The Hundredth Chance

He laughed a little, leaning towards her. "On second thoughts, I don't. This promises to be interesting, after all. Do you know when I came in just now you looked so prim that I was nearly frightened quite away?"

She was looking him straight in the face. "Charlie, why did you come?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ask the needle why it follows the magnet!" he said.

His eyes caressed her, but she steadily faced them. "I ought to hate you," she said. "But I don't. I think of you always-in spite of myself-as a friend. I suppose that is a woman's way-to be tricked and to forgive. Anyhow, I forgave you a long while ago. I believe I have even begun to forget. Charlie, I know that you are capable of a sincere friendship. I can't help knowing it."

"You deceive yourself," he said lightly. His eyes still dwelt upon her, but it was with a half-tender mockery, as one who smiles at the make-believe of a child.

Her lips quivered a little. "No," she said. "It is the truth. You are pleased to wear a mask-but I know-the real man. I know that you are often crooked in your dealings, often cruelly malicious and vindictive; but at the back of it all there is a man capable of big things, of chivalry, generosity, and honest kindness of heart. Charlie, I appeal to that man!"

"What do you want of him?" said Saltash. And still he looked at her, but again his look had changed. The mockery had given place to a species of dispassionate curiosity. His ugly face had the odd melancholy as of something longed for but hopelessly lost which may be seen on the face of a monkey.

Because of that look she suddenly stretched out her hands to him impulsively, generously.

"I want fair play," she said. "Perhaps I don't deserve it. I haven't always treated you fairly. But I want you to put the past away from you-as I have done. I want to trust you again."

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. He held her hands hard pressed in his.

"A dangerous experiment, Maud of the roses," he said. "But if you will you must. What more do you want?"

She answered him quickly, pleadingly. "Charlie, you have a grudge against-my husband! I want it put right away-right away. I don't think you have the power to hurt him, but even if you had, I want to know that you wouldn't use it. He has always served you faithfully. I want fair play for him."

Saltash's dark face showed a faint, twisted smile. "You certainly credit me with considerable generosity," he said.

"He deserves fair play from you," she insisted. "You have tried to undermine his reputation, and you have failed. But you might have succeeded, although you know, as well as I do-that he is a white man."

"Do I?" said Saltash.

"You do! You do!" she said with conviction. "You have no right to cherish a grudge against him. He has done nothing to deserve it."

"And how do you know that?" said Saltash.

"I know him," she said with simplicity.

"I see." His smile became a little more marked. "Did he ever tell you the funny story of my double?" he asked.

She gave a great start, and in a moment her face was burning.

"I see," he said again. "You needn't answer. And you tell me that I have no right to cherish a grudge against him."

She spoke with difficulty. "He did not accuse you of anything."

Saltash laughed. "Left you to draw your own conclusions, eh? Score number one! And after that, when he knew that I was coming home, when he knew that you were mine for the asking, didn't he race you into marriage with him before you had time to find your breath?"

Her face burned more hotly. "Wouldn't you have done the same?" she said.

He looked sardonic. "You must remember that I am not-a white man, my queen of the roses. My standards won't compare with his. Score number two then! And hasn't he baulked me at every turn ever since? When have I ever got back any of my own-except once when I made you see him as he wasn't-a drunkard, and except when one night of moonshine I held you in my arms and you gave your lips to mine?" His voice suddenly thrilled.

She caught her breath sharply. "I was mad!" she said. "I was mad!"

She would have withdrawn her hands from his, but he frustrated her. A gleam of mischief flashed in his eyes. "No, Maud of the roses, it was just-a dream. Have you never said to yourself, That was the happiest dream of my life?"

She shook her head. "That part of my life is over-quite over. I have come into reality, and-Charlie-it is better than any dream. That is why I want all that is evil to be taken away. If Jake has ever wronged you, then I have wronged you. And I appeal to your kindness of heart, your generosity, for forgiveness."

The mischief died out of the eyes that watched her. Saltash bent a little over the hands he held. "But why should you take that trouble-if I have ceased to count?" he said.

"You do count," she answered quickly and earnestly.

"Surely not if-as you say-it is out of my power to hurt him." There was a hint of banter in the words, but they held no venom.

"It isn't that," she said. "I want to know that the hatchet is buried, that there will be no more ill feeling. Jake is his own master, and I know he will make his mark. But I want him to have a fair chance, free from all handicap."

"What do you mean by that?" Saltash suddenly broke in. "I presume he is still a paid servant though it may no longer be my privilege to employ him."

She lifted her head a little. "No. Jake is his own master. The Stud was bought with my money. It belongs to him."

Saltash's brows went up. "Your money? You never had any!"

"Never before last winter," she said. "I inherited a very large fortune from my uncle in the North. It came to me-just in time."

Saltash's brows were working up and down like a monkey's. "And you-bought the Stud? Then all this American business was bunkum! Did my agent know of this?"

She shook her head. "No; no one knows yet except Jake, Bunny, and me."

He let her hands go abruptly, and began to pace the room.

She stood motionless, watching him. "Even Jake did not know till it had all gone through," she said, after a moment. "I told him-on the night of the fire."

"What did he say?" Saltash tossed the words over his shoulder. His dark face was drawn, almost distorted.

Maud hesitated. Then: "He asked me why I had done it," she said, in a low voice.

He paused in his walk. "And you struck a bargain with him? He was to let you go your own way for all time, please yourself, live your own life! Wasn't that it?"

Her eyes fell involuntarily before the sudden fire in his. "Oh no!" she said quickly. "Oh no! I didn't want that."

"What then?" He wheeled and came to her, stood before her. "Surely you didn't give him all that for nothing!"

She faced him again steadily. "He wouldn't have taken it," she said.

"Then-" he was standing close to her; his odd eyes gazed, deeply craving, into hers.

But she did not flinch. "I gave it to him-for love," she said.

He made a sudden movement; his features were for a moment convulsed. Then swiftly he controlled himself. "You-love the man!" he said.

She clasped her hands together tightly. Her eyes never wavered for an instant from his. "Yes, I love him," she said.

He flung violently away from her. "Why didn't I destroy him long ago?" he said.

Again he paced the room with sharp, jerky movements. Suddenly he flung two questions over his shoulder. "That was why you changed your mind after sending me that ring? That was what you came to me to the Castle to tell me?"

She bent her head. "I believe that was the reason. But I couldn't have told you that then. I didn't know it myself."

"How long have you known it?"

He was not looking at her, and very piteously she smiled. "It came to me-quite suddenly-in the hall at 'The Anchor' when you told me-you told me-that he wouldn't be such a fool as to believe in me. I left him without seeing him again. And then-and then-just when my uncle died-he came to me. And I knew that he did believe in me after all."

Saltash broke into a laugh-the laugh of a man who hides pain. "It was my doing then! Come, you owe me something after all. But it seems I have been misspending my energies ever since. I thought you wanted to be rid of him."

Again abruptly he came back to her, stopped in front of her. "And so it all came out on the night of the fire," he said.

She looked at him, and her blue eyes shone. "Yes," she said softly. "There have been no misunderstandings since then."

He smiled a little with twisted brows. "Do you know who was responsible for that fire?"

She started. "No!"

"A certain scoundrel named Stevens," he said. "The same scoundrel who pulled the Albatross at the Cup Meeting, and was thrashed for it by the virtuous cow-puncher. Do you know who was at the back of that scoundrel?"

Her eyes fell before the grim bitterness of his. "Charlie!" she faltered.

"Yes, Charlie," he said. "Charles Burchester, Lord Saltash, another scoundrel blacker than the first who had suffered a similar punishment for a somewhat similar offence from the same virtuous hands. Scoundrel number one won't trouble you again. I have shipped him off to Australia. Scoundrel number two is awaiting his orders to go to-another place."

Her lips suddenly quivered. She put out a trembling hand. "Charlie, I don't believe it of you!"

"Believe it or not," he said, "it's true. I'm a spiteful devil. You said so yourself a minute ago." But he held her hand almost as one pleading for clemency.

She raised her eyes to his. The fascination of the man drew her, but-possibly for the first time-not against her better judgment. "Let us forget it all!" she said. "Let us be friends!"

He laughed in a fashion that moved her to pity, and bending kissed her hand. "If Jake agrees-Amen!" he said.

And then sharply, like an animal trapped, he turned towards the window and met Jake face to face.

They stood for a moment so, confronting each other in dead silence. Then lightly Saltash spoke.

"Caught trespassing, but not poaching!" he said. "Your wife and I have been settling-old scores."

Jake's eyes went past him to his wife's face. She made no sign of any kind, save that she met the look.

Jake came quietly forward. "You are very welcome, my lord," he said, and held out a steady hand.

A gleam of surprise crossed Saltash's dark face. He took the hand, looking at Jake whimsically. "You are the fellow who is not accustomed to being beaten at the winning-post," he said. "Well, you were a bad starter and the odds were dead against you, but you've got there. I congratulate you."

"You are very good, my lord." Jake's eyes, red-brown and resolute, looked into his.

Saltash shrugged his shoulders, with a slight grimace. "The rôle is thrust upon me. I wonder if I shall be able to sustain it."

Something in the word reached Jake. His lips parted in a sudden smile that banished all the hardness from his face. His hand squarely gripped and held. For a second-just a second-there was a gleam of comradeship in his eyes. "I guess it's up to you, my lord," he said.

The moment passed and Saltash turned aside, laughing with a certain royal graciousness that was all his own. "The odds are ninety-nine to one, Bolton," he said. "But you are too accustomed to that to be dismayed."

"I put my money on the hundredth chance," Jake answered in his slow, sure fashion. "And I reckon I shan't lose it."

EPILOGUE

THE FINISH

"The black colt leads! The black colt leads! He wins! He wins! He wins!"

A great shout went up from the straining multitude as The Hundredth Chance, ridden by Sam Vickers, shot past the winning-post three lengths ahead of the horse behind. It was a sensational victory, for it was his maiden race, and the crowd yelled themselves hoarse over it, cheering and cheering again till the black colt came forth in a welter of sweat and foam to gather his laurels, still carrying his jockey and led by his owner, Jake Bolton.

He bore himself proudly, as if fully conscious of the distinction he had won. Jake looked proud too. He stuffed some sugar between the wet lips as he came, and his hand caressed the streaming neck. It was a popular meeting, and it was plainly a popular victory, though the favourite had not proved the winner. Jake Bolton's name went from mouth to mouth, and the throng cheered him to the echo. He smiled his open, pleasant smile in answer. He had been looking to this moment for the past two years, he had worked hard for it; and his trust in The Hundredth Chance had been vindicated, his labour rewarded. He knew that yet greater victories lay before his favourite. The Hundredth Chance was a born winner. He would be famous.

Back in the paddock a slim, boyish figure leaped to meet him. "Jake, he's a stunner! Let me hold him a minute, Jake! Well done, Sam! Well done!"

Sam grinned from ear to ear as he dropped from the saddle. "Pretty sight, weren't it, Sir Bernard?"

"Best I've ever seen!" declared Bunny enthusiastically. He led the black colt proudly after his jockey for a few paces, then gave him up and went back to Jake. "Old feller, I'm so jolly bucked," he said, hugging his arm, "I want to dance on my head. Do you know what I heard a chap say of you just now-a chap who knew too? He said, 'There goes the Lynx-one of the straightest men on the Turf.' It sounded just fine. I wanted to go and shake hands with him."

Jake laughed, a quiet satisfied laugh. "Was Maud pleased?"

"Oh! rather! She's going home now, said I was to tell you; said she'd save up and congratulate you in private."

"That so?" said Jake.

He disengaged himself from Bunny and went about his business, but the smile lingered in his eyes for the rest of the afternoon. And it was the smile of a man who grasps his heart's desire.

There was a white house on one of the great rolling downs behind the Graydown race-course, a low, white house with gabled roofs and dark green shutters. There were woodland trees about it, and a terraced garden bright with many spring flowers.

Behind it lay the racing-stables, also white, – model stables, the pride of Jake's heart. He seldom approached the house by any other route. But as he passed between the long, orderly buildings on that particular evening after his horse's victory, he did not linger. Straight to the house he went, and straight within, pausing only in the wide, square hall to threw down hat and whip ere he passed on, guided by the notes of a piano, to a room that overlooked the garden and the whole sweep of hill-side beyond.

She did not hear him enter, albeit she was playing softly, a dreamy melody that had in it something of dawning gladness and of infinite hope. Only Chops, the red setter, lying by the open French window, looked up and wagged a noiseless welcome. Then as he reached her, she caught the jingle of his spurs and in a moment she had turned to meet him with a vivid smile of eagerness.

"Oh, Jake, I am so glad-so glad!"

He put his arms about her as she sat, holding the flushed face upturned to his. "What's that you're playing, my girl? Not a pæan of thanksgiving!"

Her eyelids fluttered under his look. She laughed faintly. She offered him her lips with just a hint of shyness. He kissed her, but he continued to look at her with an intent glitter in his eyes. "You're glad, are you?" he said. "Real glad?"

Her arms clung about his neck. "Yes, real glad, Jake. I know you call The Hundredth Chance your luck. I was horribly anxious lest-lest he should lose after all."

He smiled a little. "What if he had? Think I can't stand up to a loss?"

She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, but they fell almost immediately. "No. To use your own language, I think you're just fine. But-but all the same, I've been saving up a little consolation for you in case you needed it."

"That so?" said Jake. He spoke very softly through lips that were suddenly tender. "Well, let's imagine I'm in need of consolation! I'd enjoy to be consoled by you."

She laughed again that faint, shy laugh, and, freeing one hand, began to feel over the keys of the piano, striking a soft chord here and there.

Jake stood for a moment or two, then squarely bent, bringing his face on a level with hers.

She made a slight gesture of protest, and then very suddenly, as if compelled, she raised her eyes fully to his.

"You once told me you'd enjoy-something quite different," she said.

The red-brown eyes gazed deeply into hers. "And-good land-how shocked you were!" he said. "You didn't view yourself as a plain man's wife in those days, my princess. Reckon you hated the plain man pretty badly for teaching you the meaning of the word."

She laid one hand against his breast. Her eyes were of that intense blueness that comes from the heart of a sapphire. "And now," she said, "I love him better every day-every night."

His big hand closed upon her wrist. He drew a great breath. "Ah!" he said.

She went on, albeit her lips were quivering. "I don't need to tell you that, do I? You know it so well. I don't think I really need to tell you-of this other thing either-of this big, big gift that is coming to us. Oh, Jake, dear Jake, I have so hoped-so hoped!"

He held her closer. "My own girl! Guess you'll be happy now!" he whispered.

She smiled at him through tears. "No, not for my own sake, – for yours-for yours!"

"For mine!" he said. "Haven't you given me all the world and then some?"

She uttered a trembling laugh. "I've given you lots that you didn't want to take-things that have cost me nothing. But this-this is different. And-it's the thing you wanted."

He clasped her to him almost fiercely. "My girl, I want nothing-no one-but you!"

She clung to him with a tenseness that was passionate. "That is what I wanted to say to you, my darling. You will always be first-first-first. Dr. Capper once told me that-that my frog would turn into a prince some day. And-dear-he was right. You are the prince of my heart-for ever. I love you as-as I never thought it was humanly possible to love."

"Maybe it's not-all human," he whispered, with lips that moved against her own.

"You are right," she whispered back. "It is Divine. The perfect Gift. But it only comes to those who give-without measure-not counting the cost-rejoicing only in the power to give-till it all comes back a thousandfold-a thousandfold." Her voice thrilled, her arms clung closer. "I once heard a man preach about that. And at the end he said, 'It is then that the ploughman overtakes the reaper, for ploughman and reaper are one.' Jake, I think that man spoke a great truth. You and I have done some heavy ploughing, but we are beginning to be reapers now." Her lips suddenly pressed his closely, lingeringly. Her tears were gone. "It's good to reap our own harvest, isn't it, Jake?" she murmured. "Yours and mine together?"

And Jake answered her in his own language, his voice very soft and slow, his eyes gazing straight into hers, seeing her soul. "Sure!" he said. "Sure!"

THE END