Big Game - A Story for Girls

Margot made no demur, but stood watching quietly while Ron tore off the

wrapper, and flattened the curled paper. She was not in a reading mood,

but the suggestion that George Elgood might have sent the magazine made

it precious in her sight, and she waited anxiously for its return.

"It's mine, Ron. It was sent to me! I want to take it upstairs."

"Let me look at the index first, to see who is writing this month! You

don't generally care for such stiff reading; I say, there's a fine

collection of names! It's stronger than ever this month. I don't

believe there is another paper in the world which has such splendid

fellows for contribu--"

Ron stopped short, his voice failing suddenly in the middle of the word.

His jaw dropped, and a wave of colour surged in his cheeks.

"It--it can't be!" he gasped incredulously. "It can't! There must be

another man of the same name. It can't possibly be meant for me!..."

"What? What? Let me see? What are you talking about?" cried Margot,

peering eagerly over his shoulder, while Ron pointed with a trembling

finger to the end of the table of contents. Somehow the words seemed to

be printed in a larger type than the rest. They grew larger and larger

until they seemed to fill the whole page--"Solitude. A Fragment. By

Ronald Vane!"

"Oh, Ron, it is!" shrieked Margot, in happy excitement. "It is you,

and no one else! I told you it was beautiful when you read it to me

that day in the Glen! Oh, when did you send it to him?"

"Never! I never so much as mentioned my verses in his hearing. That

was part of the bargain--that we should not worry him on his holiday.

Margot, it was you! You are only pretending that you know nothing about

it. It must be your doing."

"Indeed it isn't! I never even spoke of you to him." Margot had the

grace to blush at the confession; but by this time Ron had turned over

the pages until he had come to the one on which his own words faced him

in the beautiful distinct typing of the magazine, and the rapture of the

moment precluded every other sentiment. He did not hear what Margot

said, so absorbed was he in re-reading the lines in their delightful new

setting.

"It is good; but it is only a fragment. It isn't finished. Why was

this chosen, instead of one of the others?"