Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

Every Tuesday good at it—which is more than I am at stockbroking." "Racing!" said the old man scath- ingly. "The point is that at the moment I'm an amateur jockey," Bill hurried on. "And I do pretty well at it. I win races. Now if I had a bit of capital, so that I could get together a string of horses of my own " "No!" snapped the old man, and pounded the top of the writing-table with his fist. " But, look here " "I said no. If that is yom* idea of a sensible suggestion, then I have nothing more to say to you. You will report to the ofiBce to-morrow morning at nine-thirty, and you will not go racing again until you are making enough money to pay your own expenses." Bill stared at him iighast. "Not go racing again?" he muttered. "That is what I said. And it is an order." "But " Bill broke off. "Oh, what's the use?" He turned towards the door. Then he remembered the cheque he had given to Gregory, and came back. "By the way, father," he said, "I'm a bit short of money, and am wondering if you could fix me up." The old man eyed him grimly. "How much?" he asked. "Well, a hundred and twenty pounds." "A hundred and twenty pounds!" Mr Urquhart almost blew up. "You young fool, what have you been doing now?" "I've bought a racehorse." "Great heavens!" Mi-. Urquhart threw his hands upwards. "What have you done with the money you asked me for yesterday?" "Well, a pal of mine was desperately hard up, so I lent it to him. But he's all right. He'll pay me back when he's got it." "I am delighted to hear it. And when he pays it back you can buy the horse." Bill gulped, and went on; "The fact is, I've already given a cheque for the horse. And I haven't enough money in the bank." Mr. Urquhart went a violent red. He glared at Bill as though he would like to flay him alive. "This is the end," he managed to say after some seconds. "This is absolutely the end. You gave that cheque thinking that I would pay. Well, you were wrong. You have played that trick upon me once too often. I will not give you any more money, and I order you here and now to give up racing for ever." Bill shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't do that." "Very well." The old man was deadly calm. "Since you like racing better than stockbroking, you can go away and earn your living at it. You are no longer employed by me. You have chosen your own path, and vou must tread it in your own way. That is my last word upon the subject. Get out!" Bill stared at him in amazement. "You mean, you're disowning me?" he said. " Until you see fit to acquire some sense —yes," the old man barked. Bill clenched his hands. So the old man was going to be difficult, was he? All right, he would show him! " Good-bye!" he said abruptly, turned, and strode from the room. DIRTY WORK BILL hurried upstairs, packed a few clothes and left the house. Not until he had walked half a mile did his anger leave him. Then he found that he had made no plans. What was he going to do now? He was practically broke, and did not know quite what to do about it. \ Then he thought of Charles Barrington, BOY'S CINEMA the man to whom he had lent all that cash. Charles lived in the country with his sister, Stella They had a house miles away from anywhere, and bred hor.ses. They, surely, could give him a job. But perhaps they couldn't. They were always very nai'd lip. Well, even if they couldn't. Charles could work off that hundred and twenty pounds by giving him board and lodging. That would keep him going for a long time—until he could find work, anyway. Bill decided to go down to the Barring- tons by motor-coach, and took a bus to the coach station. He found that he could get one coach to a point about half-way to the Barrington house, then would have to wait for another. He reached the end of the first part of his journey, to find that he had to hang about for half an hour. What was worse, he was in the middle of a country road, with no shops near. There was a gate nearby, leading to a wood. Bill thought it might lead to a farmhouse, where he could get some bread and cheese and beer, so he climbed over it. A rough track led through the trees, and he followed it. Soon he was hidden from the road. Suddenly he stopped. The leg of a man was protruding from some bushes. Bill walked forward cautiously, and pulled the bushes back, gasp. The man was dead! he had been murdered, head had been caved in with a heavy blow Bill .'^tood there looking down at the man. wondering what he ought to do. His mind was a queer jumble ot thoughts. The face of Gregory came up before him. Gregory was in possession of a cheque that would soon be dishonoured by the bank. Bill had an idea. It would need the help of Charles, but that would be all right. Charles was a good sort, and would do anything he could. The idea was that Bill should change his identity for a time. When he had made gooa and could meet Gregory's cheque, he would become Bill Urquhart again. In the meantime Quickly he wrote the cheque for a hundred and twenty pounds and handed it over Then he gave a What was more. The back of his J.3 Quickly Bill began to undress. The tramp was about his size, and not unlike him \n appearance. Five minutes later Bill was wearing the tramp's clothes. He covered the dead man up again, then went back to the road. When he reached the Barringtons' house, he found that Charles wasn't there. But his sister was. And she didn't know Bill. " Good evening, ma'am," Bill said, and touched his tattered hat. " I came around to see if you had any work you can give me." Stella looked him up and down, and hid a smile. She was very pretty, with fair hair that hung in fascinating waves, and soft grev eyes that were kind. "What kind of a job?" she asked. "Well," said Bill, "I can ride horses." They were standing in the front drive that led up to the house. A short distance away were the stables, and out of them at that moment came a thin-faced, harsh- looking man. Stella called out to him: " Jebson, come here a minute, will vou?" Jebson obeyed. Stella indicated Bill. "This man says he can ride horses, and he's looking for work. Is there anything we can find for him?" Jebson gave Bill an unfriendly glare. "No, nothing," he snapped. "I've got all the help I need." Bill took a good look at the man. and decided that he did not like him. What was more, he knew that Stella didn't either. "I'm very good with horses," Bill per- sisted. "If you'd like to give me a trial, I'll show you." "No," said Jebson shortly Stella interrupted. "There isn't any harm in giving the man a trial, Jebson," she said. "Poor fellow, he looks as though he needs help." She turned to Bill. " What is your name?" Bill did some quick thinking. He hadn't decided upon a name yet. Certainly he couldn't use his own. He was far too well known in the racing world. So he would t ovember 4th, 1939.