Fate

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Rex Dillot was nearly twenty-four, almost good-looking and quitepenniless. His mother was supposed to make him some sort of an allowanceout of what her creditors allowed her, and Rex occasionally strayed intothe ranks of those who earn fitful salaries as secretaries or companionsto people who are unable to cope unaided with their correspondence ortheir leisure. For a few months he had been assistant editor andbusiness manager of a paper devoted to fancy mice, but the devotion hadbeen all on one side, and the paper disappeared with a certain abruptnessfrom club reading-rooms and other haunts where it had made a gratuitousappearance. Still, Rex lived with some air of comfort and well-being, asone can live if one is born with a genius for that sort of thing, and akindly Providence usually arranged that his week-end invitationscoincided with the dates on which his one white dinner-waistcoat was in alaundry-returned condition of dazzling cleanness. He played most gamesbadly, and was shrewd enough to recognise the fact, but he had developeda marvellously accurate judgement in estimating the play and chances ofother people, whether in a golf match, billiard handicap, or croquettournament. By dint of parading his opinion of such and such a player'ssuperiority with a sufficient degree of youthful assertiveness he usuallysucceeded in provoking a wager at liberal odds, and he looked to his week-end winnings to carry him through the financial embarrassments of his mid-week existence. The trouble was, as he confided to Clovis Sangrail, thathe never had enough available or even prospective cash at his command toenable him to fix the wager at a figure really worth winning. "Some day," he said, "I shall come across a really safe thing, a bet thatsimply can't go astray, and then I shall put it up for all I'm worth, orrather for a good deal more than I'm worth if you sold me up to the lastbutton." "It would be awkward if it didn't happen to come off," said Clovis. "It would be more than awkward," said Rex; "it would be a tragedy. Allthe same, it would be extremely amusing to bring it off. Fancy awakingin the morning with about three hundred pounds standing to one's credit.I should go and clear out my hostess's pigeon-loft before breakfast outof sheer good-temper." "Your hostess of the moment mightn't have a pigeon-loft," said Clovis. "I always choose hostesses that have," said Rex; "a pigeon-loft isindicative of a careless, extravagant, genial disposition, such as I liketo see around me. People who strew corn broadcast for a lot of featheredinanities that just sit about cooing and giving each other the glad eyein a Louis Quatorze manner are pretty certain to do you well." "Young Strinnit is coming down this afternoon," said Clovis reflectively;"I dare say you won't find it difficult to get him to back himself atbilliards. He plays a pretty useful game, but he's not quite as good ashe fancies he is." "I know one member of the party who can walk round him," said Rex softly,an alert look coming into his eyes; "that cadaverous-looking Major whoarrived last night. I've seen him play at St. Moritz. If I could getStrinnit to lay odds on himself against the Major the money would be safein my pocket. This looks like the good thing I've been watching andpraying for." "Don't be rash," counselled Clovis, "Strinnit may play up to his self-imagined form once in a blue moon." "I intend to be rash," said Rex quietly, and the look on his facecorroborated his words. "Are you all going to flock to the billiard-room?" asked TeresaThundleford, after dinner, with an air of some disapproval and a gooddeal of annoyance. "I can't see what particular amusement you find inwatching two men prodding little ivory balls about on a table." "Oh, well," said her hostess, "it's a way of passing the time, you know." "A very poor way, to my mind," said Mrs. Thundleford; "now I was going tohave shown all of you the photographs I took in Venice last summer." "You showed them to us last night," said Mrs. Cuvering hastily. "Those were the ones I took in Florence. These are quite a differentlot." "Oh, well, some time to-morrow we can look at them. You can leave themdown in the drawing-room, and then every one can have a look." "I should prefer to show them when you are all gathered together, as Ihave quite a lot of explanatory remarks to make, about Venetian art andarchitecture, on the same lines as my remarks last night on theFlorentine galleries. Also, there are some verses of mine that I shouldlike to read you, on the rebuilding of the Campanile. But, of course, ifyou all prefer to watch Major Latton and Mr. Strinnit knocking ballsabout on a table--" "They are both supposed to be first-rate players," said the hostess. "I have yet to learn that my verses and my art _causerie_ are of second-rate quality," said Mrs. Thundleford with acerbity. "However, as you allseem bent on watching a silly game, there's no more to be said. I shallgo upstairs and finish some writing. Later on, perhaps, I will come downand join you." To one, at least, of the onlookers the game was anything but silly. Itwas absorbing, exciting, exasperating, nerve-stretching, and finally itgrew to be tragic. The Major with the St. Moritz reputation was playinga long way below his form, young Strinnit was playing slightly above his,and had all the luck of the game as well. From the very start the ballsseemed possessed by a demon of contrariness; they trundled aboutcomplacently for one player, they would go nowhere for the other. "A hundred and seventy, seventy-four," sang out the youth who wasmarking. In a game of two hundred and fifty up it was an enormous leadto hold. Clovis watched the flush of excitement die away from Dillot'sface, and a hard white look take its place. "How much have you go on?" whispered Clovis. The other whispered the sumthrough dry, shaking lips. It was more than he or any one connected withhim could pay; he had done what he had said he would do. He had beenrash. "Two hundred and six, ninety-eight." Rex heard a clock strike ten somewhere in the hall, then anothersomewhere else, and another, and another; the house seemed full ofstriking clocks. Then in the distance the stable clock chimed in. Inanother hour they would all be striking eleven, and he would be listeningto them as a disgraced outcast, unable to pay, even in part, the wager hehad challenged. "Two hundred and eighteen, a hundred and three." The game was as good asover. Rex was as good as done for. He longed desperately for theceiling to fall in, for the house to catch fire, for anything to happenthat would put an end to that horrible rolling to and fro of red andwhite ivory that was jostling him nearer and nearer to his doom. "Two hundred and twenty-eight, a hundred and seven." Rex opened his cigarette-case; it was empty. That at least gave him apretext to slip away from the room for the purpose of refilling it; hewould spare himself the drawn-out torture of watching that hopeless gameplayed out to the bitter end. He backed away from the circle of absorbedwatchers and made his way up a short stairway to a long, silent corridorof bedrooms, each with a guests' name written in a little square on thedoor. In the hush that reigned in this part of the house he could stillhear the hateful click-click of the balls; if he waited for a few minuteslonger he would hear the little outbreak of clapping and buzz ofcongratulation that would hail Strinnit's victory. On the alert tensionof his nerves there broke another sound, the aggressive, wrath-inducingbreathing of one who sleeps in heavy after-dinner slumber. The soundcame from a room just at his elbow; the card on the door bore theannouncement "Mrs. Thundleford." The door was just slightly ajar; Rexpushed it open an inch or two more and looked in. The august Teresa hadfallen asleep over an illustrated guide to Florentine art-galleries; ather side, somewhat dangerously near the edge of the table, was a reading-lamp. If Fate had been decently kind to him, thought Rex, bitterly, thatlamp would have been knocked over by the sleeper and would have giventhem something to think of besides billiard matches. There are occasions when one must take one's Fate in one's hands. Rextook the lamp in his. "Two hundred and thirty-seven, one hundred and fifteen." Strinnit was atthe table, and the balls lay in good position for him; he had a choice oftwo fairly easy shots, a choice which he was never to decide. A suddenhurricane of shrieks and a rush of stumbling feet sent every one flockingto the door. The Dillot boy crashed into the room, carrying in his armsthe vociferous and somewhat dishevelled Teresa Thundleford; her clothingwas certainly not a mass of flames, as the more excitable members of theparty afterwards declared, but the edge of her skirt and part of thetable-cover in which she had been hastily wrapped were alight in aflickering, half-hearted manner. Rex flung his struggling burden on thebilliard table, and for one breathless minute the work of beating out thesparks with rugs and cushions and playing on them with soda-water syphonsengrossed the energies of the entire company. "It was lucky I was passing when it happened," panted Rex; "some one hadbetter see to the room, I think the carpet is alight." As a matter of fact the promptitude and energy of the rescuer hadprevented any great damage being done, either to the victim or hersurroundings. The billiard table had suffered most, and had to be laidup for repairs; perhaps it was not the best place to have chosen for thescene of salvage operations; but then, as Clovis remarked, when one isrushing about with a blazing woman in one's arms one can't stop to thinkout exactly where one is going to put her.

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