refused to go with me. I suppose I must have lost my nerve. I was going just as usual, I believe, and then this inexplicable thing Tmqrpened. Do you mind opening the window. My head is so hot, and the night air cools it.” The girl did as she was asked, then returned to her seat. He had no inclination to talk, and she followed his unspoken desire by remaining quiet. It was sufficient bliss for her to realise that his life had been spared, and that he was that moment beside her. Suddenly she heard people talking on the tcxrace below. Ordinarily voices might not have travelled Quite so far, but those two were raised in angry dispute. One she immediately recognised as Cleveland s. He was conversing in Italian with another man—probably a workman from his manner of speech. Now Sybil, unlike Pateman, had studied Italian, and knew the language fairly well. The silence in the room and without in tire open was so profound that every word spoken floated up to her ears. In'that clear St. Moritz air voices travel so far that it is often difficult, however one may desire the: contrary, not to play the part of eavesdropper. Pateman felt the hand that was clasped in his tighten. He looked up and was struck bv the change in her expression. “What’s the matter, Sybil?” “Hush!” . , , X minute later the voices below ceased. Cleveland had sworn a good round oath, and dismissed the man. But Sybil had heard sufficient. She rose excitedly. “ Cecil, where is your toboggan now. “Downstairs in the usual place. I suppose, if they have brought .it safelv back. “Do vou mind if I go down now and fetch it up here?” s “But why?” “I’ll explain later on.” “It will he too heavy for you to bring alone, I’m afraid. Perhaps you can get somebody to help you.” “I’ll manage all right by myself. I have a special reason, Cecil, for not wishing anyone to know what I am doing. ’ She left him mystified. In less than five minutes she was back, carrying the toboggan. She turned it over on its “Here it is, Cecil. No, dou’t get up. I’ll put two chairs by your side, and lay the toboggan upon them while you examine it. Now let us look carefully! Is it possible that the sliding-seat didn t work properly—that someone wedged something this morning which prevented it moving.” ~ , . He turned to her with a startled air. “But Sybil, you surely don’t suspect ’ “See, isn’t that a mark?” “By Jove! you’re quite right. Some thing has been wedged there. Of course, it may not have been done deliberately, but- ” “It was done deliberately—to prevent your winning the Grand National. It was done by an enemy of yours and mine— John Cleveland. The conversation on the terrace which we overheard just now revealed everything. Mr Cleveland bribed an Italian —one of those Italians who bring up toboggans from the finish to the start —to wedge the sliding-seat of your toboggan. Just now I heard them through the window disputing about the money. The Italian maintained that he was badly paid for such a dirty job and was demanding more. Cleveland refused to pav him at first, but- finally gave in with an oath. I overheard nearly every word they said to one another. Do you want greater proof? ’ “No ! I s-ee it all new. Do you know, Sybil, I felt sure mv nerve and mv power hadn’t failed me. What a terrible thing for him to do.” “He’s an absolute scoundrel. Ot course, we must expose him to the Cresta Club, and let everybody know the manner of man he is.” He looked at her quietly for a moment. “I’d almost prefer, dear, if we simply wrote Cleveland a private hint for him to leave St. Moritz at once.” “But. Cecil, he has done such a mean and detestable thing. He has filched, the honour that was yours. He only missed gaining the prize bv a fifth of a second. “Can’t we let it rest there? After all, Ashton gets the prize, and not Cleveland. TF Cleveland agrees never to ride the Cresta again, I think we may forgive the injury done to mvself. You see, I have won something infinitely finer than Cresta honours: —your love. And, after all. I’m hardly likely to be out here as-ain. Perhaps it’s scarcely a sportsmanlike confession, but I do think it’s not the business of a married man to persist in such an adventurous sport as riding the Cresta. Svbil, we have one another. Do vou find it very difficult to forgive him ?” And' Sybil, in the greatness of her lovr for this man, forgave the other.