The Times News

SERIAL STORY
PHOTO FINISH
BY CHARLES B. PARMER

CAST OF CHARACTERS
LINDA GORDON - heroine. She gave up Manhattan to return to her Blue Grass.
BRUCE RADFORD - newspaper man. He would give up anything for Linda.
UNCLE SANDY - horseman. He would give up anything, too, for a good horse.
MONTE HILL - rich racing devotee. He also wanted Linda.

Yesterday: Linda meets Brown Donald again and knows an extraordinary evening under the stars with his lips feverish upon hers.

CHAPTER XII
Donald's arms were holding her with gentle strength. Then something snapped inside her. It was like the blackout of an enchanted stage scene - the swift fall of the curtain.
"Don"
An urgency in her tone caused him to drop his hands, to draw away.
"Don," the girl said quickly. "emotions they are tricky things."
"But, Linda, I've wanted you since the moment you looked across at me - over the shoulders of those rough-necks at the auction. You seemed to be calling me"
"And I was." She gave a little laugh. "Don, let's talk of horses and things - shall we? Which reminds me: you are riding tomorrow. Don't you sleep a bit before taking the jumps?"
"Oh, hang sleep when I can be with you."
"Come, we're going," she said firmly.
She took his hand, in friendly fashion; they walked back to his car, got in, started homeward.
"... what time is the race."
"Scheduled for 2 on Merle's private course. But we never start on time. A hunt club race is like old home week, you know; everybody greeting everybody else; swapping the latest gossip. Suppose you come to the paddock early; want you to know Merle."
"I've a suspicion," Linda spoke dryly, "that she doesn't want to know me."
"Oh, bosh; I told her we bought the colt together."
"This Merle - besides being moneybags, who is she?"
"A traction magnate's left-over," he spoke with distaste. "No children, but a bunch of fine horses. You better root for me tomorrow."
"... hi-hih. You're riding"
"Riding a mean stallion of Merle's, a big black named Hellion. Fastest horse in the race, but a tricky jumper. Sometimes he busts a fence instead of leaping it. But there'd only - "
But Linda was late in reaching the course. She had taken hours to dress; she was going to face this Merle.
When she arrived the crowd was converging toward a big black horse. Linda was jostled back as a well-poised, slender woman in gray - she might have been 35 - pushed through, with a young ster in scarlet and blue silks at her side. It was the Merle and Brown Donald.
"No mistakes today, Don. Understand?" the woman was saying, as they reached Hellion.
Linda, looking over shoulders, saw Don nod. His face was grave.
"You get out in front," Merle was giving riding instructions. "always from the field and stay there. Nurse him over the fences and win. Understand?"
Again Donald nodded. Then a bugle sounded. A man called, "Gentlemen up!" Riders were mounted, the horses paraded toward the starting point of the home-made course. As No. 5 - Hellion - swung past, Donald turned his head. He saw Linda. A big grin swept his face. He raised his whip in salute. Called, "Be seeing you." Linda waved a glove - smiled.
Now the crowd was rushing toward the rails of the oblong mile course. There was no grandstand, but a line of farm wagons, drawn up alongside the track, were being crowded by the hunt club members.
Linda looked for a vacant place.
"What a spot?" An oldster with a goatee - looking like a caricature from Esquire - called down to her. She nodded, smiled. He reached down, seized her hand, lifted her up. "Here there's place in front of me. I'm tall - so over you'll. Who you like?"
"Hellion, with Donald up," she said, over her shoulder.
"... So do I. Look - they're at the post."
The field swept past with a thunder of hoofs on the grass - Don three lengths in the lead.
"Two miles to go twice around it fences," the old fellow was enumerating, as Don swung round the first turn, then went over the first fence like a swallow in flight.
"Who says Hellion can't fence?"
Hellion was streaming down the back stretch, the field strung out in Indian file. Now he was at the second hurdle. Linda saw the horse swerve slightly to the left.
"Oh, my aunt! Look!"
Hellion crashed through brush and timber. Don was weaving in his saddle - rolling off. Linda saw him fall, saw him turn over - .
"He's not hurt! Look - he's up grabbing his horse!" So he was, as the field sent past, "he's mounting again he's after them there he goes!"
Three more fences on that back-stretch. A horse fell at each fence - riders kicked feet free from irons - rolled off the course - to remount as Don did.
Don was trailing the field but Hellion was jumping clean!
They were coming around the far turn - took the two fences on the home stretch -
"Watch him," Linda's mentor called. "He'll catch up on this straightaway when around once more."
She saw Hellion pass a gray; then a dark bay; he drew alongside a roan, hung for an instant, passed him; now he leaders were springing by Linda's farm wagon.
A black whirlwind shot past then Linda saw Don's tense face he was leaning far over Hellion's neck now his hand raised, the whip flashed and fell Hellion shot ahead, swept by the third horse.
"Look! They've trying to pocket him!" the old fellow called. Those two horses in front were drawing together, but Don - he was pointing at a bit of daylight between them.
"They'll fall!" Linda heard herself scream. "... I'll bump them!"
"No - look."
Don shoved Hellion's nose between those two front runners -
"They're giving way - they've got to afraid all will pile up," the man behind her shouted.
Linda held her breath an instant - then saw the two lead horses draw apart - Don shot Hellion between them. "Beautiful - beautiful maneuver," the old fellow chuckled.
"Now if he'll just jump cleanly"
Hellion led down the back-stretch - took the four jumps with ease - three lengths in front - took the far turn jump - took the first homestretch fence "One jump to go!" Linda saw him rising for the last jump - he bobbled - tapped his forefeet - Don was swaying in the saddle now jerking Hellion's head up -
"Close shave, but he made it."
Now come on, Don - come on." the goateed man was calling.
Don and Hellion came on - but the chestnut shot alongside, looked Hellion in the eye.
"That's Big Parade, a strong finisher. Come on, you Hellion."
Nose and nose the two swept up the long homestretch. Don was leaning far over, handriding, pushing his mount onward. The two swept past the farm wagon together - now at the finish line -
"Hellion! It's Hellion! Hellion by a whisker!"
Linda leaped from the wagon, pushed forward with the crowd to be at the weighing-out scales when the horses returned. Hellion, his sweaty flanks heaving, was back first. Don leaped to the ground, jerked the saddle off as the slender woman in gray reached him.
"Nicely done, fellow," she said casually.
Linda saw Donald turn his head toward her for an instant - a head that was smeared with grass and dirt from his fall. He grinned, then saw Linda. His face lit up. "Wait for me!" he called - to Linda. He took his saddle, jumped on the scales, was weighed out. Leaped off the scales, tossed the tack to a valet, started toward Linda.
"Come on, Don," the woman known as Merle called, turning her back on Linda, and walking off, followed by her crowd.
Brown Donald straightened. His mouth opened, but he said nothing. Stood still as the chateau line moved away majestically.
Then he turned, came straight to Linda, now standing alone.
"How'd you like it?" he asked, looking at her eagerly.
"A brilliant ride, Don; it was great."
"Oh, Don." Again the woman was calling to him - from 20 paces away. "We're waiting for Don!"
Linda saw the man's face crimson. He stood on one foot, then on the other. Started to speak to her, started to answer Merle's - and did nothing.
"Don!" the call was imperious.
Linda smiled sadly. "I think, my dear Don," she said softly, "... that you'd better answer mama."
She turned her shoulder to him. It gave him an out.
"... I'll call you later," he mumbled.
"Go on; trouble to, m'lad. Hustle along."
Brown Donald trudged off.
Six hours later, after furious driving down Kentucky's roads, Linda Gordon reached the white-painted farmhouse of her uncle.
There was no light showing. No sign of life, until she heard the sudden barking of Jerry the Scottie, tied to the front porch. A light did flash on as she went up the steps; the door opened. There stood Callie Tompkins, the Negro cook.
"... What you want? Oh, lawdy! Miss Linda! Ah sho' is glad you here. Mr. Sandy, he an' Norman an' the colt, they all done run away."
(To be continued)

January first is everybody's birthday in Japan. No matter in which month a child is born there, he is reckoned to be 1 year old on the following January 1st.