THE BRACELET OF MERRYVALE.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume VII, Issue 3, 1 December 1902, Page 216

THE BRACELET OF MERRYVALE.

-^YjVSoiomon,

Illustrated by Trevor Lloyd

JjPT was raining bitterly outside, || and a few of the " Boys " had s gathered together in the com£k fortable rooms of the Merryvale Athletic Club determined to make the best of a wet evening. " What on earth can have possessed Linley and Graham ?" queried Bob Allan, poking the fire as he spoke. "At one time they used to drop in two or three times a week, and now we rarely see them at all \" " Don't you know they've both lost their heads over that pretty Carsten girl ?" answered McGregor, looking up from his newspaper. " She's up from town for the Christmas holidays, and I would'rrt be a bit surprised to see those two young fools come to pistols and coffee over her ; they met her at old Mrs Brown's the other day, I believe." " That reminds me," mused Simpson ; " I saw Graham leading one of those Fido dogs— you know the kind, all wool and bark— down a back street one day last week, and I|ll wager my hat it wasn't for his sister !■"

" By the way, they're very constant on the track lately, especially over the mile and a-half/' exclaimed Allan. A signihcant smile went round at this remark, for the Ladies' Bracelet was the principal race at the forthcoming Boxing Day Carnival, and its distance was well known.

1 had entered into this delicate affair more from a feeling of competition than anything else. Will Graham and 1 had always been, to a certain extent, rivals in sport, but a better fellow than he never breathed, and 1 certainly never imagined for one moment that our friendly rivalry would go so far as an '*' affaire d'amour." However, 1 wasn't going to give in, and J felt that the race for the ladies' bracelet would settle matters, both of us being in splendid form .

Yes ; things were going a bit xoo far. Will and I hadn't exchanged six words during the last month, and all over a girl who probably didn't care a pin for either of us.

I began to wish I'd never seen her. Graham had fifty yards handicap from a lot of us on the scratch mark, and I fully recognized the severity of the task set me. The fateful day arrived. The sun shone in all its Merryvale glory, and the sports ground was filled to overflowing, the gay colours of the ladies dresses enhancing- the brightness of the scene. Graham and I, in. order to reserve all our strength for the desperate struggle before us, " scratched " for all -events except the " Bracelet/ which was timed for four o'clock,

so I was in no hurry to reach the scene of battle.

On arriving at the grounds, however, I noticed Graham and Miss Carsten chatting together, with that wretch of a Fido, he had given her, barking at their feet. This helped to nerve me for the •coming struggle, for strange to say, a nervousness — a great failing in any cyclist — had previously taken possession of me.

It was close upon four, In a few minutes we were on our marks waiting for the starter's pistol shot.

" Are you all ready ? Bang ! '." Thank goodness we were otf ! During the first two rounds little or no change took place in our positions, but in the third I left the ruck and set out alone after Graham, who was leading and riding well. The pace must have been fairly fast, as the two or three who essayed to follow, retired after going one lap. Entering the fourth lap Graham was only ten yards ahead, and the crowd became intensely excited.

On we struggled, and when the bell rang for the last round only five yards separated us ; coming" up

the back stretch I caught him, and turning- the corner into the straight we rode wheel for wheel. The excitement increased tenfold. Only a hundred yards ! Would it never end ? I exerted every muscle, but to my dismay failed to gain another inch on my opponent. Suddenly something white darted out of the crowd, and — crash ! we were lying " hors de combat " across the track amid broken bicycles and whole constellations of stars. Fido had settled matters. Though no bones were broken I

was considerably bruised and shaken. It was fully a week before the doctor would allow me to leave my bed. One day during this trying period, while reading the " Telegraph " the following paragraph caught my eye :— " Airs. Oarsten, who has been spending her Christmas in Merryvale with Mrs. Brown of The Oaks, left for London last night, where she will join her husband, Major Carsten, who is returning from South Africa." " Sold \" 1 muttered, letting the paper fall limply from my hands. I could have sworn old Mrs Brown introduced her to both Graham and myself as " Miss Carsten," but in any case it accounted for the sly smile that used to creep round her mouth when T addressed her as

" Miss." She had upheld our mistake with a vengeance, but it was a lesson to us both. I managed to struggle down to the club-room the next afternoon, and on opening the door I saw old Will with one hand in a sling, sitting down gazing moodily into the fire (1 wondered if he had also seen the paragraph). He looked up as I entered, so there was nothing for it but to face it out. " Er— bit chilly/ T ventured. " Yer— ; yes— very— " still looking at the fire. " I'm — cr — sorry — to — cr — " " Oh, stow it \" he cried, standing up. " Waiter, two whiskies and sodas and cigars, please. Shake hands, old man \" And we shook.