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TO-DAY'S SHORT STORY.] The…

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TO-DAY'S SHORT STORY.] The Derby of the Dead. "The assumed name of Mr. L. Sleeves has fceen registered." This announcement appeared regularly every year in the Racing Calendar. But long before the Jockey Club, in the interest of honest sport, had insisted on the registra- tion of assumed names, it had been generally known upon the Turf that L. Sleeves" stood for Lawn Sleeves," and that this was the fanciful nomenclature selected for himself by the Hon. and Rev. George Bing, one of the very last and best of the good, old-fashioned hunting parsons. The Rev. George was a wealthy man. Hia eldest brother was a peer of the realm. Another brother went into the Army, and George, as a dutiful younger son, followed the correct family tradition, and went into the Church. Later, he was presented with the family living—also according to tradi- tion. He lived permanently in Yorkshire, amongst his own people. By them he was greatly beloved. For he hunted six days a week, and preached short sermons in a simple white surplice on Sunday. Being a Bing, sport was the breath of his nostrils. Being a sportsman, he could not 'bear to part with the pick of the thorough- bred stock that he reared with infinite Judgment. He saw, as a sportsman should, in every whinnying colt that raced down the long, rich paddocks a.t eundorwn an embryo Derby winner. He never went near a raoecourse, and he never made a bet. But hia sideboard groaned with trophies. There was, however, one crumple on the toee-leaf of his success. Never in his racing career had the Fates given him a Derby; ever had the crowning triumph been denied him. Once, late in life, when the great race seemed at his mercy. he ran a red-hot r- certainty" that never got placed at all. J How this came about no man may say, for the same colt romped home for the Leger, &00 came oock to the weighing-room amidst a blank and ominous silence that would have turned into a storm of groans atid Itiases had the jockey worn any colours 8a.ve those of Mr. Sleeves." Even aa it was," a section of the sporting pressoommented in veiled, but very sarcas- tic terms on the event. The thorn rankled in the sporting flesh of --}[:r. Sleeves." And thenceforward mystery began to enshroud his stable. He had hither- to courted the fullest publicity. He now determined to keep his racing secrets to him. self. If the public knew nothing of his horses and their chances, he hoped that they would bet lees. As a fact, the contrary was the result, which is only human nature. Then qmte suddenly he moved his horses from the public stable near Langdon Wold, farther north, to his own nne private estate of Crow- field. When a. few touts tried to follow him, his keepers caught them, and they were prose- cu-ted and fined as trespassers. Notices declared the presence of man-traps and epring-guns. Finally, when repeated fines and threatening failed to cool the ardour end enterprise of the more daring, the head •keeper was admonished to take counsel with the head lad, and thereafter to ask no que tions. A tout with two black eyes was the result. He told an unsympathetic magistrate, of whom he demanded a warrant, that he had been suddenly sprung upon by unseen men. who pinned him down till they gagged and blind-folded him. Subsequently they tied him in an undignified attitude across a gate, and chastised him after the manner of infants, but more severely, with the buckle end of a. stirrup leather. He said that as a result he could not sit down. And it was obvious that •he could not. The magistrate said: U If you do it again. yom will probably get another thrashing, so don't." And he didn't. After that touting ceased. At last, therefore, in a. measure, peace caane to the Hon. and Rev. George. It was well that it did, tor his doctor was boooming seriously anxious concerning his health, ■which was not improved by the commence- anent of his annual fret over the Derby. His two-year-olds had swept the board in autumn. As three-year-olds, they came on wonderfully in the spring. Anchorite won fot,he Two Thousand Guineas by a couple of loomfortable lengths. He had the exact measure of the form of the year, so far as tit was publicly known. And he had in The a maiden three-year-old who could give (Anchorite a, atone. The public were backing Anchorite, of iCouree. But they fancied Trentham, too, for ikhe had not run in the Guineas, and belonged 4jO & smart division which rarely made mis- takes. The Hon. and Rev. George heard of these things daily and often, for he was not •a man to lag behind the times, and a private telephone wire to the nearest town linked to civilisation. He also set up a clicking âpe machine, which an enterprising news •gency sought to push by giving brief dis- criptiye aooounts of popular events over the wire. Its failure to print correctly at critical moments amused him. One day, however, he felt annoyed. The 1.a:pe that spasmodically jerked out the latest Tnrf movements showed that Anchorite had gone back in the betting. Why? For one Irritable instant he raged at the thought that some sneaking tout had after all invaded his sanctuary and discovered the qualities of The Friar. Then he smiled as the tape clicked out the truth. It reported with regret that the well-known owner, Mr. Sleeves," was seriously indisposed. But even as he read, the smile vanished; for the implication of the rumour was clear. Anchorite had gone back in the betting because it was thought that before the race could be run Mr. Sleeves might be dead. The Hon. and Rev. George set bis teeth, and turned to the telephone. That night a clever young doctor left Lon- don, and was driven to the Towers in the morning by the family physician. I don't want a fuss," said the Hon. and Bev. George. And no experiments. Patch me up till after the Derby, that's all." Mr. Ransome was installed at the Towers, and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He noted with the keen eye of a professional observer that The Friar and not Anchorite was the horse on which the heart of the Hon. and Rev. George was set. The Friar was rarely mentioned in the latest betting—when he was, odds were quoted at 66 to 1. The odds against Anchorite varied with the reports of his owner's health. The connection was explained to Mr. Ransome without emotion by the Hon. and Rev. George, who added "That's why you must patch me up." Pondering there came to him a great temp- tation—66 to 1. It was wrong to make use ofa secret imparted to him professionally by a patient, but—66 to 1! Young doctors have got to make great sacrifices to keep up appearances in the early critical periods of their career—66 to 1 in hundreds. Relief from debt, freedom from worry, position, fortune -66 to 1 in thousands. Sixty-six to one! That night he slept badly, and the figures danced about the ceiling and sat at the foot of his bed. Sixty-six thousand to one thousand! No more struggling and debt—if his last shilling had to go—" Ruin, or Harley Street," he said to himself. And temptation overcame hie last scruple. He wrote a discreet letter to a discreet friend, and gave the needful undertakings concerning the payment in the improbable event of loss. He was staking his all, and he faiew it. But the risk was so very slight. Nevertheless, it weighed with him, and shook his confidence in that application of medical eoience with the iion. and Rev. George needed more constantly every day. He would not 'have doubted his power to save an ordinary life. Now he began to fear that he was fight- ing with Fate for a fortune. In London, the news spread that the condi- tion of the Hon. and Rev. George was critical. Betting men rather resented a dis- location of the Market by the untoward cir- layin' against the bloomin' aoctor, not against the horse," said a. fielder of the Anchorite. Which was true. Odds would have been shorter if the fielder had known why the doctor was trying to win. When the clicking-tape machine announced that the horses of Mr. Sleeves had safely arrived at Epsom, the Hon. and Rev. George had a whole day free fr-om pain. When they were alone the night nurse ehook her head. On Tuesday morning, something went wrong with the telephone, and it was dumb for a couple of hours. The Hon. and Rev. George fretted and fumed. Mercifully, the bell rang soon, and out of the wheezing metallic crackle of the receiver came the trainer's voice to e-a-y that all was well. Excitement and irritation had induced exhaustion and prostration, however. The nurses and Ransome had an anxious after- noon and a still more trying night. Sleepless at his window, Ransome saw the first pale shadow of the dawn drawn like a shroud of ftmethyst over the purple splendour cf the neavens. Slowly the diamond stars sank drowning in a golden sea. The black outline of the rolling moor was lit and splashed with sudden glories. The tin-zle of a full sea wind was mellowed by the scent of heather and softened by the taste of clean, sweet earth. There was life in every breath of it. For a moment he forgot even his patient— forgot Epsom and horses, and that this was Derby Day. Then the door opened, and the night nurse beckoned him. In an inetant he knew that the struggle had begun, and that this last encounter would be desperate. Patch me up," came the old sap-plication, "Only till three The Derby was timed to be run at three Vclock. "Spar for time," whispered the Son. and

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TO-DAY'S SHORT STORY.] The…