CHERRY FAYRE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20614, 15 May 1935, Page 14

CHERRY FAYRE

By

LESLIE CARGILL.

CHAPTER XVII.— (Continued.) Vincent Melhuish was in a fighting mood. Cold reason would have impelled him to adopt other tactics. He was. however, resolved that the JerundMarkham Eight Day Race should see the debut of the new car at all costs. Additionally he had a pariotic faith in the Melhuish works. All the standardised parts in readiness were for the production of vehicles and it ought to be possible to construct from them a car perfect to every detail, though without the lavished time and care that had gone to the making of the original entry.

For the next hour he was busily telephoning. Men were collected from their iiomes in motor coaches, mobilised for a grim battle against time. With incredible speed the great conveyors were in motion and enthusiastic workers were screwing, hammering and filing. They knew why they were so engaged. Melhuish had addressed the first comers and the word had been passed along. Now and again a cheer went up, signifying the completion of some essential section. Instead of giving way to despair Melhuish endeavoured to turn the tragedy to his advantage. The newspapers recognised this as a first-class story. All the later editions carried front page descriptions, much being made of the gallant attempt to overcome the misfortune. So important was the news value that special editions were brought out. General interest was profound. After a hurried breakfast George found the factory besieged by reporters, photographers and cinema news-reels operators. They were being escorted round. Important as the fire was from their points of view, there was a more human touch in the frantic efforts t<? get into the race. “Everything is going smoothly,” Melhuish announced. “We are forty minutes ahead of my time-table.” “You were talking about miracles yesterday,” George said. “Now you’ve worked one on your own.” “Hardly that. Merely a nice piece of organisation.” For all his modest words Melhuish glowed with pride. A messenger came running in to say that the fitters had completed their task. The engine was running on the test bench. Together they walked over to inspect. McFergis, canny Scotsman though he was, looked on with dour features but glinting eyes. “No’ bad,” he announced. From him it was high praise. “We’re going right through—paint shops as well,” Melhuish instructed. “Man, ye’re surely askin’ a lot, but I admire ye for it. Right to the last bit o’ spit and polish. So be *it.” The final stages were nightmarish. But they won through. Among the pear-drop fumes of the cellulose spraying plant the organisers of the stupendous drive solemnly shook hands. Drying to a spotless bright red before their eyes was the completed realisation of the morning’s dream. Tenderly a cleaner rubbed some coloured spray from the shining radiator. “Should ’ave been put on last, sir,” he murmured. almost regretfully. It was the only departure from routine production work. “But it were best to get her ready before tittivatin’ her up.” Melhuish patted him on the shoulder. “Very creditable,” he remarked. “I’m proud of you all. There is a week’s pay as bonus for every man who has been on the job.” But that was not the reason why a *oar of cheering went up as the hope Df the works slipped out of the main gates under her own power. George was at the wheel. They were not going to rely on the usual transport wagon. On the way to Brooklands it would be possible fo gauge the capabilities of! this untried upholder of a reputation. “Good luck!” shouted the excited workmen. That friendly wish was to be echoed a thousand times as they whirled through town and village. Melhuish sat beside George, saying little. Now that the thrill of creation was over lie was getting nervous. But listen alertly as he could lie found no suggestion of anything amiss. The engine was as quiet as the specially prepared one that had been destroyed. Nothing marred their smooth progress. Cheers attended their passage. Everybody recognised them from the published photographs and they were regarded as defenders of British prestige. “Almost like a triumphal procession.” George ventured. “Wait until we’re coming back,” Melhuish answered gloomily. “It will be the occasion of a greater ovation. We can’t fail now. Fate is on our side. This ’bus is a beauty. Do you know I believe it is even better than the other.” “I trust so. We’ve done our best. What was it Kipling said?” George quoted the lines softly: ** If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same . . .” “But,” he added, “we haven't builded up with worn-out tools. And there isn’t any ‘‘if* about this business. We’re out to win and we’re going to do it.” CHAPTER XVIII. “Nerves” Before the Race. George Dallas was prepared to walk tinder unlimited numbers of ladders, to spill salt until further orders, or to flout the hundred and one little taboos that have grown up through the ages. But he hated tilings to go too smoothly from the beginning. This was much too easy for his liking. He would have preferred some minor trouble to intervene — nothing serious, but just sufficient to satisfy him that destiny had played one little jest, after which there need be no further cause for anxiety. Melhuish, too, was beginning to get on his nerves. After their optimistic discussion the financier had started to enumerate every possible catastrophe he could think of, with his companion countering each gloomy prognostication by praising his charge. They were bickering all the way down to Brooklands. And all the time the inventor was really getting more and more nervous. If only a sparking plug would fail, or the carburrettor need adjustment he would consider the gods of 1 chance bad been appeased. Without mishap they came to the examination pits. Mechanics took over the ear and they then went to complete the official formalities. Reporters swarmed about the place, craving interviews. More photographs and poses ‘for tlie newsreels were insisted on until neither of them knew whether they were •(landing on their heads or their heels. Lionisation can be a great ordeal. “ I wish they’d let me alone,” George

grumbled. “TVlio'd have thought inventing a car would lead to this sort of thing?” . “Stick it out, old man,” Melhuish retorted. “Providing everything goes well the advertisement is going to be stupendous. They tell me there is a record crowd already.” Among the thousands of eager spectators there was one more important than the rest of them put together. Cherry Vance, with a flash of extreme feminine insight, had determined to let George know that she wished him success, expecting this would encourage him above the plaudits of the crowd or the exhortations of his friends. Teddy came with her, crashing through human and inanimate obstacles until they reached the jealously-guarded haunts of the competitors. Vincent had gone away to interview the first relay of his drivers, and the girl’s brother also tactfully left them together after he had murmured a few complimentary phrases. . . o placed a slim hand on the young man's arm, and he was astonished to find that it trembled violently. ‘‘Good heavens,” lie exclaimed. “I believe you're in a worse funk than 3 “Yes, George, that’s probably true. Y-you must win this race. I want you to—more than 1 can say.” “It might have been so much more important,” he retorted bitterly. She made no pretence of misunderstanding. “I know. Take it chin up. I wanf to feel proud of you.” “Thanks, Cherry. That helps.” “Then l*m glad I came. I had to see you and talk to you. After we parted that day I think I. was the most miserable girl in the world. I-it’s been hard to shut myself away.” George shuffled awkwardly. “What about . the date of your wedding. Have you arranged it?” Cherry nodded. “Less than a month “Ah! Well, success to-day will make a nice wedding present for your future husband.” “Do you think iliat is my reason for wanting you to win?” “No,” he answered honestly. “Since we talked it over I’ve done a lot of hard thinking. What is the use of crying for the moon. Melhuish isn't a bad sort. I rather like him —now. You'll have no cause to regret your action.” .“None, George?” “Oh, yop’ll soon forget me.” “You think so?” “From a sentimental standpoint, I mean. Years from now we shall be able to meet as friends . . . perhaps to smile together over a certain romantic episode “.So you imagine that, do you?” Under the steadfast gaze of those softly lovely pools he could not lie deliberately. ‘T-I expect so,” he said lamely. “George Dallas, you may be a good inventor of some things but you're a mighty bad one of others. Neither of us are the sort to forget easily, are we?” “Cherry, you must not harbour these ideas. It only makes things worse.” “That is a man's viewpoint. A woman cherishes a tender memory always. Don’t pity me. I couldn't bear that. Ther& will always be wonderful thoughts ...” “Disloyal to the man who will be your husband!” “You don’t quite understand. It is difficult to explain. Any woman who has loved would know what I mean, but I suppose you can't be expected to.” “I don’t,” he said bluntly. “Poor George —and poor me as well,” she murmured under her breath. He pretended not to have heard. “When this is all over I shall go abroad. ’ “Not shooting iions in Africa?” she returned, suddenly impish. “Vincent deserves that much,** he answered, with dignity. Cherry frowned. “You put me in mv place. It isn’t a .'aughing matter. Yes, travel. See fresh places and different peoples. You'll be a rich man, able te do things you want to do.” “Ex'cept one.” There was no opportunity for further intimacies. Melhuish returned with details of much work to be done, and Teddy joined the group. The time was near for the race to begin. For a second Cherry’s ungloved hand lay in George’s as she said good-bye. Was there really a tremulous movement about her lips as she looked up to him ? Vincent was regarding her sharply, and Teddy began to chatter. Everyone of the quartet was ill at case. Suddenly the tension lifted. Close at hand a babble of excited voices gave place to subdued applause. The “Euro,” pushed by a group of attendants, was coming into view. Cherry and her brother went back to the public stands. “A wonderful girl,” Melhuish said, looking back admiringly. “Yes, indeed.” Again came that unexpected friendly pat on the shoulder. Whatever his faults, Melhuish had a large measure of sympathy and understanding. It was an incredible situation to Dallas that he could still think well of the man who was, by apparently dubious means, taking from him the girl he loved. And this same individual marked almost as the villain of the piece, was straining every effort to ensure fame and success for the defeated rival. Was ever a more paradoxical situation?