Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

i^ BOY'S CINEMA DISOWNED ! IT was the last steeplechase of the season. Three horses cleared the last fence and came hurtling down the straight towards the winning-post. One, ridden by a jockey wearing a blue silk jacket with a yellow stripe across it, was leading. He pounded along, holding his lead easily. There was a breathless silence, then a terrific shout went up. "Jaguar wins! " The jockey rode his horse into the un- saddling enclosure, submitted to the usual inspection by the stewards, then walked across to the changing-rooms. As he went inside, a hand fell on his shoulder. "Nice work. Bill! " said a voice. Bill Urquhart turned and grinned. He was tall and dark—not more than twenty- six or so. "Thanks, Gregory," he replied. "I'd better go and change now. See you later." He walked on. The man he had spoken to was Jacques Gregory, who owned the winning horse. Bill did not like him much. There was something about Gregory that was shifty and unpleasant. But that didn't stop Bill riding for him. Bill liked riding. And he was reckoned to be the best amateur jockey in England. He crossed the changing-room to his locker. But before he reached it, he was stopped again, this time by a man whom he regarded as a friend. " Hallo, Charles! " he said to this man. "Did you have any luck?" The other shook his head mournfully. "I ought to have taken your advice and backed your mount," he answered. "But I didn't think you had a chance. Hang it all, man, you were riding a horse that has never come in anywhere before, and you romp him home to a victory. How do you do it?" "It's the Urquhart touch," said Bill cheerfully. "Well, whatever it is, I'm broke. I. Charles Barrington, the last and silliest of all the Barringtons, am flat on my ear," Bill began to look concerned. It wasn't like Charles to talk in this manner. Usually he was a cheery bird, always look- ing on the bright side of everything. November 4th, 1039, "Honest?" Bill asked. "Cross my heart," Charles answered. He hesitated a minute, then asked: " I say, old boy, you couldn't help me along with a loan, could you?" Bill grinned. Right at that moment his pockets were stuffed with money. True, he needed the cash for something else, but he couldn't let a pal down. "I can fix you with a hundred and twenty," he said. "When could I have it back?" "The da'; after to-morrow at the latest," Charles answered. He said it with just a shade too much assurance, and Bill knew perfectly well that the day after to-morrow meant a month or so in all probability. But what did that matter? Charles was an old friend—and there was plenty more money where this lot came from. "Here's the cash," he said, and pulled a wad of fivers from his pocket. Charles grabbed them and stuffed them away before Bill could have a chance to change his mind. " Bless you, Bill I " he said, and hurried off. Bill laughed, and tried yet a third time to get to his locker. And for a third time he was stopped. It was Gregory again. Gregory came bustling in and caught Bill by the arm. "Listen, Bill," he said. "I've got to hurry back to town. Some friends have promised to give me a lift in their car, and I have a chance to do some business with them on the way. I take it you haven't changed your mind about buying Jaguar?" Bill shook his head. "No, I haven't changed my mind," he said. "I think the horse has great possi- bilities—ridden by me." Gregory promptly pulled from his pocket a couple of documents. " Good! Then we can close the deal now. Here's the bill of sale. Give me the money, and the horse is yours." Bill shook his head. "You'll have to wait a day or two," he said. "I've just had to lend the cash to a friend. I'll call at your office later in the week." Gregory began to look troubled. He shook his head. "I can't wait," he said. "I'm rather short of funds just now, and I need every Every Tuesday There was only one man who could ride the famous horse Flying Fifty-Five to victory—and he was wanted by the police for murder! A terrific story of the Turf, with Derrick de Marney as the star penny I can get. If you can't do some- thing about it, I'll have to sell elsewhere. And you did give your word." Bill sighed. Gregory had used the one argument which would make him close the deal now. When Bill gave his word about anything it was as binding as a contract. "All right," he said. "Do you mind a cheque?" "Not a bit." Bill went to his locker and got out his cheque-book. Quickly he wi'ote the cheque for a hundred and twenty pounds, and handed it over. As he did so. he remem- bered that he had only about five pounds in the bank to meet it with! But he didn't worry. His father had always come to the rescue before, and he would again. About two hours later he reached home. He started across the hall to go to his room, when a voice called out sharply: "BiU!" Bill stopped and turned. His father was standing at the door of the library, and there was a grim look on his lined face. " Hallo, father! " Bill said cheerfully. "You're back early." "Come in here," snapped Mr. Urquhart. Bill sighed. The old man was evidently not in the best of tempers. Slowly Bill went into the library and closed the door behind him. The old man glared at him sternly. "Where have you been all day?" he asked. Bill tried to pass the question off with a grin. "Oh, I thought I'd take a bit of time off! " he answered. " I went racing." " You went racing! " Mr. Urquhart spoke bitterly. "You ought to have been at the office, doing a decent job of work, and you went racing!" He wagged a finger in Bill's face. "Young man, this is going to stop. It is going to stop at once. Your working hours are from nine-thirty to five, and in future you will keep to them." "But. father " "You heard what I said. You think, because I have worked hard all my life to make money that you can fool around as you like, spending it for me. Well, I say you cant. I don't want you ever to be short of money; at the same time. I am not going to let you have it for nothing. Do you understand?" Bill nodded morosely. When the old man kicked up a shindy like this, he was almost impossible to handle. At the same time. Bill felt aggrieved. He was in a job he hated, and he did not see why he should have to do it just be- cause his father was doing it, too. "Look here, father," he said, "couldn't I go in for something else? I'll never be any good in a stockbroking office. My heart isn't in the work." " I don't mind what you go in for, so long as it is sensible," Mr. Urquhart re- plied. "But idleness and fooling around isn't good for you. It will ruin your character What do you suggest?" Bill hesitated. The old man seemed to be softening a bit. Not that that was much of a good sign. It simply meant that he thought he was getting his own wijy, and when he found that he wasn't there was likely to be a worse row than ever. But in spite of that. Bill thought the time had come to say what he had wanted to say for a long time. So he took a deep breath, and began: "The only thing I'm really interested in," he said, " is racing. What's more, I'm