"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9507, 2 April 1909, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

9 ' THE CHARITY MATCH. ' ' (By HENRY T. JOHNSON.) [AtL Rights Reserved.] It was so simple — just writing auotber fellow's name. A fellow, too, who had so many thousands that it was doubtful if he would ever miss, certain he would never want, the few paltry hundreds , that would sweep away like' magic tie web of worries. m • V So- simple it was that it was d<m&almost as soon as thought of. And, once done, it could not be undone. There was no retracting it. The cheque was gone to his bankers, thence* to the other fellow's bankers, who had tho eyes of hawks, ,and whose trade piotto was "Beware of imitations." '. Then the cataclysm. The other fellow —better t'nan gold— not only refused to prosecute, but implored his bankers not to do so, for the sake of the old /lays, the old school, the old college;' with him friendship was friendship, but with -. his bankers business was business. After that tKe unspeakable horror oi bare, close walk, of solitude, of association worse than solitude, in the uniform of the banned. Yes, the uniform, for they were all as one. Their fraternity, though minus liberty, abounded with equally. Ross Cunningham had never dreamed how that last word would one day make him shiver. Then, one day — again it was so : simple. A sea mist stealing over the moorland. A stumble over a marlstone fragment lying hidden in the line l and bracken that grew so rank and high that, where he lay, it formed a sky-line and a cover. Hark ! there it came^-the shout of his number, the halt! But at what a distance already. More shouts — still more distant. His heart was jumping . more madly than ever. Then the whistles — ell. further off. Now for it. C&xws-country running had in the old dliys won him fame. Would it win -aim freedom now? ; &Yes — certainly for a while the old jiace, the old stamina had won him freedom. But what was he to do with it? Miles lay between him and those grim high; spiky walls ! The light was coming, with the marrow-curdling chill of the honr before the dawn. And the light. would bring danger. As soon as ■seen he would be recognised as a wanelerer from the fold — of black sheep — branded as well as black. H© must get cover. So he made for 1 the jagged hue made by house-tops and : pegged with chimney stacks dark '• against the lifting blueish grey. And, came at last to a high, close? | paled, vast enclosure, and, skirting : this, at last a range of sheds with corrugated roofing. Why, yes, in the ; strengthening <3a wnlight he read on the t huge placard : — i MOORTOWN WEDNESDAY FOOT- } BALL CLUB. ■■■• There "were the high gates — too high ;to be scaled; but*a little lower down, ' : the road, up for repairs, was littered :with planks and poles. Again it was so simple. In five minutes he was within the high enclosure, had scramibled over a locked turnstile. Team's Dressing Room ! Ah, if he only get in there! Then he might slough 'that compromising broadarrow branded skin. The doors? — locked! The windows? — fastened! But clink! in a juexnent a pane had

smashed, his hand, thrust through, had forced back the catch. He was in. There where he lay he sank into ah all-compelling 6lumber — a sleep so profound'that when at last he started up, like the hunted thing he was, the i clock hands were both up at . , the twelve. From without came sounds -of life and bustle s Glancing through the window, he saw officials, and ;others obviously intent on ' preparations for a big " gate." For. Ross remembered it was Saturday, and there «n tine wall 1 was a double-crown poster, big lettered i in blue and red, with the _date and Moortown Wednesday v. Brindley. If he could only get rid of that incriminating rig! There was an inner room fitted with basins, a shower bath, l^and lockers, some unsecured, aud in I one of these— Eureka ! a serge suit, *and foraging in others, he secured a pair of of boots, somewhat the worse for wear, but, the better for ease. Even stockings. He started at a rattle at the door. Holding his breath, he listened to the click- of the letter-box, and a mahogany envelope fell through. Mechanically he picked it up, and observed that it was addressed; " Murchison, Moortown." Mechanically he opened it and read it, not from curiosity or any vague idea of it assisting him. " Desperately sorry. Sprained ankle *t exercise this morning. You must play somebody else. — Steggles." Steggles! Who could he be, Ross wondered* then tore up the /telegram, chiding himself for wasting a moment on such idle wonderings.; He lost not a second in changing, which, was as well, for, just as he" had hidden the kit he "had abandoned in the depth of obviously a nobody's locker half-filled with oddments, and completedf the luxury of a good sluice and towelling, the door handle rattled again. Noav for it! A square-jawed, bullet-headed man in a reefer suit entered, and exclaimed : "What? Mr Steggles— already?" And Ross _ Cunningham abandoned swiftly that resolution to make a rush for it, and with a quick laugh replied: "Hardly expected me so soon, eh?" "Hardly," was the reply. "But I'm glad. Frankly, I told Mr Bentham it was running it rather fine, your timing yourself to be .here at 2.15. By the by, you'll be sorry to hear he's laid up with gout-. 1 ' " Dear, dear, that's a pity," Ross said, occupied morje in wonderingsssfi-ho Bentham might be than with his misfortunes. ) • "It is,", said the other. "He having gone over to arrange your transfer. and all that. My name's Murchison, you know, Geordie Murchison," tho other went on, and Ross nodded. " Ah, yes, I know." "Well, laddie, you've got your chance now," said the other. "We're not a great club yet awhile, .but I think you'll like yourself better playing centre forward in our first string than staying on at Slagton in. their reserves, and a new one at tfiat. But I understood from Mr Bentham that you wore a black moustache." " I did, but I've shaved clean, lately," said Cunningham, thfe time quit© truthfully. And a daring idea was shaping in his brain. Daring and yet

J So simple! This man, evidently the ' manager of the Wednesdays, took him for Steggles, evidently a recent transfer from Slagton United. Why not play the part .It meant playing the game: but that idea merely made his heartbeat a trifle faster. Seventy i minutes of the game! Seventy minutes of fierce, frantic joy. Then, if he had to go back after, his bid for freedom would not have been all in vain. : y But what of the kit? His Reaping heart a moment sank, then he whispered to i himself, "Bluff it," " But, I say, old chap, what do you think Pve done? Like a consummate ass, Fve left my kit bag in the train." j "By Jove, that's awkward for you," j said the other. . "But we'll soon fix that up and "Cunningham's heart was in his mouth as the genial manager began to rummage the very next locker to that* one wherein, lay the discarded broad arrow uniform. But luckily he rummaged neither that nor tlio other wherein Ross had found the clothes he was wearing, but i from others furnished him with a ehirt with tho Moortown WediiGsday stripes, knickers, boots and all. And, good fellow as he was, he supplemented these with the proffered loan of a sovereign. i Then. Murchison betook himself off to consult his directors, on points concernj ing the coming match. Ross gave that dressing-room a wide berth for awhile, wandering among the crowds gathering just beyond it. Beyond/also, the risk of awkward ques- \ tions. Then, having fed, ho loitered unsuspected of being either a player or an escaped prisoner— listening oven to references to his escape, and learning with satisfaction that the sleuth-hounds were on a wrong and distant trail. And wondering whether to see it through or make a bolt of it. Slagton -was a far cry. The real Steggles only a reserve, "and a new one at that." As to his ability to meet the expectations cherished concerning i the newly-transferred reserve, he, without nndue vanity, felt fairly confident. What had moved the Queen's Club j ! ground to ecstasy would probably do ] for Moortown. . A hand on his arm. He started spasmodically. But, instead of what .he dreaded, ib was only Geordie Murchison. ..'■', That perforce end^d/^ariy indecision. Back to the dressing-£ppni»he went, to be introduced to the ;J#aW and to make yet another change/of ; garb. | His heart leaped high as once again, be he-a&jl tho roar. of the crowd cheering the visiting team, who were streaming but. His.,own_ "skipper ,was giving a few j last directions.: -. • j '•' Ygiy^re 'tlopkin' a wee nairvous, Steggles,' ' hie > siydy- with a Doric burr. . " Tha#)l^go as v- : soon as we tak' the field,#s3fchinkm 7 ." "■■So-/-a&i»~*I, >> 8 -Jie mid, with a smile. Then'at th» wojd, took his place in the i Indian, file: ' . ! Oh the joy* of it, when they too emerged, andj the thunderous welcome filled their ears and their hearts. He could hear the'Snurmur as they passed through. .. ■ "That's the now transfer. They're expecting great things of him." ■ Now, Staggles," shouted his captain, then "Confound it, man." For, unused to the name, he had iet tho ■■'" pill ;> shoot gaily past hira, and he heard a moan of consternation, and said to himself :. "Idiot! Remember your name this 1 afternoon is- Steggles, Steggles., Steg-

gles," and when the practice ball again came his way he trapped it — dribbled . it, then shot swift and fierce as a can- : non, and, beating their goalie, it iodg- : ed in the left hand corner, evoking a joyous yell. Then the toss — the line out — the starting whistle — and the mighty roar I it set in motion, and Ross Cunningham became oblivious of everything that was or had been, save that he was Jock Steggles, playing centre forward for Moortown Wednesday. At the outset Brindley, with wind and sun in their favour, were pressing hard, and for a quarter of an hour the Moortown goal was intermittently packed, and their followers wore white, strained faces. And then — all at once their new centre forward, heading away a corner kick, sprang after the ball, got on to it, and, with it at his toe, dribbled it through the forwards, round centre half, then sent it with a long shot clean over the halves, and, dodging these, amid a yell of tense excitement, sprinted between the backs and once again erot his toe-cap to the back, just as the frantic goalie ran out to intercept him, all ■ wings and legs. A fraction of a moment he fixed that goalie with an eagle eye, poising his right foot, amid a roar of "Shoot!" And, knowing better, tapped it swiftly a yard to the left, and all in a second, oven while the backs thundered up close behind him, chanjfed his feet, and poising his left, sent it straight and swift as an arrow in to the open, gaping goal. And every Moortown man, woman and child sprang upright and sent up voices, caps., sticks, handkerchiefs, in such a. yell as rent the sky, while the home team, scampering up, wrung their centre forward's hands, almost crying on his neck, as though he had been their prodigal son — instead of some one else's. The rest of the game was summarised, accurately enough in substance, though wrongly in one detail as to name, by the "Moortown Chronicle." " As to the respective teams, it was unanimously conceded that the home side were on the whole immeasurably outclassed by the visitors, both as to combination, pace and science, and Moortown' s paradoxical win was due to one magnificent and irresistible fact, namely, that Jock Steggles, the new centre forward and the most valuable acquisition our club has had since its formation, was übiquitous beyond the wildest ambitions of Boyle Roche's bird, elusive as a lizard, fast as a deerhound, tricky as a sea lawyer, irresistible as fate. Had his own side been within streets of his class, not one of j their three goals would have been scored by Brindley, and the six, all of which were shot by the heroic Jock ! Kteggles, would have been indefinitely j multiplied." j The match was over, they had cheeri ed and chaired the new centre forward, Brindley team and their supporters, like good sportsman, far surpassing those haughty Etruscans who " could scarce forbear to cheer" the brave Horatius who had upset their calculations, had shouted themselves hoarse 4n honour of the man who had won the match for Moortow-n. Whom, all at once, in the hubbub and bustle they missed, he having as a matter of fact, after rechanging, slipped out by a back door of the dress-ing-room, a tweed cap pulled well down over his eyes.

'* Jock Steggles, man, where are you?" Geordie Murchison bawled, stampeding along the passages of the staff offices. And a man who had been limpins: with the aid of a stick in quest of Geordie himself bawled back : — " Here I be. Soon as til doctor bad bound up my gammy foot I took the first train I could. I'm 100 late to even see the mateh — but that's no matter, they tell me we wou well." Geordie stared hard. " Oh, yes, we won!" he chortled^ "thanks to one man. 'But, excuse me, who do you say you aro?" "I'm Jock Steggles from Slagton, if you've no objection," the new arrival exclaimed, a trifle sharply, " though one gowk of a fellow laugned in my face when I told him so just now. And I heard another fool shouting that I'd scored all the six goals." Geordie -stared amazed, then to the indignation of his interlocutor, shouted to the Moortown goalie and skipper, "William, lad, where's Steggles — anyway, the other Steggles, 'cause this chap says he's one of 'em." ■" One of 'em, man ! I'm the Steggles,' the Steagles that signed on for your club last week. Ask Mr Bentham. Who's been taking my name?" Then the goalie, too, stared. "Let me tell you this," he said, "nobody who has disgraced it. But, Geordie, I've something unpleasant to report. Somebody's pinched that second-best suit I left in^tho odd locker last week, when we went to the dinner after the match. Found any trace of them?" This last inquiry was to the dress-insr-room attendant, who replied : " No, William, no serge suit — but here's a pair of knickers and a sort of tunic. But look at the pattern." And the two in dead sielnce took stock of the garments and the "pattern," which was — a broad arrow! Murcliifion broke the silence. "This explains a lot," he said. "Poor, poor lad ! An' such a lad I" "Then he took your togs — and my name," the real Jack Steggles blurted. "What are your going to do about it " "Nowt," said William Abbs. "Man, however he may have disgraced his own name,' to-day he covered yours with glory. Let the old duds go." And Stesgles, in another tone replied, " Ay 7 lads — and let him go ! Let us four remember, 'tis canny to say nowt. T J Book tells us, ' Charity eeeketh not her own,' and this was a Charity Match." .