"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 October 1939, Page 12

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

Author of “Adventure for Two,” “Winning Through,” “Cold Cream, etc.

CHAPTER J. Col. Philip Phillipson assumed his favourite position —his back to the fire, hands in trousers pockets, legs extended and knees slightly bent. It was Sunday afternoon at Miss Pearkes’s select boarding establishment in Bayswater. There was always a scramble to get to the drawing-room and secure the best seats in front of the fire; Mrs Phillipson considered that her social position gave her the right to the chesterfield—she was a big woman and when she sat down she spread. She found Johnny Harcourt on the chesterfield when she sailed into the room; he was taking up a great deal more space than was necessary and he didn’t seem in the least embarrassed when she spread to her fullest extent. “Dirty weather,” the Colonel said. “Looks as if it might turn to snow al any moment.” Little Miss Pearkes, sitting near the window with an open book on her knees, nodded her wispy grey head. “Yes, it’s the coldest day we’ve had so far.” “And we can’t see through you, Colonel,” Johnny remarked. "If you’ve warmed up sufficiently, suppose you give others a chance!” “I shouldn't have thought it was difficult to see through the Colonel,” Miss Pansy Jones said. She was a spinster of uncertain age who had missed her chances. The Colonel snorted, inserted a chair between the chesterfield and Miss Jones, and lit a manilia cheroot, nothing annoyed Pansy more than the smell of a cigar. “It isn't often you spend a Sunday at home, young man,” he said to Johnny.» “What's the attraction, eh?” Johnny smiled and ’glanced at Mrs Phillipson; she edged away from him and picked up her knitting, sticking out her elbows at a dangerous angle. Johnny had a most disarming smile—and occasionally a bitter tongue. He was a chemist; every one in the boarding house believed that a chemist was simply a superior kind of tradesman who supplied them with the medicine they took for their various and much discussed ailments, until a medical student in the house explained that he was engaged on scientific research and held an important post in a chemical company.

“Spotted any winners lately, Phillipson?” Johnny asked. The Colonel cleared his throat and knocked the ash off his cheroot; his weakness for having a flutter on the turf was a sore subject. He was saved from explaining the shortcomings of trainers and jockeys by the entrance of Peggy Strong. Every one turned to look at her as she stood behind the circle of chairs around the fire. Johnny got up and said: “Won't you sit here, Peggy?" Of course they all knew he had been keeping the seat for her. At the first casual glance you would have decided that she was quite a commonplace girl; but anyone who studied her realised there was something strange and elusive about her — an atmosphere of mystery that was distinctly intriguing unless you disliked mystery. Her clothes were ordinary; she always wore a coat and skirt and sensible shoes. No one had seen her without a hat; Mrs Phillipson suggested that perhaps she was ashamed of her queerly-coloured hair. She never came down to breakfast, but Miss Pearkes .explained you could hardly expect her to, since she seldom got back from her work in the newspaper office until two in the morning. No one had been able to find out the name of the newspaper that employed her. After a moment’s hesitation, Peggy squeezed herself between the Colonel’s chair and the chesterfield, and took Johnny’s place, stretching out her feet to the fire. Johnny stepped forward and poked it. Mrs Phillipson pulled down her skirt—she had been enjoying a good toast, but Peggy was showing more leg than was necessary, and she hoped she would take the hint. She hadn’t noticed the girl’s legs before; they didn’t look the sort of legs that went to newspaper offices! They were provocative —so was her voice, that was because she was talking to Johnny.' "Is there ever anything ‘,o do in London on Sunday?” Panw Jones sniffed. "You young people today always want to be doing something—can't even rest on the Sabbath. No wonder you’re all nervy and unhealthy." Peggy laughed, and her blue eyes opened wide. “I've never had a day’s illness in my life. Love of exercise isn’t being restless; but it’s jolly difficult in London. I suppose that’s why everyone keeps a dog. They've simply got to take it for a walk in the Park every day." Johnny was standing at the window. “The clouds are lifting." ho said. “There is a patch of blue sky. Whj' not pretend I'm a clog and take me for a run in the Park? .1 promise I'll behave!"’

Peggy laughed softly, and leaning forward, stroked her knees thoughtfully. Mrs Phillipson’s needles flashed aggressively, and one of her elbows prodded Peggy. "A little fresh air would be good," Peggy said, rising slowly. “It's a bit stuffy indoors.” "Very stuffy!” Johnny glanced at Pansy Jones, took Peggy’s arm, and hurried out of the room. The door banged behind them. Mrs Phillipson bounced to the midde of the chesterfield. "I wish you'd speak to Miss Strong about the way she bangs doors, Miss Pearkes. She woke me up the other night at three o’clock. And another thing, it’s impossible to get a hot bath at night now; every single evening she takes a bath before going off to her precious' newspaper. Very queer. I call it. Did you get a reference when she came?” Miss Pearkes picked up her bool:

and nervously turned the pages. “She was so quiet and well-spoken I didn't think it necessary. And,” she added timidly, "she always pays her account regularly!” The Colonel blew his, nose violently. "Another daring raid in the West End. I see. The thieves chloroformed the housekeeper and took the entire contents, of the house away in a pantechnicon.” He threw the newspaper away. "Nobody’s safe these days!” CHAPTER 11. The sun was shining; the clouds had drifted to the horizon leaving banners of blue mist floating among the trees. “I’m glad you brought me for a run,” Johnny said. He slipped his arm through Peggy’s. “If I were a dog I should begin to bark now and make myself thoroughly ridiculous!” “You may if you like!” They stopped to look at a squirrel running along the branch of a tree. "You haven’t lived in London all your life,” Johnny said. “The first day I met you I got the impression that you’d travelled a lot . . been accustomed to open spaces.” “That’s because I lived on a ranch —a farm, 1 mean, once. I’m rather scared of people; everyone in London is so sophisticated. Don’t you ever look at people—in the mass, I mean —and want to run away?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I always see a crowd of people as one person. A crowd is like a great beast with one eye. one voice, and one idea. You ought to realise that since you write.” She shivered. “I don’t write, I bang a typewriter.” , They were walking quickly now. Johnny had taken off his hat. Continually he turned his head to look at Peggy. She was staring at the outlines of the Majestic hotel looming through the smoky trees; the high cheek-bones of her pale face were stained rose colour and the breeze had blown curls of bronze hair across her forehead. They didn’t speak again until they reached Hyde Park Corner. Peggy said: “Isn’t it time we went back?”

“To stew in that awful drawingroom and make polite conversation over cups of half-cold tea! No. We’ll find a cosy corner in the hotel over there, and eat toasted scones while you tell me the story of your life.” "Not at the Magnificent,” she said quickly. “I’m not dressed properly, and I’ve got to get off early to the office tonight.” Queer, he thought, that she went to work Saturday and Sunday. As they turned into Park Lane the Hotel Magnificent faced them, the revolving doors invited them. Johnny took Peggy’s arm. and before she knew what had happened she found herself inside. "Please I’d rather not come here —" He smiled and led her across the lounge to a sofa seat with gaily-col-oured cushions. Directly he had given his order she said: “Excuse me while I —l powder my nose!” Johnny noticed a man staring at her as she crossed the lounge; not surprising . . she had poise and dignity, her movements were effortless and graceful. A waiter brought tea and hot cakes and a dish of patisserie. The orchestra was playing the overture to “La Boheme.” It made him feel definitely romantic and rather sentimental. He thought, a trifle grimly, that it was about time he admitted to himself that —for the first time in his life —he had fallen in love —with a girl he had only met a dozen times at odd moments, a girl he knew absolutely nothing about! . . . .

And now she was sitting beside him again, with an apology for having kept him waiting. He noticed she had tucked the stray curls of hair beneath her hat; he noticed that as usual she had no make-up on. her- face —didn’t even use lipstick. Her face was very pale, but hei- lips were red —she had a habit of sometimes holding her lower lip between her teeth as if she was nervous or trying to repress her feelings. She was doing this now as she poured out the tea, and Johnny saw the man who had stared at her was standing beside their table. "You’re Peggy Penshurst, aren't you?” he said. Without looking up Peggy replied: "No, you’ve made a mistake." The man hesitated a moment, then shrugging his shoulders went back to his seat. Peggy helped herself to a hot cake. "What a feast! I shan’t want any dinner tonight.” “You’re hardly ever in to dinner. What do you do for food?” “Oh. I get what I can when I can. There's always a hot drink of sorts before we leave the office.”

"Tell me about your work.” “Tell me about yours.” "I deal in stinks and gasses and poisons." he laughed. As he spoke he picked up a folder advertising the cabaret at the hotel: "I’ve just got a vise so I’m feeling rather grand: dining here tomorrow night with the chief and a small party. Very smart and rather stuffy. I expect—though this looks gay, not to say daring.” He opened the leaflet and showed Peggy a picture of six girls, their dresses, tight fitting to the waist, wore cut away in front, showing silkstockinged legs, dainty suspender tops and panties embroidered with roses. Each girl had a long string of pearls round her neck. Johnny read the caption underneath: "The Lovely Lovelies. These enchanting young girls, recruited from famous Argentine families, are giving an exhibition of their beautiful and. exciting South American dances. They will wear the fascinating frocks and priceless pearls which created such a furore at Monte Carlo.”

“It’s wonderful how easily the public is gulled, isn’t it?" Peggy said. She was staring in front of her through half-closed eves.

"Well, I shall be ready to be gulled on Monday night. You'll admit, they do look thrilling!" She took the folder from him and looked at it, smiling faintly. "Yes, I suppose so . . Men are all alike!” "We’re trained to be, but some of us break loose and try to think and act for ourselves. Don’t be snarkey! I'm feeling so happy.” “Of course, you’ve just been given your chance; I suppose one day you’ll be famous and invent some terrible poison that will wipe out a whole nation in an hour.” "I wasn’t thinking of destruction. I was thinking of you.” The orchestra was playing again—- “ Samson and Delilah." "What were you thinking?" Peggj' asked under her breath. “That I love you." She shut her eyes and turned her face so that it was hidden. Johnny hadn’t meant to tell her. It must have been the music and their surroundings, and the knowledge that he mightn’t get another chance for a long time. He drew close to her, took her hand. She let him hold it. It was a long, narrow hand with pointed fingers and the skin felt like velvet. "I love you,” ne repeated. "I love you!" The passionate music of "Samson” echoed his words, carried them through the lounge; but no one heard, the pleasure weary guests were not listening; they were thinking of what they would eat tomorrow and what they would wear; of that last round of golf they played, or wondering what would win the Derby. When the music ceased Peggy withdrew her hand, picked up her bag and her gloves. "It’s time I went.” (To be Continued.)