SCHOOL STORIES 1

School
Stories
by P. G. Wodehouse
2 SCHOOL STORIES
 SCHOOL STORIES 3

Contents
The Pothunters................................................................................4
A Prefect's Uncle............................................................................79
The Gold Bat.................................................................................156
The Head of Kay's........................................................................236
The White Feather........................................................................314
Tales of St. Austin's......................................................................396
How Pillingshot Scored...........................................................399
The Odd Trick..........................................................................403
L'Affaire Uncle John (A Story in Letters)................................407
Harrison's Slight Error.............................................................412
Bradshaw's Little Story.............................................................417
A Shocking Affair.....................................................................421
The Babe and the Dragon........................................................428
The Manuvres of Charteris...................................................432
How Payne Bucked Up............................................................458
Author!.....................................................................................462
'The Tabby Terror'....................................................................467
The Prize Poem.........................................................................471
Work.........................................................................................476
Notes........................................................................................482
Now, Talking About Cricket................................................486
The Tom Brown Question.......................................................490
4 THE POTHUNTERS

THE POTHUNTERS
by P. G. Wodehouse
1902
 THE POTHUNTERS 5

[Dedication]
TO JOAN, EFFIE AND
ERNESTINE BOWES-LYON
6 THE POTHUNTERS

Contents
1 Patient Perseverance Produces Pugilistic Prodigies
2 Thieves Break in and Steal
3 An Unimportant By-product
4 Certain Revelations
5 Concerning the Mutual Friend
6 A Literary Banquet
7 Barrett Explores
8 Barrett Ceases to Explore
9 Enter the Sleuth-hound
10 Mr Thompson Investigates
11 The Sports
12 An Interesting Interview
13 Sir Alfred Scores
14 The Long Run
15 Mr Roberts Explains
16 The Disappearance of J. Thomson
17 Well Proceed to Search for Thomson if He Be Above the Ground
18 In Which the Affairs of Various Persons Are Wound Up
 PATIENT PERSEVERANCE PRODUCES PUGILISTIC PRODIGIES 7

PATIENT wearing the unmistakable air of the

veteran, for whom Aldershot has no
PERSEVERANCE mysteries, others nervous, and wishing
PRODUCES PUGILISTIC themselves back again at school.
Tony Graham had chosen a corner
PRODIGIES near the door. This was his first
appearance at Aldershot. St Austins
Where have I seen that face
was his School, and he was by far the
before? said a voice. Tony Graham
best middle-weight there. But his
looked up from his bag.
doubts as to his ability to hold his own
Hullo, Allen, he said, what the
against all-comers were extreme, nor
dickens are you up here for?
were they lessened by the knowledge
I was rather thinking of doing a
that his cousin, Allen Thomson, was to
little boxing. If youve no objection, of
be one of his opponents. Indeed, if he
course.
had not been a man of mettle, he might
But you ought to be on a bed of
well have thought that with Allens
sickness, and that sort of thing. I heard
advent his chances were at an end.
youd crocked yourself.
Allen was at Rugby. He was the son
So I did. Nothing much, though.
of a baronet who owned many acres in
Trod on myself during a game of fives,
Wiltshire, and held fixed opinions on
and twisted my ankle a bit.
the subject of the whole duty of man,
In for the middles, of course?
who, he held, should be before anything
Yes.
else a sportsman. Both the Thomsons
So am I.
Allens brother Jim was at St
Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman. It
Austins in the same House as Tony-
says you weigh eleven-three.
were good at most forms of sport. Jim,
Bit more, really, I believe. Shant
however, had never taken to the art of
be able to have any lunch, or I shall
boxing very kindly, but, by way of
have to go in for the heavies. What are
compensation, Allen had skill enough
you?
for two. He was a splendid boxer,
Just eleven. Well, lets hope we
quick, neat, scientific. He had been up
meet in the final.
to Aldershot three times, once as a
Rather, said Tony.
feather-weight and twice as a light-
It was at Aldershotto be more
weight, and each time he had returned
exact, in the dressing-room of the
with the silver medal.
Queens Avenue Gymnasium at
As for Tony, he was more a fighter
Aldershotthat the conversation took
than a sparrer. When he paid a visit to
place. From east and west, and north
his uncles house he boxed with Allen
and south, from Dan even unto
daily, and invariably got the worst of it.
Beersheba, the representatives of the
Allen was too quick for him. But he
public schools had assembled to box,
was clever with his hands. His supply
fence, and perform gymnastic prodigies
of pluck was inexhaustible, and
for fame and silver medals. The room
physically he was as hard as nails.
was full of all sorts and sizes of them,
Is your ankle all right again, now?
heavy-weights looking ponderous and
he asked.
muscular, feather-weights diminutive
Pretty well. It wasnt much of a
but wiry, light-weights, middle-weights,
sprain. Interfered with my training a
fencers, and gymnasts in scores, some
8 THE POTHUNTERS
good bit, though. I ought by rights to
be well under eleven stone. Youre all
right, I suppose?
Not bad. Boxing takes it out of you
more than footer or a race. I was in
good footer training long before I
started to get fit for Aldershot. But I
think I ought to get along fairly well.
Any idea whos in against us?
Harrow, Felsted, Wellington.
Thats all, I think.
St Pauls?
No.
Good. Well, I hope your first man
mops you up. Ive a conscientious
objection to scrapping with you.
Allen laughed. Youd be all right,
he said, if you werent so beastly slow
with your guard. Why dont you wake
up? You hit like blazes.
I think I shall start guarding two
seconds before you lead. By the way,
dont have any false delicacy about
spoiling my aristocratic features. On
the ground of relationship, you know.
Rather not. Let auld acquaintance
be forgot. Im not Thomson for the
present. Im Rugby.
Just so, and Im St Austins.
Personally, Im going for the knock-
out. You wont feel hurt?
This was in the days before the
Headmasters Conference had abolished
the knock-out blow, and a boxer might
still pay attentions to the point of his
opponents jaw with an easy
conscience.
I probably shall if it comes off, said
Allen. I say, it occurs to me that we
shall be weighing-in in a couple of
minutes, and I havent started to change
yet. Good, Ive not brought evening
dress or somebody elses footer clothes,
as usually happens on these festive
occasions.
He was just pulling on his last boot
when a Gymnasium official appeared in
the doorway.
Will all those who are entering for
the boxing get ready for the weighing-
in, please? he said, and a general
exodus ensued.
The weighing-in at the Public
Schools Boxing Competition is
something in the nature of a religious
ceremony, but even religious
ceremonies come to an end, and after a
quarter of an hour or so Tony was
weighed in the balance and found
correct. He strolled off on a tour of
inspection.
After a time he lighted upon the St
Austins Gym Instructor, whom he had
not seen since they had parted that
morning, the one on his way to the
dressing-room, the other to the
refreshment-bar for a modest quencher.
Well, Mr Graham?
Hullo, Dawkins. What time does
this show start? Do you know when the
middle-weights come on?
Well, you cant say for certain.
They may keep em back a bit or they
may make a start with em first thing.
No, the light-weights are going to start.
What number did you draw, sir?
One.
Then youll be in the first middle-
weight pair. Thatll be after these two
gentlemen.
These two gentlemen, the first of
the light-weights, were by this time in
the middle of a warmish opening
round. Tony watched them with
interest and envy. How beastly nippy
they are, he said.
Wish I could duck like that, he
added.
Well, the ol thing there is you
ave to watch the other mans eyes. But
light-weights is always quicker at the
duck than what heavier men are. You
get the best boxing in the light-weights,
though the feathers spar quicker.
 PATIENT PERSEVERANCE PRODUCES PUGILISTIC PRODIGIES
Soon afterwards the contest finished,
amidst volleys of applause. It had been
a spirited battle, and an exceedingly
close thing. The umpires disagreed.
After a short consultation, the referee
gave it as his opinion that on the whole
R. Cloverdale, of Bedford, had had a
shade the worse of the exchanges, and
that in consequence J. Robinson, of St
Pauls, was the victor. This was what
he meant. What he said was, Robinson
wins, in a sharp voice, as if somebody
were arguing about it. The pair then
shook hands and retired.
First bout, middle-weights, shrilled
the M.C. W.P. Ross (Wellington) and
A.C.R. Graham (St Austins).
Tony and his opponent retired for a
moment to the changing-room, and then
made their way amidst applause on to
the raised stage on which the ring was
pitched. Mr W.P. Ross proceeded to
the farther corner of the ring, where he
sat down and was vigorously massaged
by his two seconds. Tony took the
opposite corner and submitted himself
to the same process. It is a very
cheering thing at any time to have ones
arms and legs kneaded like bread, and it
is especially pleasant if one is at all
nervous. It sends a glow through the
entire frame. Like somebodys
something it is both grateful and
comforting.
Tonys seconds were curious
specimens of humanity. One was a
gigantic soldier, very gruff and taciturn,
and with decided leanings towards
pessimism. The other was also a
soldier. He was in every way his
colleagues opposite. He was half his
size, had red hair, and was bubbling
over with conversation. The other
could not interfere with his hair or his
size, but he could with his conversation,
and whenever he attempted a remark,
he was promptly silenced, much to his
9
disgust.
Plenty o moosle ere, Fred, he
began, as he rubbed Tonys left arm.
Moosle aint everything, said the
other, gloomily, and there was silence
again.
Are you ready? Seconds away,
said the referee.
Time!
The two stood up to one another.
The Wellington representative was a
plucky boxer, but he was not in the
same class as Tony. After a few
exchanges, the latter got to work, and
after that there was only one man in the
ring. In the middle of the second round
the referee stopped the fight, and gave it
to Tony, who came away as fresh as he
had started, and a great deal happier and
more confident.
Did us proud, Fred, began the
garrulous man.
Yes, but that un aint nothing. You
wait till he meets young Thomson. Ive
seen im box ere three years, and never
bin beat yet. Three bloomin years.
Yus.
This might have depressed anybody
else, but as Tony already knew all there
was to be known about Allens skill
with the gloves, it had no effect upon
him.
A sanguinary heavy-weight
encounter was followed by the first bout
of the feathers and the second of the
light-weights, and then it was Allens
turn to fight the Harrow representative.
It was not a very exciting bout.
Allen took things very easily. He knew
his training was by no means all it
should have been, and it was not his
game to take it out of himself with any
firework business in the trial heats. He
would reserve that for the final. So he
sparred three gentle rounds with the
Harrow sportsman, just doing sufficient
to keep the lead and obtain the verdict
10 THE POTHUNTERS
after the last round. He finished
without having turned a hair. He had
only received one really hard blow, and
that had done no damage. After this
came a long series of fights. The
heavy-weights shed their blood in
gallons for name and fame. The
feather-weights gave excellent
exhibitions of science, and the light-
weight pairs were fought off until there
remained only the final to be decided,
Robinson, of St Pauls, against a
Charterhouse boxer.
In the middle-weights there were
three competitors still in the running,
Allen, Tony, and a Felsted man. They
drew lots, and the bye fell to Tony, who
put up an uninteresting three rounds
with one of the soldiers, neither
fatiguing himself very much.
Henderson, of Felsted, proved a much
tougher nut to crack than Allens first
opponent. He was a rushing boxer, and
in the first round had, if anything, the
best of it. In the last two, however,
Allen gradually forged ahead, gaining
many points by his perfect style alone.
He was declared the winner, but he felt
much more tired than he had done after
his first fight.
By the time he was required again,
however, he had had plenty of breathing
space. The final of the light-weights
had been decided, and Robinson, of St
Pauls, after the custom of Paulines, had
set the crown upon his afternoons work
by fighting the Carthusian to a standstill
in the first round. There only remained
now the finals of the heavies and
middles.
It was decided to take the latter first.
Tony had his former seconds, and
Dawkins had come to his corner to see
him through the ordeal.
The ol thing ere, he kept drive which took Tony clean off his feet
repeating, is to keep goin ard all the
time and wear im out. Hes too quick
for you to try any sparrin with.
Yes, said Tony.
The ol thing, continued the
expert, is to feint with your left and it
with your right. This was excellent in
theory, no doubt, but Tony felt that
when he came to put it into practice
Allen might have other schemes on
hand and bring them off first.
Are you ready? Seconds out of the
ring.... Time!
Go in, sir, ard, whispered the red-
haired man as Tony rose from his place.
Allen came up looking pleased with
matters in general. He gave Tony a
cousinly grin as they shook hands.
Tony did not respond. He was feeling
serious, and wondering if he could
bring off his knock-out before the three
rounds were over. He had his doubts.
The fight opened slowly. Both were
cautious, for each knew the others
powers. Suddenly, just as Tony was
thinking of leading, Allen came in like a
flash. A straight left between the eyes,
a right on the side of the head, and a
second left on the exact tip of the nose,
and he was out again, leaving Tony
with a helpless feeling of impotence and
disgust.
Then followed more sparring. Tony
could never get in exactly the right
position for a rush. Allen circled round
him with an occasional feint. Then he
hit out with the left. Tony ducked.
Again he hit, and again Tony ducked,
but this time the left stopped halfway,
and his right caught Tony on the cheek
just as he swayed to one side. It
staggered him, and before he could
recover himself, in darted Allen again
with another trio of blows, ducked a
belated left counter, got in two stinging
hits on the ribs, and finished with a left
and deposited him on the floor beside
the ropes.
 PATIENT PERSEVERANCE PRODUCES PUGILISTIC PRODIGIES
Silence, please, said the referee, as
a burst of applause greeted this feat.
Tony was up again in a moment. He
began to feel savage. He had expected
something like this, but that gave him
no consolation. He made up his mind
that he really would rush this time, but
just as he was coming in, Allen came in
instead. It seemed to Tony for the next
half-minute that his cousins fists were
never out of his face. He looked on the
world through a brown haze of boxing-
glove. Occasionally his hand met
something solid which he took to be
Allen, but this was seldom, and,
whenever it happened, it only seemed to
bring him back again like a boomerang.
Just at the most exciting point, Time
was called.
The pessimist shook his head
gloomily as he sponged Tonys face.
You must lead if you want to it
im, said the garrulous man. Youre
too slow. Go in at im, sir, wiv both
ands, an youll be all right. Wont e,
Fred?
I said ow it ud be, was the only
reply Fred would vouchsafe.
Tony was half afraid the referee
would give the fight against him
without another round, but to his joy
Time was duly called. He came up to
the scratch as game as ever, though his
head was singing. He meant to go in
for all he was worth this round.
And go in he did. Allen had
managed, in performing a complicated
manoeuvre, to place himself in a corner,
and Tony rushed. He was sent out
again with a flush hit on the face. He
rushed again, and again met Allens
left. Then he got past, and in the
confined space had it all his own way.
Science did not tell here. Strength was
the thing that scored, hard half-arm
smashes, left and right, at face and
body, and the guard could look after
11
itself.
Allen upper-cut him twice, but after
that he was nowhere. Tony went in
with both hands. There was a
prolonged rally, and it was not until
Time had been called that Allen was
able to extricate himself. Tonys blows
had been mostly body blows, and very
warm ones at that.
Thats right, sir, was the comment
of the red-headed second. Keep em
both goin hard, and youll win yet.
You ad im proper then. Adnt e,
Fred?
And even the pessimist was obliged
to admit that Tony could fight, even if
he was not quick with his guard.
Allen took the ring slowly. His want
of training had begun to tell on him, and
some of Tonys blows had landed in
very tender spots. He knew that he
could win if his wind held out, but he
had misgivings. The gloves seemed to
weigh down his hands. Tony opened
the ball with a tremendous rush. Allen
stopped him neatly. There was an
interval while the two sparred for an
opening. Then Allen feinted and
dashed in. Tony did not hit him once.
It was the first round over again. Left
right, left right, and, finally, as had
happened before, a tremendously hot
shot which sent him under the ropes.
He got up, and again Allen darted in.
Tony met him with a straight left. A
rapid exchange of blows, and the end
came. Allen lashed out with his left.
Tony ducked sharply, and brought his
right across with every ounce of his
weight behind it, fairly on to the point
of the jaw. The right cross-counter is
distinctly one of those things which it is
more blessed to give than to receive.
Allen collapsed.
... nine ... ten.
The time-keeper closed his watch.
Graham wins, said the referee,
12 THE POTHUNTERS

look after that man there. of the School he might have felt less at
ease, but with Tony it was different.
When you have underdone a fellows
THIEVES BREAK IN eggs and overdone his toast and eaten
the remainder for a term or two, you
AND STEAL begin to feel that mere social
distinctions and differences of age no
It was always the custom for such
longer form a barrier.
Austinians as went up to represent the
Besides, he had news which was
School at the annual competition to stop
absolutely fresh, news to which no one
the night in the town. It was not,
could say pityingly: What! Have you
therefore, till just before breakfast on
only just heard that!
the following day that Tony arrived
Hullo, Graham, he said. Have you
back at his House. The boarding
come back? Tony admitted that he
Houses at St Austins formed a fringe to
had. Jolly good for getting the
the School grounds. The two largest
Middles. (A telegram had, of course,
were the School House and
preceded Tony.) I say, Graham, do you
Merevales. Tony was at Merevales.
know whats happened? Therell be an
He was walking up from the station
awful row about it. Someones been
with Welch, another member of
and broken into the Pav.
Merevales, who had been up to
Rot! How do you know?
Aldershot as a fencer, when, at the
Theres a pane taken clean out. I
entrance to the School grounds, he fell
booked it in a second as I was going
in with Robinson, his fag. Robinson
past to the track.
was supposed by many (including
Which room?
himself) to be a very warm man for the
First Fifteen. The window facing
Junior Quarter, which was a handicap
away from the Houses.
race, especially as an injudicious Sports
Thats rum, said Welch. Wonder
Committee had given him ten yards
what a burglar wanted in the First
start on Simpson, whom he would have
room. Isnt even a hair-brush there
backed himself to beat, even if the
generally.
positions had been reversed. Being a
Robinsons eyes dilated with honest
wise youth, however, and knowing that
pride. This was good. This was better
the best of runners may fail through
than he had looked for. Not only were
under-training, he had for the last week
they unaware of the burglary, but they
or so been going in for a steady course
had not even an idea as to the recent
of over-training, getting up in the small
event which had made the First room so
hours and going for before-breakfast
fit a hunting-ground for the burgling
spins round the track on a glass of milk
industry. There are few pleasures
and a piece of bread. Master R.
keener than the pleasure of telling
Robinson was nothing if not thorough
somebody something he didnt know
in matters of this kind.
before.
But today things of greater moment
Great Scott, he remarked, havent
than the Sports occupied his mind. He
you heard? No, of course you went up
had news. He had great news. He was
to Aldershot before they did it. By
bursting with news, and he hailed the
Jove.
approach of Tony and Welch with
Did what?
pleasure. With any other leading light
 THIEVES BREAK IN AND STEAL
Why, they shunted all the Sports
prizes from the Board Room to the Pav.
and shot em into the First room. I
dont suppose theres one left now. I
should like to see the Old Mans face
when he hears about it. Good mind to
go and tell him now, only hed have a
fit. Jolly exciting, though, isnt it?
Well, said Tony, of all the
absolutely idiotic things to do! Fancy
puttingthere must have been at least
fifty pounds worth of silver and
things. Fancy going and leaving all that
overnight in the Pav!
Rotten! agreed Welch. Wonder
whose idea it was.
Look here, Robinson, said Tony,
youd better buck up and change, or
youll be late for brekker. Come on,
Welch, well go and inspect the scene
of battle.
Robinson trotted off, and Welch and
Tony made their way to the Pavilion.
There, sure enough, was the window, or
rather the absence of window. A pane
had been neatly removed, evidently in
the orthodox way by means of a
diamond.
May as well climb up and see if
theres anything to be seen, said
Welch.
All right, said Tony, give us a leg
up. Right-ho. By Jove, Im stiff.
See anything?
No. Theres a cloth sort of thing
covering what I suppose are the prizes.
I see how the chap, whoever he was, got
in. Youve only got to break the
window, draw a couple of bolts, and
there you are. Shall I go in and
investigate?
Better not. Its rather the thing, I
fancy, in these sorts of cases, to leave
everything just as it is.
Rum business, said Tony, as he
rejoined Welch on terra firma.
Wonder if theyll catch the chap.
13
Wed better be getting back to the
House now. It struck the quarter years
ago.
When Tony, some twenty minutes
later, shook off the admiring crowd who
wanted a full description of yesterdays
proceedings, and reached his study, he
found there James Thomson, brother to
Allen Thomson, as the playbills say.
Jim was looking worried. Tony had
noticed it during breakfast, and had
wondered at the cause. He was soon
enlightened.
Hullo, Jim, said he. Whats up
with you this morning? Feeling
chippy?
No. No, Im all right. Im in a
beastly hole though. I wanted to talk to
you about it.
Weigh in, then. Weve got plenty
of time before school.
Its about this Aldershot business.
How on earth did you manage to lick
Allen like that? I thought he was a
cert.
Yes, so did I. The ol thing there,
as Dawkins ud say, was, I knocked him
out. Its the sort of thing thats always
happening. I wasnt in it at all except
during the second round, when I gave
him beans rather in one of the corners.
My aunt, it was warm while it lasted.
First round, I didnt hit him once. He
was better than I thought hed be, and I
knew from experience he was pretty
good.
Yes, you look a bit bashed.
Yes. Feel it too. But whats the
row with you?
Just this. I had a couple of quid on
Allen, and the rotter goes and gets
licked.
Good Lord. Whom did you bet
with?
With Allen himself.
Mean to say Allen was crock
enough to bet against himself? He must
14 THE POTHUNTERS
have known he was miles better than
anyone else in. Hes got three medals
there already.
No, you see his bet with me was
only a hedge. Hed got five to four or
something in quids on with a chap in his
House at Rugby on himself. He wanted
a hedge because he wasnt sure about
his ankle being all right. You know he
hurt it. So I gave him four to one in
half-sovereigns. I thought he was a
cert, with apologies to you.
Dont mention it. So he was a cert.
It was only the merest fluke I managed
to out him when I did. If hed hung on
to the end, hed have won easy. Hed
been scoring points all through.
I know. So The Sportsman says.
Just like my luck.
I cant see what you want to bet at
all for. Youre bound to come a mucker
sooner or later. Cant you raise the two
quid?
Im broke except for half a crown.
Id lend it to you like a shot if I had
it, of course. But you dont find me
with two quid to my name at the end of
term. Wont Allen wait?
He would if it was only him. But
this other chap wants his oof badly for
something and hes leaving and going
abroad or something at the end of term.
Anyhow, I know hes keen on getting
it. Allen told me.
Tony pondered for a moment. Look
here, he said at last, cant you ask
your pater? He usually heaves his
money about pretty readily, doesnt
he?
Well, you see, he wouldnt send me
two quid off the reel without wanting to
know all about it, and why I couldnt
get on to the holidays with five bob, and
Id either have to fake up a lot of lies,
which Im not going to do
Of course not.
Or else I must tell him Ive been
betting.
Well, he bets himself, doesnt he?
Thats just where the whole
business slips up, replied Jim, prodding
the table with a pen in a misanthropic
manner. Bettings the one thing hes
absolutely down on. He got done rather
badly once a few years ago. Believe he
betted on Orme that year he got
poisoned. Anyhow hes always sworn
to lynch us if we made fools of
ourselves that way. So if I asked him,
Id not only get beans myself, besides
not getting any money out of him, but
Allen would get scalped too, which he
wouldnt see at all.
Yes, its no good doing that.
Havent you any other source of
revenue?
Yes, theres just one chance. If that
doesnt come off, Im done. My pater
said hed give me a quid for every race
I won at the sports. I got the half
yesterday all right when you were up at
Aldershot.
Good man. I didnt hear about that.
What time? Anything good?
Nothing special. 2-7 and three-
fifths.
Thats awfully good. You ought to
pull off the mile, too, I should think.
Yes, with luck. Drakes the man
Im afraid of. Hes done it in 4-48
twice during training. He was second in
the half yesterday by about three yards,
but you cant tell anything from that.
He sprinted too late.
Whats your best for the mile?
I have done 4-47, but only once.
4-48s my average, so theres nothing to
choose between us on paper.
Well, youve got more to make you
buck up than he has. There must be
something in that.
Yes, by Jove. Ill win if I expire on
the tape. I shant spare myself with that
quid on the horizon.
 THIEVES BREAK IN AND STEAL 15

No. Hullo, theres the bell. We This kid began Morrison.

must buck up. Going to Charteris Kid yourself, Morrison.
gorge tonight? This lunatic, then. Robinson
Yes, but I shant eat anything. No allowed the emendation to pass. This
risks for me. lunatics got some yarn on about the
Rusks are more in your line now. Pav. being burgled.
Come on. So it is. Tell you I saw it myself.
And, in the excitement of these more Did it yourself, probably.
personal matters, Tony entirely forgot How do you know, anyway? You
to impart the news of the Pavilion seem so jolly certain about it.
burglary to him. Why, theres a pane of glass cut out
of the window in the First room.
Shouldnt wonder, you know, said
AN UNIMPORTANT BY- Dimsdale, one of the two School House
fags, judicially, if the kid wasnt telling
PRODUCT the truth for once in his life. Those pots
must be worth something. Dont you
The news, however, was not long in
think so, Scott?
spreading. Robinson took care of that.
Scott admitted that there might be
On the way to school he overtook his
something in the idea, and that,
friend Morrison, a young gentleman
however foreign to his usual habits,
who had the unique distinction of being
Robinson might on this occasion be
the rowdiest fag in Wards House,
confining himself more or less to strict
which, as any Austinian could have told
fact.
you, was the rowdiest house in the
There you are, then, said Robinson,
School.
vengefully. Shows what a fat lot you
I say, Morrison, heard the latest?
know what youre talking about,
No, what?
Morrison.
Chap broke into the Pav. last night.
Morrisons a fool, said Scott.
Who, you?
Ever since he got off the bottom bench
No, you ass, a regular burglar.
in form theres been no holding him.
After the Sports prizes.
All the same, said Morrison,
Look here, Robinson, try that on the
feeling that matters were going against
kids.
him, I shant believe it till I see it.
Just what I am doing, said
Whatll you bet? said Robinson.
Robinson.
I never bet, replied Morrison with
This delicate reference to Morrisons
scorn.
tender years had the effect of creating a
You darent. You know youd
disturbance. Two School House
lose.
juniors, who happened to be passing,
All right, then, Ill bet a penny Im
naturally forsook all their other aims
right. He drew a deep breath, as who
and objects and joined the battle.
should say, Its a lot of money, but its
Whats up? asked one of them,
worth risking it.
dusting himself hastily as they stopped
Youll lose that penny, old chap,
to take breath. It was always his habit
said Robinson. Thats to say, he
to take up any business that might
added thoughtfully, if you ever pay
attract his attention, and ask for
up.
explanations afterwards.
16 THE POTHUNTERS
Youve got us as witnesses, said
Dimsdale. Well see that he shells
out. Scott, remember youre a witness.
Right-ho, said Scott.
At this moment the clock struck
nine, and as each of the principals in
this financial transaction, and both the
witnesses, were expected to be in their
places to answer their names at 8.58,
they were late. And as they had all
been late the day before and the day
before that, they were presented with
two hundred lines apiece. Which shows
more than ever how wrong it is to bet.
The news continuing to circulate, by
the end of morning school it was
generally known that a gang of
desperadoes, numbering at least a
hundred, had taken the Pavilion down,
brick by brick, till only the foundations
were left standing, and had gone off
with every jot and tittle of the
unfortunately placed Sports prizes.
At the quarter-to-eleven interval, the
School had gone en masse to see what it
could see, and had stared at the window
with much the same interest as they
were wont to use in inspecting the First
Eleven pitch on the morning of a match
a curious custom, by the way, but one
very generally observed.
Then the official news of the extent
of the robbery was spread abroad. It
appeared that the burglar had by no
means done the profession credit, for
out of a vast collection of prizes ranging
from the vast and silver Mile Challenge
Cup to the pair of fives-gloves with
which the under twelve disciple of
Deerfoot was to be rewarded, he had
selected only three. Two of these were
worth having, being the challenge cup
for the quarter and the non-challenge
cup for the hundred yards, both silver,
but the third was a valueless flask, and
the general voice of the School was
loud in condemning the business
abilities of one who could select his
swag in so haphazard a manner. It was
felt to detract from the merit of the
performance. The knowing ones,
however, gave it as their opinion that
the man must have been frightened by
something, and so was unable to give
the matter his best attention and do
himself justice as a connoisseur.
We had a burglary at my place
once, began Reade, of Philpotts
House. The man
That rotter, Reade, said Barrett,
also of Philpotts, has been telling us
that burglary chestnut of his all the
morning. I wish you chaps wouldnt
encourage him.
Why, what was it? First Ive heard
of it, at any rate. Dallas and Vaughan,
of Wards, added themselves to the
group. Out with it, Reade, said
Vaughan.
Its only a beastly reminiscence of
Reades childhood, said Barrett. A
burglar got into the wine-cellar and
collared all the coals.
He didnt. He was in the hall, and
my pater got his revolver
While you hid under the bed.
and potted at him over the
banisters.
The last time but three you told the
story, your pater fired through the
keyhole of the dining-room.
You idiot, that was afterwards.
Oh, well, what does it matter? Tell
us something fresh.
Its my opinion, said Dallas, that
Ward did it. A man of the vilest
antecedents. Hes capable of anything
from burglary
To attempted poisoning. You
should see what we get to eat in Wards
House, said Vaughan.
Wards the worst type of beak. He
simply lives for the sake of booking
chaps. If he books a chap out of bounds
 AN UNIMPORTANT BY-PRODUCT
it keeps him happy for a week.
A man like thats bound to be a
criminal of sorts in his spare time. Its
action and reaction, said Vaughan.
Mr Ward happening to pass at this
moment, the speaker went on to ask
Dallas audibly if life was worth living,
and Dallas replied that under certain
conditions and in some Houses it was
not.
Dallas and Vaughan did not like Mr
Ward. Mr Ward was not the sort of
man who inspires affection. He had an
unpleasant habit of jarring, as it was
called. That is to say, his conversation
was shaped to one single end, that of
trying to make the person to whom he
talked feel uncomfortable. Many of his
jars had become part of the School
history. There was a legend that on one
occasion he had invited his prefects to
supper, and regaled them with
sausages. There was still one prefect
unhelped. To him he addressed
himself.
A sausage, Jones?
If you please, sir.
No, you wont, then, because Im
going to have half myself.
This story may or may not be true.
Suffice it to say, that Mr Ward was not
popular.
The discussion was interrupted by
the sound of the bell ringing for second
lesson. The problem was left unsolved.
It was evident that the burglar had been
interrupted, but how or why nobody
knew. The suggestion that he had heard
Master R. Robinson training for his
quarter-mile, and had thought it was an
earthquake, found much favour with the
junior portion of the assembly.
Simpson, on whom Robinson had been
given start in the race, expressed an
opinion that he, Robinson, ran like a
cow. At which Robinson smiled darkly,
and advised the other to wait till Sports
17
Day and then hed see, remarking that,
meanwhile, if he gave him any of his
cheek he might not be well enough to
run at all.
This sort of thing, said Barrett to
Reade, as they walked to their form-
room, always makes me feel beastly.
Once start a row like this, and all the
beaks turn into regular detectives and
go ferreting about all over the place,
and its ten to one they knock up against
something one doesnt want them to
know about.
Reade was feeling hurt. He had
objected to the way in which Barrett
had spoiled a story that might easily
have been true, and really was true in
parts. His dignity was offended. He
said Yes to Barretts observation in a
tone of reserved hauteur. Barrett did
not notice.
Its an awful nuisance. For one
thing it makes them so jolly strict about
bounds.
Yes.
I wanted to go for a bike ride this
afternoon. Theres nothing on at the
School.
Why dont you?
Whats the good if you cant break
bounds? A ride of about a quarter of a
miles no good. Theres a ripping place
about ten miles down the Stapleton
Road. Big wood, with a ripping little
hollow in the middle, all ferns and
moss. I was thinking of taking a book
out there for the afternoon. Only
theres roll-call.
He paused. Ordinarily, this would
have been the cue for Reade to say,
Oh, Ill answer your name at roll-call.
But Reade said nothing. Barrett looked
surprised and disappointed.
I say, Reade, he said.
Well?
Would you like to answer my name
at roll-call? It was the first time he had
18 THE POTHUNTERS

ever had occasion to make the request. to confine his attentions for the future to
No, said Reade. dignity. This was by-product number
Barrett could hardly believe his one of the Pavilion burglary.
ears. Did he sleep? Did he dream? Or
were visions about?
What! he said. CERTAIN
No answer.
Do you mean to say you wont? REVELATIONS
Of course I wont. Why the deuce
During the last hour of morning
should I do your beastly dirty work for
school, Tony got a note from Jim.
you?
Graham, said Mr Thompson, the
Barrett did not know what to make
master of the Sixth, sadly, just as Tony
of this. Curiosity urged him to ask for
was about to open it.
explanations. Dignity threw cold water
Yes, sir?
on such a scheme. In the end dignity
Kindly tear that note up, Graham.
had the best of it.
Note, sir?
Oh, very well, he said, and they
Kindly tear that note up, Graham.
went on in silence. In all the three years
Come, you are keeping us waiting.
of their acquaintance they had never
As the hero of the novel says, further
before happened upon such a crisis.
concealment was useless. Tony tore the
The silence lasted until they reached
note up unread.
the form-room. Then Barrett
Hope it didnt want an answer, he
determined, in the interests of the
said to Jim after school. Constant
common goodhe and Reade shared a
practice has made Thompson a sort of
study, and icy coolness in a small study
amateur lynx.
is unpleasantto chain up Dignity for
No. It was only to ask you to be in
the moment, and give Curiosity a trial.
the study directly after lunch. Theres a
Whats up with you today? he
most unholy row going to occur shortly,
asked.
as far as I can see.
He could hardly have chosen a worse
What, about this burglary
formula. The question has on most
business?
people precisely the same effect as that
Yes. Havent time to tell you now.
which the query, Do you know where
See you after lunch.
you lost it? has on one who is engaged
After lunch, having closed the study
in looking for mislaid property.
door, Jim embarked on the following
Nothing, said Reade. Probably at
statement.
the same moment hundreds of other
It appeared that on the previous night
people were making the same reply, in
he had left a book of notes, which were
the same tone of voice, to the same
of absolutely vital importance for the
question.
examination which the Sixth had been
Oh, said Barrett.
doing in the earlier part of the morning,
There was another silence.
in the identical room in which the prizes
You might as well answer my name
had been placed. Or rather, he had left
this afternoon, said Barrett, tentatively.
it there several days before, and had not
Reade walked off without replying,
needed it till that night. At half-past six
and Barrett went to his place feeling
the Pavilion had been locked up, and
that curiosity was a fraud, and resolving
Biffen, the ground-man, had taken the
 CERTAIN REVELATIONS
key away with him, and it was only
after tea had been consumed and the
evening paper read, that Jim, thinking it
about time to begin work, had
discovered his loss. This was about
half-past seven.
Being a House-prefect, Jim did not
attend preparation in the Great Hall
with the common herd of the Houses,
but was part-owner with Tony of a
study.
The difficulties of the situation soon
presented themselves to him. It was
only possible to obtain the notes in
three waysfirstly, by going to the
rooms of the Sixth Form master, who
lived out of College; secondly, by
borrowing from one of the other Sixth
Form members of the House; and
thirdly, by the desperate expedient of
burgling the Pavilion. The objections to
the first course were two. In the first
place Merevale was taking prep. over in
the Hall, and it was strictly forbidden
for anyone to quit the House after lock-
up without leave. And, besides, it was
long odds that Thompson, the Sixth
Form master, would not have the notes,
as he had dictated them partly out of his
head and partly from the works of
various eminent scholars. The second
course was out of the question. The
only other Sixth Form boy in the House,
Tony and Welch being away at
Aldershot, was Charteris, and Charteris,
who never worked much except the
night before an exam, but worked then
under forced draught, was appalled at
the mere suggestion of letting his note-
book out of his hands. Jim had sounded
him on the subject and had met with the
reply, Kill my father and burn my
ancestral home, and I will look on and
smile. But touch these notes and you
rouse the British Lion. After which he
had given up the borrowing idea.
There remained the third course, and
19
there was an excitement and sporting
interest about it that took him
immensely. But how was he to get out
to start with? He opened his study-
window and calculated the risks of a
drop to the ground. No, it was too far.
Not worth risking a sprained ankle on
the eve of the mile. Then he thought of
the Matrons sitting-room. This was on
the ground-floor, and if its owner
happened to be out, exit would be easy.
As luck would have it she was out, and
in another minute Jim had crossed the
Rubicon and was standing on the gravel
drive which led to the front gate.
A sharp sprint took him to the
Pavilion. Now the difficulty was not
how to get out, but how to get in.
Theoretically, it should have been the
easiest of tasks, but in practice there
were plenty of obstacles to success. He
tried the lower windows, but they were
firmly fixed. There had been a time
when one of them would yield to a hard
kick and fly bodily out of its frame, but
somebody had been caught playing that
game not long before, and Jim
remembered with a pang that not only
had the window been securely fastened
up, but the culprit had had a spell of
extra tuition and other punishments
which had turned him for the time into a
hater of his species. His own fate, he
knew, would be even worse, for a
prefect is supposed to have something
better to do in his spare time than
breaking into pavilions. It would mean
expulsion perhaps, or, at the least, the
loss of his prefects cap, and Jim did not
want to lose that. Still the thing had to
be done if he meant to score any marks
at all in the forthcoming exam. He
wavered a while between a choice of
methods, and finally fixed on the
crudest of all. No one was likely to be
within earshot, thought he, so he picked
up the largest stone he could find, took
20 THE POTHUNTERS
as careful aim as the dim light would
allow, and hove it. There was a
sickening crash, loud enough, he
thought, to bring the whole School
down on him, followed by a prolonged
rattle as the broken pieces of glass fell
to the ground.
He held his breath and listened. For
a moment all was still, uncannily still.
He could hear the tops of the trees
groaning in the slight breeze that had
sprung up, and far away the distant roar
of a train. Then a queer thing
happened. He heard a quiet thud, as if
somebody had jumped from a height on
to grass, and then quick footsteps.
He waited breathless and rigid,
expecting every moment to see a form
loom up beside him in the darkness. It
was useless to run. His only chance
was to stay perfectly quiet.
Then it dawned upon him that the
man was running away from him, not
towards him. His first impulse was to
give chase, but prudence restrained
him. Catching burglars is an
exhilarating sport, but it is best to
indulge in it when one is not on a
burgling expedition oneself.
Besides he had come out to get his
book, and business is business.
There was no time to be lost now,
for someone might have heard one or
both of the noises and given the alarm.
Once the window was broken the
rest was fairly easy, the only danger
being the pieces of glass. He took off
his coat and flung it on to the sill of the
upper window. In a few seconds he
was up himself without injury. He
found it a trifle hard to keep his
balance, as there was nothing to hold on
to, but he managed it long enough to
enable him to thrust an arm through the
gap and turn the handle. After this there
was a bolt to draw, which he managed
without difficulty.
The window swung open. Jim
jumped in, and groped his way round
the room till he found his book. The
other window of the room was wide
open. He shut it for no definite reason,
and noticed that a pane had been cut out
entire. The professional cracksman had
done his work more neatly than the
amateur.
Poor chap, thought Jim, with a
chuckle, as he effected a retreat, I must
have given him a bit of a start with my
half-brick. After bolting the window
behind him, he climbed down.
As he reached earth again the clock
struck a quarter to nine. In another
quarter of an hour prep, would be over
and the House door unlocked, and he
would be able to get in again. Nor
would the fact of his being out excite
remark, for it was the custom of the
House-Prefects to take the air for the
few minutes which elapsed between the
opening of the door and the final
locking-up for the night.
The rest of his adventures ran too
smoothly to require a detailed
description. Everything succeeded
excellently. The only reminiscences of
his escapade were a few cuts in his coat,
which went unnoticed, and the precious
book of notes, to which he applied
himself with such vigour in the watches
of the night, with a surreptitious candle
and a hamper of apples as aids to study,
that, though tired next day, he managed
to do quite well enough in the exam, to
pass muster. And, as he had never had
the least prospect of coming out top, or
even in the first five, this satisfied him
completely.
Tony listened with breathless interest
to Jims recital of his adventures, and at
the conclusion laughed.
What a mad thing to go and do, he
said. Jolly sporting, though.
Jim did not join in his laughter.
 CERTAIN REVELATIONS 21

Yes, but dont you see, he said, They are having one, I heard.
ruefully, what a mess Im in? If they There you are, then, said Jim,
find out that I was in the Pav. at the dejectedly. Im done, you see.
time when the cups were bagged, how I dont know. I dont believe
on earth am I to prove I didnt take detectives are much class.
them myself? Anyhow, hell probably have
By Jove, I never thought of that. gumption enough to spot me.
But, hang it all, theyd never dream of Jims respect for the abilities of our
accusing a Coll. chap of stealing Sports national sleuth-hounds was greater than
prizes. This isnt a reformatory for Tonys, and a good deal greater than
juvenile hooligans. that of most people.
No, perhaps not.
Of course not.
Well, even if they didnt, the Old CONCERNING THE
Man would be frightfully sick if he got
to know about it. Id lose my prefects MUTUAL FRIEND
cap for a cert.
I wonder where the dear Mutual
You might, certainly.
gets to these afternoons, said Dallas.
I should. There wouldnt be any
The who? asked MacArthur.
question about it. Why, dont you
MacArthur, commonly known as the
remember that business last summer
Babe, was a day boy. Dallas and
about Cairns? He used to stay out after
Vaughan had invited him to tea in their
lock-up. That was absolutely all he
study.
did. Well, the Old Un dropped on him
Plunkett, you know.
like a hundredweight of bricks.
Why the Mutual?
Multiply that by about ten and you get
Mutual Friend, Vaughans and
what hell do to me if he books me over
mine. Shares this study with us. I call
this job.
him dear partly because hes head of the
Tony looked thoughtful. The case of
House, and therefore, of course, we
Cairns versus The Powers that were,
respect and admire him.
was too recent to have escaped his
And partly, put in Vaughan,
memory. Even now Cairns was to be
beaming at the Babe over a frying-pan
seen on the grounds with a common
full of sausages, partly because we
School House cap at the back of his
love him so. Oh, hes a beauty.
head in place of the prefects cap which
No, but rotting apart, said the
had once adorned it.
Babe, what sort of a chap is he? I
Yes, he said, youd lose your cap
hardly know him by sight, even.
all right, Im afraid.
Should describe him roughly, said
Rather. And the sickening part of
Dallas, as a hopeless, forsaken
the business is that this real, copper-
unspeakable worm.
bottomed burglaryll make them hunt
Understates it considerably,
about all over the shop for clues and
remarked Vaughan. His manners are
things, and the odds are theyll find me
patronizing, and his customs beastly.
out, even if they dont book the real
He wears spectacles, and reads
man. Shouldnt wonder if they had a
Herodotus in the original Greek for
detective down for a big thing of this
pleasure.
sort.
He sneers at footer, and jeers at
22 THE POTHUNTERS
cricket. Croquet is his form, I should
say. Should doubt, though, if he even
plays that.
But why on earth, said the Babe,
do you have him in your study?
Vaughan looked wildly and
speechlessly at Dallas, who looked
helplessly back at Vaughan.
Dont, Babe, please! said Dallas.
Youve no idea how a remark of that
sort infuriates us. You surely dont
suppose wed have the man in the study
if we could help it?
Its another instance of Ward at his
worst, said Vaughan. Have you never
heard the story of the Mutual Friends
arrival?
No.
It was like this. At the beginning of
this term I came back expecting to be
head of this show. You see, Richards
left at Christmas and I was next man in.
Dallas and I had made all sorts of
arrangements for having a good time.
Well, I got back on the last evening of
the holidays. When I got into this
study, there was the man Plunkett
sitting in the best chair, reading.
Probably reading Herodotus in the
original Greek, snorted Dallas.
He didnt take the slightest notice of
me. I stood in the doorway like
Patience on a monument for about a
quarter of an hour. Then I coughed. He
took absolutely no notice. I coughed
again, loud enough to crack the
windows. Then I got tired of it, and
said Hullo. He did look up at that.
Hullo, he said, youve got rather a
nasty cough. I said Yes, and waited
for him to throw himself on my bosom
and explain everything, you know.
Did he? asked the Babe, deeply
interested.
Not a bit, said Dallas, hesorry,
Vaughan, fire ahead.
He went on reading. After a bit I
said I hoped he was fairly comfortable.
He said he was. Conversation
languished again. I made another shot.
Looking for anybody? I said. No,
he said, are you? No. Then why
the dickens should I be? he said. I
didnt quite follow his argument. In
fact, I dont even now. Look here, I
said, tell me one thing. Have you or
have you not bought this place? If you
have, all right. If you havent, Im
going to sling you out, and jolly soon,
too. He looked at me in his superior
sort of way, and observed without
blenching that he was head of the
House.
Just another of Wards jars, said
Dallas. Knowing that Vaughan was
keen on being head of the House he
actually went to the Old Man and
persuaded him that it would be better to
bring in some day boy who was a
School-prefect than let Vaughan boss
the show. What do you think of that?
Pretty low, said the Babe.
Said I was thoughtless and
headstrong, cut in Vaughan, spearing a
sausage as if it were Mr Wards body.
Muffins up, Dallas, old man. When
the sausages are done to a turn.
Thoughtless and headstrong. Those
were his very words.
Cant you imagine the old beast?
said Dallas, pathetically, Cant you see
him getting round the Old Man? A
capital lad at heart, I am sure, distinctly
a capital lad, but thoughtless and
headstrong, far too thoughtless for a
position so important as that of head of
my House. The abandoned old wreck!
Tea put an end for the moment to
conversation, but when the last sausage
had gone the way of all flesh, Vaughan
returned to the sore subject like a moth
to a candle.
It isnt only the not being head of
the House that I bar. Its the man
 CONCERNING THE MUTUAL FRIEND
himself. You say you havent studied
Plunkett much. When you get to know
him better, youll appreciate his finer
qualities more. There are so few of
them.
The only fine quality Ive ever seen
in him, said Dallas, is his habit of
slinking off in the afternoons when he
ought to be playing games, and not
coming back till lock-up.
Which brings us back to where we
started, put in the Babe. You were
wondering what he did with himself.
Yes, it cant be anything good so
well put beetles and butterflies out of
the question right away. He might go
and poach. Theres heaps of
opportunity round here for a chap who
wants to try his hand at that. I
remember, when I was a kid, Morton
Smith, who used to be in this House-
remember him?took me to old
whats-his-names place. Whos that
frantic blood who owns all that land
along the Badgwick road? The M.P.
man.
Milord Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of
Badgwick Hall.
Thats the man. Generally very
much of Badgwick Hall. Came down
last summer on Prize Day. One would
have thought from the side on him that
he was all sorts of dooks. Anyhow,
Morton-Smith took me rabbiting there.
I didnt know it was against the rules or
anything. Had a grand time. A few
days afterwards, Milord Sir Venner
copped him on the hop and he got
sacked. There was an awful row. I
thought my hair would have turned
white.
I shouldnt think the Mutual
poaches, said Vaughan. He hasnt got
the enterprise to poach an egg even.
No, it cant be that.
Perhaps he bikes? said the Babe.
No, hes not got a bike. Hes the
23
sort of chap, though, to borrow
somebody elses without asking.
Possibly he does bike.
If he does, said Dallas, its only so
as to get well away from the Coll.,
before starting on his career of crime.
Ill swear he does break rules like an
ordinary human being when he thinks
its safe. Those aggressively pious
fellows generally do.
I didnt know he was that sort, said
the Babe. Dont you find it rather a
jar?
Just a bit. He jaws us sometimes till
we turn and rend him.
Yes, hes an awful man, said
Vaughan.
Dont stop, said the Babe,
encouragingly, after the silence had
lasted some time. Its a treat picking a
fellow to pieces like this.
I dont know if thats your beastly
sarcasm, Babe, said Vaughan, but,
speaking for self and partner, I dont
know how we should get on if we didnt
blow off steam occasionally in this
style.
We should probably last out for a
week, and then there would be a sharp
shriek, a hollow groan, and all that
would be left of the Mutual Friend
would be a slight discolouration on the
study carpet.
Coupled with an aroma of fresh
gore.
Perhaps thats why he goes off in
the afternoons, suggested the Babe.
Doesnt want to run any risks.
Shouldnt wonder.
Hes such a rotten head of the
House, too, said Vaughan. Ward may
gas about my being headstrong and
thoughtless, but Im dashed if I would
make a bally exhibition of myself like
the Mutual.
Whats he do? enquired the Babe.
Its not so much what he does. Its
24 THE POTHUNTERS
what he doesnt do that sickens me,
said Dallas. I may be a bit of a crock
in some waysfor further details apply
to Wardbut I can stop a couple of
fags ragging if I try.
Cant Plunkett?
Not for nuts. Hes simply helpless
when theres anything going on that he
ought to stop. Why, the other day there
was a row in the fags room that you
could almost have heard at your place,
Babe. We were up here working. The
Mutual was jawing as usual on the
subject of cramming tips for the
Aeschylus exam. Said it wasnt
scholarship, or some rot. What business
is it of his how a chap works, I should
like to know. Just as he had got under
way, the fags began kicking up more
row than ever.
I said, cut in Vaughan, that instead
of minding other peoples business,
hed better mind his own for a change,
and go down and stop the row.
He looked a bit green at that, said
Dallas. Said the row didnt interfere
with him. Does with us, I said. Its
all very well for you. You arent doing
a stroke of work. No amount of row
matters to a chap whos only delivering
a rotten sermon on scholarship.
Vaughan and I happen to be trying to do
some work. All right, he said, if
you want the row stopped, why dont
you go and stop it? Whats it got to do
with me?"
Rotter! interpolated the Babe.
Wasnt he? Well, of course we
couldnt stand that.
We crushed him, said Vaughan.
I said: In my young days the head
of the House used to keep order for
himself. I asked him what he thought
he was here for. Because he isnt
ornamental. So he went down after
that.
Well? said the Babe. Being a
miserable day boy he had had no
experience of the inner life of a
boarding House, which is the real life of
a public school. His experience of life
at St Austins was limited to doing his
work and playing centre-three-quarter
for the fifteen. Which, it may be
remarked in passing, he did extremely
well.
Dallas took up the narrative. Well,
after hed been gone about five minutes,
and the row seemed to be getting worse
than ever, we thought wed better go
down and investigate. So we did.
And when we got to the fags
room, said Vaughan, pointing the
toasting-fork at the Babe by way of
emphasis, there was the Mutual
standing in the middle of the room
gassing away with an expression on his
face a cross between a village idiot and
an unintelligent fried egg. And all
round him was a seething mass of fags,
half of them playing soccer with a top-
hat and the other half cheering wildly
whenever the Mutual opened his
mouth.
What did you do?
We made an aggressive movement
in force. Collared the hat, brained
every fag within reach, and swore wed
report them to the beak and so on. They
quieted down in about three and a
quarter seconds by stopwatch, and we
retired, taking the hat as a prize of war,
and followed by the Mutual Friend.
He looked worried, rather, said
Vaughan. And, thank goodness, he let
us alone for the rest of the evening.
Thats only a sample, though,
explained Dallas. That sort of thing
has been going on the whole term. If
the head of a House is an abject lunatic,
theres bound to be ructions. Fags
simply live for the sake of kicking up
rows. Its meat and drink to them.
I wish the Mutual would leave,
 CONCERNING THE MUTUAL FRIEND
said Vaughan. Only that sort of chap
always lingers on until he dies or gets
sacked.
Hes not the sort of fellow to get
sacked, I should say, said the Babe.
Fraid not. I wish I could shunt into
some other House. Between Ward and
the Mutual life here isnt worth living.
Theres Merevales, now, said
Vaughan. I wish I was in there. In the
first place youve got Merevale. He
gets as near perfection as a beak ever
does. Coaches the House footer and
cricket, and takes an intelligent interest
in things generally. Then there are
some decent fellows in Merevales.
Charteris, Welch, Graham, Thomson,
heaps of them.
Pity you came to Wards, said the
Babe. Why did you?
My pater knew Ward a bit. If hed
known him well, hed have sent me
somewhere else.
My pater knew Vaughans pater
well, who knew Ward slightly and there
you are. Voila comme des accidents
arrivent.
If Ward wanted to lug in a day boy
to be head of the House, said Vaughan,
harping once more on the old string, he
might at least have got somebody
decent.
Theres the great Babe himself.
Babe, why dont you come in next
term?
Not much, said the Babe, with a
shudder.
Well, even barring present
company, there are lots of chaps who
would have jumped at the chance of
being head of a House. But nothing
would satisfy Ward but lugging the
Mutual from the bosom of his beastly
family.
We havent decided that point about
where he goes to, said the Babe.
At this moment the door of the study
25
opened, and the gentleman in question
appeared in person. He stood in the
doorway for a few seconds, gasping and
throwing his arms about as if he found a
difficulty in making his way in.
I wish you two wouldnt make such
an awful froust in the study every
afternoon, he observed, pleasantly.
Have you been having a little tea-
party? How nice!
Weve been brewing, if thats what
you mean, said Vaughan, shortly.
Oh, said Plunkett, I hope you
enjoyed yourselves. Its nearly lock-up,
MacArthur.
Thats Plunketts delicate way of
telling you youre not wanted, Babe.
Well, I suppose I ought to be
going, said the Babe. So long.
And he went, feeling grateful to
Providence for not having made his
father, like the fathers of Vaughan and
Dallas, a casual acquaintance of Mr
Ward.
The Mutual Friend really was a trial
to Vaughan and Dallas. Only those
whose fate it is or has been to share a
study with an uncongenial companion
can appreciate their feelings to the full.
Three in a study is always something of
a tight fit, and when the three are in a
state of perpetual warfare, or, at the
best, of armed truce, things become
very bad indeed.
Do you find it necessary to have
tea-parties every evening? enquired
Plunkett, after he had collected his
books for the nights work. The smell
of burnt meat
Fried sausages, said Vaughan.
Perfectly healthy smell. Do you good.
Its quite disgusting. Really, the air
in here is hardly fit to breathe.
Youll find an excellent brand of air
down in the senior study, said Dallas,
pointedly. Dont stay and poison
yourself here on our account, he
26 THE POTHUNTERS
added. Think of your family.
I shall work where I choose, said
the Mutual Friend, with dignity.
Of course, so long as you do work.
You mustnt talk. Vaughan and I have
got some Livy to do.
Plunkett snorted, and the passage of
arms ended, as it usually did, in his
retiring with his books to the senior
study, leaving Dallas and Vaughan to
discuss his character once more in case
there might be any points of it left upon
which they had not touched in previous
conversations.
This robbery of the pots is a rum
thing, said Vaughan, thoughtfully,
when the last shreds of Plunketts
character had been put through the
mincing-machine to the satisfaction of
all concerned.
Yes. Its the sort of thing one
doesnt think possible till it actually
happens.
What the dickens made them put the
things in the Pav. at all? They must
have known it wouldnt be safe.
Well, you see, they usually cart
them into the Board Room, I believe,
only this time the governors were going
to have a meeting there. They couldnt
very well meet in a room with the table
all covered with silver pots.
Dont see why.
Well, I suppose they could, really,
but some of the governors are fairly
nuts on strict form. Theres that crock
who makes the two-hour vote of thanks
speeches on Prize Day. You can see
him rising to a point of order, and fixing
the Old Un with a fishy eye.
Well, anyhow, I dont see that they
can blame a burglar for taking the pots
if they simply chuck them in his way
like that.
No. I say, wed better weigh in
with the Livy. The man Wardll be
round directly. Wheres the dic? And
our invaluable friend, Mr Bohn? Right.
Now, you reel it off, and Ill keep an
eye on the notes. And they settled
down to the business of the day.
After a while Vaughan looked up.
Whos going to win the mile? he
asked.
Whats the matter with Thomson?
How about Drake then?
Thomson won the half.
I knew youd say that. The half
isnt a test of a chaps mile form.
Besides, did you happen to see Drakes
sprint?
Jolly good one.
I know, but look how late he started
for it. Thomson crammed on the pace
directly he got into the straight. Drake
only began to put it on when he got to
the Pav. Even then he wasnt far
behind at the tape.
No. Well, Im not plunging either
way. Ought to be a good race.
Rather. I say, I wonder Welch
doesnt try his hand at the mile. I
believe he would do some rattling times
if hed only try.
Why, Welch is a sprinter.
I know. But I believe for all that
that the miles his distance. Hes
always well up in the cross-country
runs.
Anyhow, hes not in for it this year.
Thomsons my man. Itll be a near
thing, though.
Jolly near thing. With Drake in
front.
Thomson.
Drake.
All right, well see. Wonder why
the beak doesnt come up. I cant sit
here doing Livy all the evening. And
yet if we stop hes bound to look in.
Oh Lord, is that what youve been
worrying about? I thought youd
developed the work habit or something.
Wards all right. Hes out on the tiles
 CONCERNING THE MUTUAL FRIEND
tonight. Gone to a dinner at Philpotts.
Good man, how do you know? Are
you certain?
Heard him telling Prater this
morning. Half the staff have gone.
Good opportunity for a chap to go for a
stroll if he wanted to. Shall we, by the
way?
Not for me, thanks. Im in the
middle of a rather special book. Ever
read Great Expectations? Dickens, you
know.
I know. Havent read it, though.
Always rather funk starting on a classic,
somehow. Good?
My dear chap! Goods not the
word.
Well, after you. Exit Livy, then.
And a good job, too. You might pass us
the great Sherlock. Thanks.
He plunged with the great detective
into the mystery of the speckled band,
while Vaughan opened Great
Expectations at the place where he had
left off the night before. And a silence
fell upon the study.
Curiously enough, Dallas was not
the only member of Wards House to
whom it occurred that evening that the
absence of the House-master supplied a
good opportunity for a stroll. The idea
had also struck Plunkett favourably. He
was not feeling very comfortable down-
stairs. On entering the senior study he
found Galloway, an Upper Fourth
member of the House, already in
possession. Galloway had managed
that evening to insinuate himself with
such success into the good graces of the
matron, that he had been allowed to stay
in the House instead of proceeding with
the rest of the study to the Great Hall
for preparation. The palpable failure of
his attempt to hide the book he was
reading under the table when he was
disturbed led him to cast at the Mutual
Friend, the cause of his panic, so severe
27
and forbidding a look, that that
gentleman retired, and made for the
junior study.
The atmosphere in the junior study
was close, and heavy with a blend of
several strange odours. Plunkett went
to the window. Then he noticed what
he had never noticed before, that there
were no bars to the window. Only the
glass stood between him and the outer
world. He threw up the sash as far as it
would go. There was plenty of room to
get out. So he got out. He stood for a
moment inhaling the fresh air. Then,
taking something from his coat-pocket,
he dived into the shadows. An hour
passed. In the study above, Dallas,
surfeited with mysteries and villainy,
put down his book and stretched
himself.
I say, Vaughan, he said. Have you
settled the House gym. team yet? Its
about time the list went up.
Eh? What? said Vaughan, coming
slowly out of his book.
Dallas repeated his question.
Yes, said Vaughan, got it
somewhere on me. Haynes, Jarvis, and
myself are going in. Only, the Mutual
has to stick up the list.
It was the unwritten rule in Wards,
as in most of the other Houses at the
School, that none but the head of the
House had the right of placing notices
on the House board.
I know, said Dallas. Ill go and
buck him up now.
Dont trouble. After prayersll do.
Its all right. No trouble. Whom
did you say? Yourself, Haynes
And Jarvis. Not that hes any
good. But the third string never matters
much, and itll do him good to represent
the House.
Right. Ill go and unearth the
Mutual.
The result was that Galloway
28 THE POTHUNTERS
received another shock to his system.
Dont glare, Galloway. Its rude,
said Dallas.
Wheres Plunkett got to? he added.
Junior study, said Galloway.
Dallas went to the junior study.
There were Plunketts books on the
table, but of their owner no signs were
to be seen. The Mutual Friend had had
the good sense to close the window
after he had climbed through it, and
Dallas did not suspect what had actually
happened. He returned to Vaughan.
The Mutual isnt in either of the
studies, he said. I didnt want to
spend the evening playing hide-and-
seek with him, so Ive come back.
It doesnt matter, thanks all the
same. Later onll do just as well.
Do you object to the window going
up? asked Dallas. Theres a bit of a
froust on in here.
Rather not. Heave it up.
Dallas hove it. He stood leaning out,
looking towards the College buildings,
which stood out black and clear against
the April sky. From out of the darkness
in the direction of Stapleton sounded
the monotonous note of a corn-crake.
Jove, he said, its a grand night. If
I was at home now I shouldnt be
cooped up indoors like this.
Holidays in another week, said
Vaughan, joining him. It is ripping,
isnt it? Theres something not half bad
in the Coll. buildings on a night like
this. I shall be jolly sorry to leave, in
spite of Ward and the Mutual.
Same here, by Jove. Weve each
got a couple more years, though, if it
comes to that. Hullo, prep.s over.
The sound of footsteps began to be
heard from the direction of the College.
Nine had struck from the School clock,
and the Great Hall was emptying.
Your turn to read at prayers,
Vaughan. Hullo, theres the Mutual.
Didnt hear him unlock the door. Glad
he has, though. Saves us trouble.
I must be going down to look up a
bit to read. Do you remember when
Harper read the same bit six days
running? I shall never forget Wards
pained expression. Harper explained
that he thought the passage so beautiful
that he couldnt leave it.
Why dont you try that tip?
Hardly. My reputation hasnt quite
the stamina for the test.
Vaughan left the room. At the foot
of the stairs he was met by the matron.
Will you unlock the door, please,
Vaughan, she said, handing him a
bunch of keys. The boys will be
coming in in a minute.
Unlock the door? repeated
Vaughan. I thought it was unlocked.
All right.
By Jove, he thought, the plot
thickens. What is our only Plunkett
doing out of the House when the door is
locked, I wonder.
Plunkett strolled in with the last
batch of the returning crowd, wearing
on his face the virtuous look of one who
has been snatching a whiff of fresh air
after a hard evenings preparation.
Oh, I say, Plunkett, said Vaughan,
when they met in the study after
prayers, I wanted to see you. Where
have you been?
I have been in the junior study.
Where did you think I had been?
Oh.
Do you doubt my word?
Ive the most exaggerated respect
for your word, but you werent in the
junior study at five to nine.
No, I went up to my dormitory
about that time. You seem remarkably
interested in my movements.
Only wanted to see you about the
House gym. team. You might shove up
the list tonight. Haynes, Jarvis, and
 CONCERNING THE MUTUAL FRIEND
myself.
Very well.
I didnt say anything to him, said
Vaughan to Dallas as they were going
to their dormitories, but, you know,
theres something jolly fishy about the
Mutual. That door wasnt unlocked
when we saw him outside. I unlocked it
myself. Seems to me the Mutuals been
having a little private bust of his own on
the quiet.
Thats rum. He might have been
out by the front way to see one of the
beaks, though.
Well, even then he would be
breaking rules. You arent allowed to
go out after lock-up without House
beaks leave. No, I find him guilty.
If only hed go and get booked!
said Vaughan. Then he might have to
leave. But he wont. No such luck.
No, said Dallas. Good-night.
Good-night.
Certainly there was something
mysterious about the matter.
A LITERARY BANQUET
Charteris and Welch were
conversing in the study of which they
were the joint proprietors. That is to
say, Charteris was talking and playing
the banjo alternately, while Welch was
deep in a book and refused to be drawn
out of it under any pretext. Charteris
banjo was the joy of his fellows and the
bane of his House-master. Being of a
musical turn and owning a good deal of
pocket-money, he had, at the end of the
summer holidays, introduced the
delights of a phonograph into the
House. This being vetoed by the
House-master, he had returned at the
beginning of the following term with a
penny whistle, which had suffered a
similar fate. Upon this he had invested
29
in a banjo, and the dazed Merevale,
feeling that matters were getting beyond
his grip, had effected a compromise
with him. Having ascertained that there
was no specific rule at St Austins
against the use of musical instruments,
he had informed Charteris that if he saw
fit to play the banjo before prep, only,
and regarded the hours between seven
and eleven as a close time, all should be
forgiven, and he might play, if so
disposed, till the crack of doom. To this
reasonable request Charteris had
promptly acceded, and peace had been
restored. Charteris and Welch were a
curious pair. Welch spoke very little.
Charteris was seldom silent. They were
both in the SixthWelch high up,
Charteris rather low down. In games,
Welch was one of those fortunate
individuals who are good at everything.
He was captain of cricket, and not only
captain, but also the best all-round man
in the team, which is often a very
different matter. He was the best wing
three-quarter the School possessed;
played fives and racquets like a
professor, and only the day before had
shared Tonys glory by winning the
silver medal for fencing in the
Aldershot competition.
The abilities of Charteris were more
ordinary. He was a sound bat, and went
in first for the Eleven, and played half
for the Fifteen. As regards work, he
might have been brilliant if he had
chosen, but his energies were mainly
devoted to the compilation of a monthly
magazine (strictly unofficial) entitled
The Glow Worm. This he edited, and
for the most part wrote himself. It was
a clever periodical, and rarely failed to
bring him in at least ten shillings per
number, after deducting the expenses
which the College bookseller, who
acted as sole agent, did his best to make
as big as possible. Only a very few of
30 THE POTHUNTERS
the elect knew the identity of the editor,
and they were bound to strict secrecy.
On the day before the publication of
each number, a notice was placed in the
desk of the captain of each form,
notifying him of what the morrow
would bring forth, and asking him to
pass it round the form. That was all.
The School did the rest. The Glow
Worm always sold well, principally
because of the personal nature of its
contents. If the average mortal is told
that there is something about him in a
paper, he will buy that paper at your
own price.
Today he was giving his monthly tea
in honour of the new number. Only
contributors were invited, and the menu
was always of the best. It was a Punch
dinner, only more so, for these teas
were celebrated with musical honours,
and Charteris on the banjo was worth
hearing. His rendering of extracts from
the works of Messrs Gilbert and
Sullivan was an intellectual treat.
When I take the chair at our
harmonic club! he chanted, fixing the
unconscious Welch with a fiery glance.
Welch!
Yes.
If this is your idea of a harmonic
club, it isnt mine. Put down that book,
and try and be sociable.
One second, said Welch,
burrowing still deeper.
Thats what you always say, said
Charteris. Look hereCome in.
There had been a knock at the door
as he was speaking. Tony entered,
accompanied by Jim. They were
regular attendants at these banquets, for
between them they wrote most of what
was left of the magazine when Charteris
had done with it. There was only one
other contributor, Jackson, of Dawsons
House, and he came in a few minutes
later. Welch was the athletics expert of
the paper, and did most of the match
reports.
Now were complete, said
Charteris, as Jackson presented
himself. Gentlemenyour seats.
There are only four chairs, and we, as
Wordsworth might have said, but
didnt, are five. All right, Ill sit on the
table. Welch, you worm, away with
melancholy. Take away his book,
somebody. Thats right. Who says
what? Tea already made. Coffee
published shortly. If anybody wants
cocoa, Ive got some, only youll have
to boil more water. I regret the absence
of menu-cards, but as the entire feast is
visible to the naked eye, our loss is
immaterial. The offertory will be for
the Church expenses fund. Biscuits,
please.
I wish youd given this tea after
next Saturday, Alderman, said Jim.
Charteris was called the Alderman on
account of his figure, which was
inclined to stoutness, and his general
capacity for consuming food.
Never put off till tomorrow-
Why?
I simply must keep fit for the mile.
Hows Welch to run, too, if he eats this
sort of thing? He pointed to the well-
spread board.
Yes, theres something in that, said
Tony. Thank goodness, my little
entertainments over. I think I will try
one of those chocolate things. Thanks.
Welch is all right, said Jackson.
He could win the hundred and the
quarter on sausage-rolls. But think of
the times.
And there, observed Charteris,
there, my young friend, you have
touched upon a sore subject. Before
you came in I was administering a few
wholesome words of censure to that
miserable object on your right. What is
a fifth of a second more or less that it
 A LITERARY BANQUET
should make a man insult his digestion
as Welch does? Youll hardly credit it,
but for the last three weeks or more I
have been forced to look on a fellow-
being refusing pastry and drinking
beastly extracts of meat, all for the sake
of winning a couple of races. It quite
put me off my feed. Cake, please.
Good robust slice. Thanks.
Its rather funny when you come to
think of it, said Tony. Welch lives on
Bovril for, a month, and then, just as he
thinks hes going to score, a burglar
with a sense of humour strolls into the
Pav., carefully selects the only two cups
he had a chance of winning, and so to
bed.
Leaving Master J. G. Welch an
awful example of what comes of
training, said Jim. Welch, youre a
rotter.
It isnt my fault, observed Welch,
plaintively. You chaps seem to think
Ive committed some sort of crime, just
because a man I didnt know from
Adam has bagged a cup or two.
It looks to me, said Charteris, as if
Welch, thinking his chances of the
quarter rather rocky, hired one of his
low acquaintances to steal the cup for
him.
Shouldnt wonder. Welch knows
some jolly low characters in Stapleton.
Welch is a jolly low character
himself, said Tony, judicially. I
wonder you associate with him,
Alderman.
Stand in loco parentis. Aunt of his
asked me to keep an eye on him. Dear
George is so wild," she said.
Before Welch could find words to
refute this hideous slander, Tony cut in
once more.
The only reason he doesnt drink
gin and play billiards at the Blue Lion
is that gin makes him ill and his best
break at pills is six, including two
31
flukes.
As a matter of fact, said Welch,
changing the conversation with a jerk,
I dont much care if the cups are
stolen. One doesnt only run for the
sake of the pot.
Charteris groaned. Oh, well, said
he, if youre going to take the high
moral standpoint, and descend to brazen
platitudes like that, I give you up.
Its a rum thing about those pots,
said Welch, meditatively.
Seems to me, Jim rejoined, the
rum thing is that a man who considers
the Pav. a safe place to keep a lot of
valuable prizes in should be allowed at
large. Why couldnt they keep them in
the Board Room as they used to?
Thought it ud save trouble, I
suppose. Save them carting the things
over to the Pav. on Sports Day,
hazarded Tony.
Saved the burglar a lot of trouble, I
should say, observed Jackson, I could
break into the Pav. myself in five
minutes.
Good old Jackson, said Charteris,
have a shot tonight. Ill hold the
watch. Im doing a leader on the
melancholy incident for next months
Glow Worm. It appears that Master
Reginald Robinson, a member of Mr
Merevales celebrated boarding-
establishment, was passing by the
Pavilion at an early hour on the
morning of the second of Aprilthats
todaywhen his eye was attracted by
an excavation or incision in one of the
windows of that imposing edifice. His
narrative appears on another page.
Interviewed by a Glow Worm
representative, Master Robinson, who is
a fine, healthy, bronzed young
Englishman of some thirteen summers,
with a delightful, boyish flow of speech,
not wholly free from a suspicion of
cheek, gave it as his opinion that the
32 THE POTHUNTERS
outrage was the work of a burglara
remarkable display of sagacity in one so
young. A portrait of Master Robinson
appears on another page.
Everything seems to appear on
another page, said Jim. Am I to do
the portrait?
I think it would be best. You can
never trust a photo to caricature a
person enough. Your facial H.B.s the
thing.
Have you heard whether anything
else was bagged besides the cups?
asked Welch.
Not that I know of, said Jim.
Yes there was, said Jackson. It
further appears that that lunatic,
Adamson, had left some money in the
pocket of his blazer, which he had left
in the Pav. overnight. On enquiry it
was found that the money had also left.
Adamson was in the same House as
Jackson, and had talked of nothing else
throughout the whole of lunch. He was
an abnormally wealthy individual,
however, and it was generally felt,
though he himself thought otherwise,
that he could afford to lose some of the
surplus.
How much? asked Jim.
Two pounds.
At this Jim gave vent to the
exclamation which Mr Barry Pain calls
the Englishmans shortest prayer.
My dear sir, said Charteris. My
very dear sir. We blush for you. Might
I ask why you take the matter to heart
so?
Jim hesitated.
Better have it out, Jim, said Tony.
These chapsll keep it dark all right.
And Jim entered once again upon the
recital of his doings on the previous
night.
So you see, he concluded, this two
pound business makes it all the worse.
I dont see why, said Welch.
Well, you see, moneys a thing
everybody wants, whereas cups
wouldnt be any good to a fellow at
school. So that I should find it much
harder to prove that I didnt take the
two pounds, than I should have done to
prove that I didnt take the cups.
But theres no earthly need for you
to prove anything, said Tony. Theres
not the slightest chance of your being
found out.
Exactly, observed Charteris. We
will certainly respect your incog. if you
wish it. Wild horses shall draw no
evidence from us. It is, of course, very
distressing, but what is man after all?
Are we not as the beasts that perish, and
is not our little life rounded by a sleep?
Indeed, yes. And nowwith full
chorus, please.
"We-e take him from the city or
the plough.
We-e dress him up in uniform so ne-
e-e-at."
And at the third line some plaster
came down from the ceiling, and
Merevale came up, and the meeting
dispersed without the customary cheers.
BARRETT EXPLORES
Barrett stood at the window of his
study with his hands in his pockets,
looking thoughtfully at the football
field. Now and then he whistled. That
was to show that he was very much at
his ease. He whistled a popular melody
of the day three times as slowly as its
talented composer had originally
intended it to be whistled, and in a
strange minor key. Some people, when
offended, invariably whistle in this
manner, and these are just the people
with whom, if you happen to share a
study with them, it is rash to have
differences of opinion. Reade, who was
 BARRETT EXPLORES
deep in a bookthough not so deep as
he would have liked the casual observer
to fancy him to bewould have given
much to stop Barretts musical
experiments. To ask him to stop in so
many words was, of course,
impossible. Offended dignity must
draw the line somewhere. That is one
of the curious results of a polite
education. When two gentlemen of
Hoxton or the Borough have a
misunderstanding, they address one
another with even more freedom than is
their usual custom. When one member
of a public school falls out with another
member, his politeness in dealing with
him becomes so Chesterfieldian, that
one cannot help being afraid that he will
sustain a strain from which he will
never recover.
After a time the tension became too
much for Barrett. He picked up his cap
and left the room. Reade continued to
be absorbed in his book.
It was a splendid day outside, warm
for April, and with just that freshness in
the air which gets into the blood and
makes Spring the best time of the whole
year. Barrett had not the aesthetic soul
to any appreciable extent, but he did
know a fine day when he saw one, and
even he realized that a day like this was
not to be wasted in pottering about the
School grounds watching the under
thirteen hundred yards (trial heats) and
the under fourteen broad jump, or
doing occasional exercises in the
gymnasium. It was a day for going far
afield and not returning till lock-up. He
had an object, too. Everything seemed
to shout eggs at him, to remind him
that he was an enthusiast on the subject
and had a collection to which he ought
to seize this excellent opportunity of
adding. The only question was, where
to go. The surrounding country was a
Paradise for the naturalist who had no
33
absurd scruples on the subject of
trespassing. To the west, in the
direction of Stapleton, the woods and
hedges were thick with nests. But then,
so they were to the east along the
Badgwick road. He wavered, but a
recollection that there was water in the
Badgwick direction, and that he might
with luck beard a water-wagtail in its
lair, decided him. What is life without a
water-wagtails egg? A mere mockery.
He turned east.
Hullo, Barrett, where are you off
to? Grey, of Praters House,
intercepted him as he was passing.
Going to see if I can get some eggs.
Are you coming?
Grey hesitated. He was a keen
naturalist, too.
No, I dont think I will, thanks. Got
an uncle coming down to see me.
Well, cut off before he comes.
No, hed be too sick. Besides, he
added, ingenuously, theres a possible
tip. Dont want to miss that. Im
simply stony. Always am at end of
term.
Oh, said Barrett, realizing that
further argument would be thrown
away. Well, so long, then.
So long. Hope you have luck.
Thanks. I say.
Well?
Roll-call, you know. If you dont
see me anywhere about, you might
answer my name.
All right. And if you find anything
decent, you might remember me. You
know pretty well what Ive got already.
Right, I will.
Magpies what I want particularly.
Where are you going, by the way?
Thought of having a shot at old
Venners woods. Im after a water-
wagtail myself. Ought to be one or two
in the Dingle.
Heaps, probably. But I should
34 THE POTHUNTERS

advise you to look out, you know.
Venners awfully down on trespassing.
Yes, the bounder. But I dont think
hell get me. One gets the knack of
keeping fairly quiet with practice.
Hes got thousands of keepers.
Millions.
Dogs, too.
Dash his beastly dogs. I like dogs.
Why are you such a croaker today,
Grey?
Well, you know hes had two chaps
sacked for going in his woods to my
certain knowledge, Morton-Smith and
Ainsworth. Thats only since Ive been
at the Coll., too. Probably lots more
before that.
Ainsworth was booked smoking
there. Thats why he was sacked. And
Venner caught Morton-Smith himself
simply staggering under dead rabbits.
They sack any chap for poaching.
Well, I dont see how youre going
to show youve not been poaching.
Besides, its miles out of bounds.
Grey, said Barrett, severely, Im afternoon with every sign of exhaustion,
surprised at you. Go away and meet
your beastly uncle. Fancy talking about
bounds at your time of life.
Well, dont forget me when youre
hauling in the eggs.
Right you are. So long.
Barrett proceeded on his way, his
last difficulty safely removed. He could
rely on Grey not to bungle that matter
of roll-call. Grey had been there before.
A long white ribbon of dusty road
separated St Austins from the lodge
gates of Badgwick Hall, the country
seat of Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., also of
49A Lancaster Gate, London. Barrett
walked rapidly for over half-an-hour
before he came in sight of the great iron
gates, flanked on the one side by a trim
little lodge and green meadows, and on
the other by woods of a darker green.
Having got so far, he went on up the hill
till at last he arrived at his destination.
A small hedge, a sloping strip of green,
and then the famous Dingle. I am loath
to inflict any scenic rhapsodies on the
reader, but really the Dingle deserves a
line or two. It was the most beautiful
spot in a country noted for its fine
scenery. Dense woods were its chief
feature. And by dense I mean well-
supplied not only with trees (excellent
things in themselves, but for the most
part useless to the nest hunter), but also
with a fascinating tangle of
undergrowth, where every bush seemed
to harbour eggs. All carefully
preserved, too. That was the chief
charm of the place. Since the sad
episodes of Morton-Smith and
Ainsworth, the School for the most part
had looked askance at the Dingle. Once
a select party from Dacres House,
headed by Babington, who always got
himself into hot water when possible,
had ventured into the forbidden land,
and had returned hurriedly later in the
hinting breathlessly at keepers, dogs,
and a pursuit that had lasted fifty
minutes without a check. Since then no
one had been daring enough to brave
the terrors so carefully prepared for
them by Milord Sir Venner and his
minions, and the proud owner of the
Dingle walked his woods in solitary
state. Occasionally he would personally
conduct some favoured guest thither
and show him the wonders of the place.
But this was not a frequent occurrence.
On still-less frequent occasions, there
were large shooting parties in the
Dingle. But, as a rule, the word was
Keepers only. No others need apply.
A futile iron railing, some three feet
in height, shut in the Dingle. Barrett
jumped this lightly, and entered
forthwith into Paradise. The place was
full of nests. As Barrett took a step
 BARRETT EXPLORES
forward there was a sudden whirring of
wings, and a bird rose from a bush close
beside him. He went to inspect, and
found a nest with seven eggs in it. Only
a thrush, of course. As no one ever
wants thrushes eggs the world is over-
stocked with them. Still, it gave
promise of good things to come.
Barrett pushed on through the bushes
and the promise was fulfilled. He came
upon another nest. Five eggs this time,
of a variety he was unable with his
moderate knowledge to classify. At any
rate, he had not got them in his
collection. Nor, to the best of his belief,
had Grey. He took one for each of
them.
Now this was all very well, thought
Barrett, but what he had come for was
the ovular deposit of the water-wagtail.
Through the trees he could see the
silver gleam of the brook at the foot of
the hill. The woods sloped down to the
very edge. Then came the brook,
widening out here into the size of a
small river. Then woods again all up
the side of the opposite hill. Barrett
hurried down the slope.
He had put on flannels for this
emergency. He was prepared to wade,
to swim if necessary. He hoped that it
would not be necessary, for in April
water is generally inclined to be chilly.
Of keepers he had up till now seen no
sign. Once he had heard the distant
bark of a dog. It seemed to come from
far across the stream and he had not
troubled about it.
In the midst of the bushes on the
bank stood a tree. It was not tall
compared to the other trees of the
Dingle, but standing alone as it did
amongst the undergrowth it attracted
the eye at once. Barrett, looking at it,
saw something which made him forget
water-wagtails for the moment. In a
fork in one of the upper branches was a
35
nest, an enormous nest, roughly
constructed of sticks. It was a very
jerry-built residence, evidently run up
for the season by some prudent bird
who knew by experience that no nest
could last through the winter, and so
had declined to waste his time in
useless decorative work. But what bird
was it? No doubt there are experts to
whom a wood-pigeons nest is
something apart and distinct from the
nest of the magpie, but to your
unsophisticated amateur a nest that is
large may be anythingrooks,
magpies, pigeons, or great auks. To
such an one the only true test lies in the
eggs. Solvitur ambulando. Barrett laid
the pill-boxes, containing the precious
specimens he had found in the nest at
the top of the hill, at the foot of the tree,
and began to climb.
It was to be a day of surprises for
him. When he had got half way up he
found himself on a kind of ledge, which
appeared to be a kind of junction at
which the tree branched off into two
parts. To the left was the nest, high up
in its fork. To the right was another
shoot. He realized at once, with keen
disappointment, that it would be useless
to go further. The branches were
obviously not strong enough to bear his
weight. He looked down, preparatory
to commencing the descent, and to his
astonishment found himself looking
into a black cavern. In his eagerness to
reach the nest he had not noticed before
that the tree was hollow.
This made up for a great many
things. His disappointment became less
keen. Few things are more interesting
than a hollow tree.
Wonder how deep it goes down, he
said to himself. He broke off a piece of
wood and dropped it down the hollow.
It seemed to reach the ground
uncommonly soon. He tried another
36 THE POTHUNTERS
piece. The sound of its fall came up to
him almost simultaneously. Evidently
the hole was not deep. He placed his
hands on the edge, and let himself
gently down into the darkness. His feet
touched something solid almost
immediately. As far as he could judge,
the depth of the cavity was not more
than five feet. Standing up at his full
height he could just rest his chin on the
edge.
He seemed to be standing on some
sort of a floor, roughly made, but too
regular to be the work of nature.
Evidently someone had been here
before. He bent down to make certain.
There was more room to move about in
than he suspected. A man sitting down
would find it not uncomfortable.
He brushed his hand along the floor.
Certainly it seemed to be constructed of
boards. Then his hand hit something
small and hard. He groped about until
his fingers closed on it. It waswhat
was it? He could hardly make out for
the moment. Suddenly, as he moved it,
something inside it rattled. Now he
knew what it was. It was the very thing
he most needed, a box of matches.
The first match he struck promptly
and naturally went out. No first match
ever stays alight for more than three-
fifths of a second. The second was
more successful. The sudden light
dazzled him for a moment. When his
eyes had grown accustomed to it, the
match went out. He lit a third, and this
time he saw all round the little
chamber. Great Scott, he said, the
place is a regular poultry shop. All
round the sides were hung pheasants
and partridges in various stages of
maturity. Here and there the fur of a
rabbit or a hare showed up amongst the
feathers. Barrett hit on the solution of
the problem directly. He had been
shown a similar collection once in a tree
on his fathers land. The place was the
headquarters of some poacher. Barrett
was full of admiration for the ingenuity
of the man in finding so safe a hiding-
place.
He continued his search. In one
angle of the tree was a piece of
sacking. Barrett lifted it. He caught a
glimpse of something bright, but before
he could confirm the vague suspicion
that flashed upon him, his match burnt
down and lay smouldering on the floor.
His hand trembled with excitement as
he started to light another. It broke off
in his hand. At last he succeeded. The
light flashed up, and there beside the
piece of sacking which had covered
them were two cups. He recognized
them instantly.
Jove, he gasped. The Sports pots!
Now, how on earth
At this moment something happened
which took his attention away from his
discovery with painful suddenness.
From beneath him came the muffled
whine of a dog. He listened, holding
his breath. No, he was not mistaken.
The dog whined again, and broke into
an excited bark. Somebody at the foot
of the tree began to speak.
BARRETT CEASES TO
EXPLORE
Fetchimout! said the voice, all in
one word.
Nice cheery remark to make!
thought Barrett. Hell have to do a
good bit of digging before he fetches
me out. Im a fixture for the present.
There was a sound of scratching as if
the dog, in his eagerness to oblige, were
trying to uproot the tree. Barrett,
realizing that unless the keeper took it
into his head to climb, which was
unlikely, he was as safe as if he had
 BARRETT CEASES TO EXPLORE
been in his study at Philpotts, chuckled
within himself, and listened intently.
What is it, then? said the keeper.
Good dog, at em! Fetch him out,
Jack.
Jack barked excitedly, and redoubled
his efforts.
The sound of scratching proceeded.
R-r-r-ats-s-s! said the mendacious
keeper. Jack had evidently paused for
breath. Barrett began quite to
sympathize with him. The thought that
the animal was getting farther away
from the object of his search with every
ounce of earth he removed, tickled him
hugely. He would have liked to have
been able to see the operations, though.
At present it was like listening to a
conversation through a telephone. He
could only guess at what was going on.
Then he heard somebody whistling
The Lincolnshire Poacher, a strangely
inappropriate air in the mouth of a
keeper. The sound was too far away to
be the work of Jacks owner, unless he
had gone for a stroll since his last
remark. No, it was another keeper. A
new voice came up to him.
Ullo, Ned, whats the dog after? began to debate within himself which
Thinks es smelt a rabbit, seems to
me.
Aint a rabbit hole ere. to the left or to the right? He would
Thinks there is, anyhow. Look at
the pore beast!
They both laughed. Jack meanwhile,
unaware that he was turning himself
into an exhibition to make a keepers
holiday, dug assiduously. Come away,
Jack, said the first keeper at length.
Aint nothin there. Ought to know
that, clever dog like you.
There was a sound as if he had
pulled Jack bodily from his hole.
Wait! Ere, Ned, whats that on the
ground there? Barrett gasped. His pill-
boxes had been discovered. Surely they
would put two and two together now,
37
and climb the tree after him.
Eggs. Two of em. Ow did they
get ere, then?
Its one of them young devils from
the School. Master says to me this
morning, Look out, e says,
Saunders, for them boys as come in
ere after eggs, and frighten all the birds
out of the dratted place. You keep your
eyes open, Saunders, e says.
Well, if es still in the woods, well
ave im safe.
If hes still in the woods! thought
Barrett with a shiver.
After this there was silence. Barrett
waited for what he thought was a
quarter of an hourit was really five
minutes or lessthen he peeped
cautiously over the edge of his hiding-
place. Yes, they had certainly gone,
unlesshorrible thoughtthey were
waiting so close to the trunk of the tree
as to be invisible from where he stood.
He decided that the possibility must be
risked. He was down on the ground in
record time. Nothing happened. No
hand shot out from its ambush to clutch
him. He breathed more freely, and
way to go. Up the hill it must be, of
course, but should he go straight up, or
have given much to know which way
the keepers had gone, particularly he of
the dog. They had separated, he knew.
He began to reason the thing out. In the
first place if they had separated, they
must have gone different ways. It did
not take him long to arrive at that
conclusion. The odds, therefore, were
that one had gone to the right up-
stream, the other down-stream to the
left. His knowledge of human nature
told him that nobody would willingly
walk up-hill if it was possible for him to
walk on the flat. Therefore, assuming
the two keepers to be human, they had
38 THE POTHUNTERS
gone along the valley. Therefore, his
best plan would be to make straight for
the top of the hill, as straight as he
could steer, and risk it. Just as he was
about to start, his eye caught the two
pill-boxes, lying on the turf a few yards
from where he had placed them.
May as well take what I can get, he
thought. He placed them carefully in
his pocket. As he did so a faint bark
came to him on the breeze from down-
stream. That must be friend Jack. He
waited no longer, but dived into the
bushes in the direction of the summit.
He was congratulating himself on being
out of dangeralready he was more
than half way up the hillwhen
suddenly he received a terrible shock.
From the bushes to his left, not ten
yards from where he stood, came the
clear, sharp sound of a whistle. The
sound was repeated, and this time an
answer came from far out to his right.
Before he could move another whistle
joined in, again from the left, but farther
off and higher up the hill than the first
he had heard. He recalled what Grey
had said about millions of keepers.
The expression, he thought, had
understated the true facts, if anything.
He remembered the case of Babington.
It was a moment for action. No guile
could save him now. It must be a stern
chase for the rest of the distance. He
drew a breath, and was off like an
arrow. The noise he made was
appalling. No one in the wood could
help hearing it.
Stop, there! shouted someone. The
voice came from behind, a fact which
he noted almost automatically and
rejoiced at. He had a start at any rate.
Stop! shouted the voice once
again. The whistle blew like a steam
siren, and once more the other two
answered it. They were all behind him
now. Surely a man of the public
schools in flannels and gymnasium
shoes, and trained to the last ounce for
just such a sprint as this, could beat a
handful of keepers in their leggings and
heavy boots. Barrett raced on. Close
behind him a crashing in the
undergrowth and the sound of heavy
breathing told him that keeper number
one was doing his best. To left and
right similar sounds were to be heard.
But Barrett had placed these
competitors out of the running at once.
The race was between him and the man
behind.
Fifty yards of difficult country,
bushes which caught his clothes as if
they were trying to stop him in the
interests of law and order, branches
which lashed him across the face, and
rabbit-holes half hidden in the bracken,
and still he kept his lead. He was
increasing it. He must win now. The
man behind was panting in deep gasps,
for the pace had been warm and he was
not in training. Barrett cast a glance
over his shoulder, and as he looked the
keepers foot caught in a hole and he
fell heavily. Barrett uttered a shout of
triumph. Victory was his.
In front of him was a small hollow
fringed with bushes. Collecting his
strength he cleared these with a bound.
Then another of the events of this
eventful afternoon happened. Instead of
the hard turf, his foot struck something
soft, something which sat up suddenly
with a yell. Barrett rolled down the
slope and halfway up the other side like
a shot rabbit. Dimly he recognized that
he had jumped on to a human being.
The figure did not wear the official
velveteens. Therefore he had no
business in the Dingle. And close
behind thundered the keeper, now on
his feet once more, dust on his clothes
and wrath in his heart in equal
proportions. Look out, man! shouted
 BARRETT CEASES TO EXPLORE
Barrett, as the injured person rose to his
feet. Run! Cut, quick! Keeper!
There was no time to say more. He
ran. Another second and he was at the
top, over the railing, and in the good,
honest, public high-road again, safe. A
hoarse shout of Got yer! from below
told a harrowing tale of capture. The
stranger had fallen into the hands of the
enemy. Very cautiously Barrett left the
road and crept to the railing again. It
was a rash thing to do, but curiosity
overcame him. He had to see, or, if that
was impossible, to hear what had
happened.
For a moment the only sound to be
heard was the gasping of the keeper.
After a few seconds a rapidly nearing
series of crashes announced the arrival
of the man from the right flank of the
pursuing forces, while almost
simultaneously his colleague on the left
came up.
Barrett could see nothing, but it was
easy to understand what was going on.
Keeper number one was exhibiting his
prisoner. His narrative, punctuated with
gasps, was told mostly in hoarse
whispers, and Barrett missed most of it.
Foot (gasp) rabbit-ol. More was pedalling in a leisurely manner in
gasps. Up agen ... minute ... (indistinct
mutterings) ... and (triumphantly)
COTCHED IM!
Exclamations of approval from the
other two. I assure you, said another
voice. The prisoner was having his
say. I assure you that I was doing no
harm whatever in this wood. I....
Better tell that tale to Sir Alfred,
cut in one of his captors.
Ell learn yer, said the keeper
previously referred to as number one,
vindictively. He was feeling shaken up
with his run and his heavy fall, and his
temper was proportionately short.
I swear Ive heard that voice before
somewhere, thought Barrett. Wonder
39
if its a Coll. chap.
Keeper number one added something
here, which was inaudible to Barrett.
I tell you Im not a poacher, said
the prisoner, indignantly. And I object
to your language. I tell you I was lying
here doing nothing and some fool or
other came and jumped on me. I....
The rest was inaudible. But Barrett
had heard enough.
I knew Id heard that voice before.
Plunkett, by Jove! Golly, what is the
world coming to, when heads of Houses
and School-prefects go on the poach!
Fancy! Plunkett of all people, too!
This is a knock-out, Im hanged if it
isnt.
From below came the sound of
movement. The keepers were going
down the hill again. To Barretts guilty
conscience it seemed that they were
coming up. He turned and fled.
The hedge separating Sir Alfred
Venners land from the road was not a
high one, though the drop the other side
was considerable. Barrett had not
reckoned on this. He leapt the hedge,
and staggered across the road. At the
same moment a grey-clad cyclist, who
the direction of the School, arrived at
the spot. A collision seemed imminent,
but the stranger in a perfectly composed
manner, as if he had suddenly made up
his mind to take a sharp turning, rode
his machine up the bank, whence he fell
with easy grace to the road, just in time
to act as a cushion for Barrett. The two
lay there in a tangled heap. Barrett was
the first to rise.
ENTER THE SLEUTH-
HOUND
Im awfully sorry, he said,
disentangling himself carefully from the
40 THE POTHUNTERS
heap. I hope youre not hurt.
The man did not reply for a
moment. He appeared to be laying the
question before himself as an impartial
judge, as who should say: Now tell me
candidly, are you hurt? Speak freely
and without bias.
No, he said at last, feeling his left
leg as if he were not absolutely easy in
his mind about that, no, not hurt, thank
you. Not much, that is, he added with
the air of one who thinks it best to
qualify too positive a statement. Left
leg. Shin. Slight bruise. Nothing to
signify.
It was a rotten thing to do, jumping
over into the road like that, said
Barrett. Didnt remember thered be
such a big drop.
My fault in a way, said the man.
Riding wrong side of road. Out for a
run?
More or less.
Excellent thing.
Yes.
It occurred to Barrett that it was only
due to the man on whom he had been
rolling to tell him the true facts of the
case. Besides, it might do something
towards removing the impression which
must, he felt, be forming in the
strangers mind that he was mad.
You see, he said, in a burst of
confidence, it was rather a close thing.
There were some keepers after me.
Ah! said the man. Thought so.
Trespassing?
Yes.
Ah. Keepers dont like trespassers.
Curious thingdont know if it ever
occurred to youif there were no
trespassers, there would be no need for
keepers. To their interest, then, to
encourage trespassers. But do they?
Barrett admitted that they did not
very conspicuously.
No. Same with all professions. Not
poaching, I suppose?
Rather not. I was after eggs. By
Jove, that reminds me. He felt in his
pocket for the pill-boxes. Could they
have survived the stormy times through
which they had been passing? He
heaved a sigh of relief as he saw that
the eggs were uninjured. He was so
intent on examining them that he
missed the strangers next remark.
Sorry. What? I didnt hear.
Asked if I was going right for St
Austins School.
College! said Barrett with a
convulsive shudder. The most deadly
error mortal man can make, with the
exception of calling a school a college,
is to call a college a school.
College! said the man. Is this the
road?
Yes. You cant miss it. Im going
there myself. Its only about a mile.
Ah, said the man, with a touch of
satisfaction in his voice. Going there
yourself, are you? Perhaps youre one
of the scholars?
Not much, said Barrett, ask our
form-beak if Im a scholar. Oh. I see.
Yes, Im there all right.
Barrett was a little puzzled as to how
to class his companion. No old public
school man would talk of scholars. And
yet he was emphatically not a bargee.
Barrett set him down as a sort of
superior tourist, a Henry as opposed to
an Arry.
Been bit of a disturbance there,
hasnt there? Cricket pavilion. Cups.
Rather. But how on earth
How on earth did I get to hear of it,
you were going to say. Well, no need
to conceal anything. Fact is, down here
to look into the matter. Detective.
Name, Roberts, Scotland Yard. Now
we know each other, and if you can tell
me one or two things about this
burglary, it would be a great help to me,
 ENTER THE SLEUTH-HOUND
and I should be very much obliged.
Barrett had heard that a detective
was coming down to look into the affair
of the cups. His position was rather a
difficult one. In a sense it was simple
enough. He had found the cups. He
could (keepers permitting) go and fetch
them now, and there wouldNo.
There would not be an end of the
matter. It would be very pleasant,
exceedingly pleasant, to go to the
Headmaster and the detective, and
present the cups to them with a Bless
you, my children air. The Headmaster
would say, Barrett, youre a marvel.
How can I thank you sufficiently?
while the detective would observe that
he had been in the profession over
twenty years, but never had he seen so
remarkable an exhibition of sagacity
and acumen as this. That, at least, was
what ought to take place. But Barretts
experience of life, short as it was, had
taught him the difference between the
ideal and the real. The real, he
suspected, would in this case be
painful. Certain facts would come to
light. When had he found the cups?
About four in the afternoon? Oh. Roll-
call took place at four in the afternoon.
How came it that he was not at roll-
call? Furthermore, how came it that he
was marked on the list as having
answered his name at that ceremony?
Where had he found the cups? In a
hollow tree? Just so. Where was the
hollow tree? In Sir Alfred Venners
woods. Did he know that Sir Alfred
Venners woods were out of bounds?
Did he know that, in consequence of
complaints from Sir Alfred Venner, Sir
Alfred Venners woods were more out
of bounds than any other out of bounds
woods in the entire county that did not
belong to Sir Alfred Venner? He did?
Ah! No, the word for his guidance in
this emergency, he felt instinctively,
41
was mum. Time might provide him
with a solution. He might, for instance,
abstract the cups secretly from their
resting-place, place them in the middle
of the football field, and find them there
dramatically after morning school. Or
he might reveal his secret from the
carriage window as his train moved out
of the station on the first day of the
holidays. There was certain to be some
way out of the difficulty. But for the
present, silence.
He answered his companions
questions freely, however. Of the
actual burglary he knew no more than
any other member of the School,
considerably less, indeed, than Jim
Thomson, of Merevales, at present
staggering under the weight of a secret
even more gigantic than Barretts own.
In return for his information he
extracted sundry reminiscences. The
scar on the detectives cheekbone,
barely visible now, was the mark of a
bullet, which a certain burglar, named,
singularly enough, Roberts, had fired at
him from a distance of five yards. The
gentleman in question, who, the
detective hastened to inform Barrett,
was no relation of his, though owning
the same name, happened to be a poor
marksman and only scored a bad outer,
assuming the detectives face to have
been the bull. He also turned up his
cuff to show a larger scar. This was
another testimonial from the burglar
world. A Kensington practitioner had
had the bad taste to bite off a piece of
that part of the detective. In short,
Barrett enlarged his knowledge of the
seamy side of things considerably in the
mile of road which had to be traversed
before St Austins appeared in sight.
The two parted at the big gates, Barrett
going in the direction of Philpotts, the
detective wheeling his machine towards
the porters lodge.
42 THE POTHUNTERS
Barretts condition when he turned
in at Philpotts door was critical. He
was so inflated with news that any
attempt to keep it in might have serious
results. Certainly he could not sleep
that night in such a bomb-like state.
It was thus that he broke in upon
Reade. Reade had passed an absurdly
useless afternoon. He had not stirred
from the study. For all that it would
have mattered to him, it might have
been raining hard the whole afternoon,
instead of being, as it had been, the
finest afternoon of the whole term. In a
word, and not to put too fine a point on
the matter, he had been frousting, and
consequently was feeling dull and
sleepy, and generally under-vitalized
and futile. Barrett entered the study
with a rush, and was carried away by
excitement to such an extent that he
addressed Reade as if the deadly feud
between them not only did not exist, but
never had existed.
I say, Reade. Heave that beastly
book away. My aunt, I have had an
afternoon of it.
Oh? said Reade, politely, where
did you go?
After eggs in the Dingle.
Reade was fairly startled out of his
dignified reserve. For the first time
since they had had their little difference,
he addressed Barrett in a sensible
manner.
You idiot! he said.
Dont see it. The Dingles just the
place to spend a happy day. Like
Rosherville. Jove, its worth going
there. You should see the birds. Place
is black with em.
How about keepers? See any?
Did I not! Three of them chased me
like good uns all over the place.
You got away all right, though.
Only just. I say, do you know what
happened? You know that rotter
Plunkett. Used to be a day boy. Head
of Wards now. Wears specs.
Yes?
Well, just as I was almost out of the
wood, I jumped a bush and landed right
on top of him. The man was asleep or
something. Fancy choosing the Dingle
of all places to sleep in, where you cant
go a couple of yards without running
into a keeper! He hadnt even the sense
to run. I yelled to him to look out, and
then I hooked it myself. And then the
nearest keeper, whod just come down a
buster over a rabbit-hole, sailed in and
had him. I couldnt do anything, of
course.
Jove, therell be a fair-sized row
about this. The Old Mans on to
trespassing like tar. I say, think
Plunkettll say anything about you
being there too?
Shouldnt think so. For one thing I
dont think he recognized me. Probably
doesnt know me by sight, and he was
fast asleep, too. No, I fancy Im all
right.
Well, it was a jolly narrow shave.
Anything else happen?
Anything else! Just a bit. Thats to
say, no, nothing much else. No.
Now then, said Reade, briskly.
None of your beastly mysteries. Out
with it.
Look here, swear youll keep it
dark?
Of course I will.
On your word of honour?
If you think began Reade in an
offended voice.
No, its all right. Dont get shirty.
The thing is, though, its so frightfully
important to keep it dark.
Well? Buck up.
Well, you neednt believe me, of
course, but Ive found the pots.
Reade gasped.
What! he cried. The pot for the
 ENTER THE SLEUTH-HOUND
quarter?
And the one for the hundred yards.
Both of them. Its a fact.
But where? How? What have you
done with them?
Barrett unfolded his tale concisely.
You see, he concluded, what a
hole Im in. I cant tell the Old Man
anything about it, or I get booked for
cutting roll-call, and going out of
bounds. And then, while Im waiting
and wondering what to do, and all that,
the thief, whoever he is, will most likely
go off with the pots. What do you think
I ought to do?
Reade perpended.
Well, he said, all you can do is to
lie low and trust to luck, as far as I can
see. Besides, theres one consolation.
This Plunkett businessll make every
keeper in the Dingle twice as keen after
trespassers. So the pot man wont get a
chance of getting the things away.
Yes, theres something in that,
admitted Barrett.
Its all you can do, said Reade.
Yes. Unless I wrote an anonymous
letter to the Old Man explaining things.
How would that do?
Do for you, probably. Anonymous
letters always get traced to the person
who wrote them. Or pretty nearly
always. No, you simply lie low.
Right, said Barrett, I will.
The process of concealing ones
superior knowledge is very irritating.
So irritating, indeed, that very few
people do it. Barrett, however, was
obliged to by necessity. He had a good
chance of displaying his abilities in that
direction when he met Grey the next
morning.
Hullo, said Grey, have a good
time yesterday?
Not bad. Ive got an egg for you.
Good man. What sort?
Hanged if I know. I know you
43
havent got it, though.
Thanks awfully. See anything of
the million keepers?
Heard them oftener than I saw
them.
They didnt book you?
Rather fancy one of them saw me,
but I got away all right.
Find the place pretty lively?
Pretty fair.
Stay there long?
Not very.
No. Thought you wouldnt. What
do you say to a small ice? Theres time
before school.
Thanks. Are you flush?
Flush isnt the word for it. Im a
plutocrat.
Uncle came out fairly strong then?
Rather. To the tune of one
sovereign, cash. Hes a jolly good sort,
my uncle.
So it seems, said Barrett.
The meeting then adjourned to the
School shop, Barrett enjoying his ice all
the more for the thought that his secret
still was a secret. A thing which it
would in all probability have ceased to
be, had he been rash enough to confide
it to K. St H. Grey, who, whatever his
other merits, was very far from being
the safest sort of confidant. His usual
practice was to speak first, and to think,
if at all, afterwards.
MR THOMPSON
INVESTIGATES
The Pavilion burglary was discussed
in other places besides Charteris study.
In the Masters Common Room the
matter came in for its full share of
comment. The masters were, as at most
schools, divided into the athletic and
non-athletic, and it was for the former
class that the matter possessed most
44 THE POTHUNTERS
interest. If it had been that apple of the
College Librarys eye, the original MS.
of St Austins private diary, or even that
lesser treasure, the black-letter
Eucalyptides, that had disappeared, the
elder portion of the staff would have
had a great deal to say upon the
subject. But, apart from the excitement
caused by the strangeness of such an
occurrence, the theft of a couple of
Sports prizes had little interest for them.
On the border-line between these
two castes came Mr Thompson, the
Master of the Sixth Form, spelt with a p
and no relation to the genial James or
the amiable Allen, with the former of
whom, indeed, he was on very
indifferent terms of friendship. Mr
Thompson, though an excellent classic,
had no knowledge of the inwardness of
the Human Boy. He expected every
member of his form not only to be
earnestwhich very few members of a
Sixth Form arebut also to
communicate his innermost thoughts to
him. His aim was to be their confidant,
the wise friend to whom they were to
bring their troubles and come for
advice. He was, in fact, poor man, the
good young master. Now, it is
generally the case at school that
troubles are things to be worried
through alone, and any attempt at
interference is usually resented. Mr
Thompson had asked Jim to tea, and,
while in the very act of passing him the
muffins, had embarked on a sort of
unofficial sermon, winding up by
inviting confidences. Jim had naturally
been first flippant, and then rude, and
relations had been strained ever since.
It must have been a professional,
alleged Perkins, the master of the Upper
Fourth. If it hadnt been for the fact of
the money having been stolen as well as
the cups, I should have put it down to
one of our fellows.
My dear Perkins, expostulated
Merevale.
My dear Merevale, my entire form
is capable of any crime except the theft
of money. A boy might have taken the
cups for a joke, or just for the
excitement of the thing, meaning to
return them in time for the Sports. But
the two pounds knocks that on the
head. It must have been a professional.
I always said that the Pavilion was a
very unsafe place in which to keep
anything of value, said Mr Thompson.
You were profoundly right,
Thompson, replied Perkins. You
deserve a diploma.
This business is rather in your line,
Thompson, said Merevale. You must
bring your powers to bear on the
subject, and scent out the criminal.
Mr Thompson took a keen pride in
his powers of observation. He would
frequently observe, like the lamented
Sherlock Holmes, the vital necessity of
taking notice of trifles. The daily life of
a Sixth Form master at a big public
school does not afford much scope for
the practice of the detective art, but Mr
Thompson had once detected a piece of
cribbing, when correcting some Latin
proses for the master of the Lower
Third, solely by the exercise of his
powers of observation, and he had
never forgotten it. He burned to add
another scalp to his collection, and this
Pavilion burglary seemed peculiarly
suited to his talents. He had given the
matter his attention, and, as far as he
could see, everything pointed to the fact
that skilled hands had been at work.
From eleven until half-past twelve
that day, the Sixth were doing an
unseen examination under the eye of the
Headmaster, and Mr Thompson was
consequently off duty. He took
advantage of this to stroll down to the
Pavilion and make a personal inspection
 MR THOMPSON INVESTIGATES
of the first room, from which what were
left of the prizes had long been removed
to a place of safety.
He was making his way to the place
where the ground-man was usually to
be found, with a view to obtaining the
keys, when he noticed that the door was
already open, and on going thither he
came upon Biffen, the ground-man, in
earnest conversation with a stranger.
Morning, sir, said the ground-man.
He was on speaking terms with most of
the masters and all the boys. Then, to
his companion, This is Mr Thompson,
one of our masters.
Morning, sir, said the latter.
Weather keeps up. I am Inspector
Roberts, Scotland Yard. But I think
were in for rain soon. Yes. Fraid so.
Been asked to look into this business,
Mr Thompson. Queer business.
Very. Might I askI am very
interested in this kind of thing-
whether you have arrived at any
conclusions yet?
The detective eyed him thoughtfully,
as if he were hunting for the answer to a
riddle.
No. Not yet. Nothing definite.
I presume you take it for granted it
was the work of a professional burglar.
No. No. Take nothing for granted.
Great mistake. Prejudices one way or
other great mistake. But, I think, yes, I
think it was probablyalmost certainly
not done by a professional.
Mr Thompson looked rather blank at
this. It shook his confidence in his
powers of deduction.
But, he expostulated. Surely no
one but a practised burglar would have
taken a pane of glass out soah-
neatly?
Inspector Roberts rubbed a finger
thoughtfully round the place where the
glass had been. Then he withdrew it,
and showed a small cut from which the
45
blood was beginning to drip.
Do you notice anything peculiar
about that cut? he enquired.
Mr Thompson did not. Nor did the
ground-man.
Look carefully. Now do you see?
No? Well, its not a clean cut.
Ragged. Very ragged. Now if a
professional had cut that pane out he
wouldnt have left it jagged like that.
No. He would have used a diamond.
Done the job neatly.
This destroyed another of Mr
Thompsons premises. He had taken it
for granted that a diamond had been
used.
Oh! he said, was that pane not cut
by a diamond; what did the burglar use,
then?
No. No diamond. Diamond would
have left smooth surface. Smooth as a
razor edge. This is like a saw.
Amateurish work. Cant say for certain,
but probably done with a chisel.
With a chisel? Surely not.
Yes. Probably with a chisel.
Probably the man knocked the pane out
with one blow, then removed all the
glass so as to make it look like the work
of an old hand. Very good idea, but
amateurish. I am told that three cups
have been taken. Could you tell me
how long they had been in the
Pavilion?
Mr Thompson considered.
Well, he said. Of course its
difficult to remember exactly, but I
think they were placed there soon after
one oclock the day before yesterday.
Ah! And the robbery took place
yesterday in the early morning, or the
night before?
Yes.
Is the Pavilion the usual place to
keep the prizes for the Sports?
No, it is not. They were only put
there temporarily. The Board Room,
46 THE POTHUNTERS
where they are usually kept, and which
is in the main buildings of the School,
happened to be needed until the next
day. Most of us were very much
against leaving them in the Pavilion, but
it was thought that no harm could come
to them if they were removed next day.
But they were removed that night,
which made a great difference, said Mr
Roberts, chuckling at his mild joke. I
see. Then I suppose none outside the
School knew that they were not in their
proper place?
I imagine not.
Just so. Knocks the idea of
professional work on the head. None of
the regular trade can have known this
room held so much silver for one night.
No regular would look twice at a cricket
pavilion under ordinary circumstances.
Therefore, it must have been somebody
who had something to do with the
School. One of the boys, perhaps.
Really, I do not think that probable.
You cant tell. Never does to form
hasty conclusions. Boy might have
done it for many reasons. Some boys
would have done it for the sake of the
excitement. That, perhaps, is the least
possible explanation. But you get boy
kleptomaniacs just as much in
proportion as grown-up kleptomaniacs.
I knew a man. Had a son. Couldnt
keep him away from anything valuable.
Had to take him away in a hurry from
three schools, good schools, too.
Really? What became of him? He
did not come to us, I suppose?
No. Somebody advised the father
to send him to one of those North-
Country schools where they flog. Great
success. Stole some money. Got
flogged, instead of expelled. Did it
again with same result. Gradually got
tired of it. Reformed character now.... I
dont say it is a boy, mind you. Most
probably not. Only say it may be.
All the while he was talking, his eyes
were moving restlessly round the room.
He came to the window through which
Jim had effected his entrance, and
paused before the broken pane.
I suppose he tried that window first,
before going round to the other?
hazarded Mr Thompson.
Yes. Most probably. Broke it, and
then remembered that anyone at the
windows of the boarding Houses might
see him, so left his job half done, and
shifted his point of action. I think so.
Yes.
He moved on again till he came to
the other window. Then he gave vent to
an excited exclamation, and picked up a
piece of caked mud from the sill as
carefully as if it were some fragile
treasure.
Now, see this, he said. This was
wet when the robbery was done. The
man brought it in with him. On his
boot. Left it on the sill as he climbed
in. Got out in a hurry, startled by
somethingyou can see he was startled
and left in a hurry from the different
values of the cups he tookand as he
was going, put his hand on this. Left a
clear impression. Good as plaster of
Paris very nearly.
Mr Thompson looked at the piece of
mud, and there, sure enough, was the
distinct imprint of the palm of a hand.
He could see the larger of the lines quite
clearly, and under a magnifying-glass
there was no doubt that more could be
revealed.
He drew in a long breath of
satisfaction and excitement.
Yes, said the detective. That piece
of mud couldnt prove anything by
itself, but bring it up at the end of a long
string of evidence, and if it fits your
man, it convicts him as much as a snap-
shot photograph would. Morning, sir. I
must be going. And he retired,
 MR THOMPSON INVESTIGATES
carrying the piece of mud in his hand,
leaving Mr Thompson in the full grip of
the detective-fever, hunting with might
and main for more clues.
After some time, however, he was
reluctantly compelled to give up the
search, for the bell rang for dinner, and
he always lunched, as did many of the
masters, in the Great Hall. During the
course of the meal he exercised his
brains without pause in the effort to
discover a fitting suspect. Did he know
of any victim of kleptomania in the
School? No, he was sorry to say he did
not. Was anybody in urgent need of
money? He could not say. Very
probably yes, but he had no means of
knowing.
After lunch he went back to the
Common Room. There was a letter
lying on the table. He picked it up. It
was addressed to J. Thomson, St
Austins. Now Mr Thompsons
Christian name was John. He did not
notice the omission of the p until he had
opened the envelope and caught a
glimpse of the contents. The letter was
so short that only a glimpse was needed,
and it was not till he had read the whole
that he realized that it was somebody
elses letter that he had opened.
This was the letter:
Dear JimFrantic haste. Can you
let me have that two pounds directly
you come back? Beg, borrow, or steal
it. I simply must have it.Yours ever,
Allen.
THE SPORTS
Sports weather at St Austins was as
a rule a quaint but unpleasant solution
of mud, hail, and iced rain. These were
taken as a matter of course, and the
School counted it as something gained
when they were spared the usual cutting
47
east wind.
This year, however, occurred that
invaluable exception which is so useful
in proving rules. There was no gale,
only a gentle breeze. The sun was
positively shining, and there was a
general freshness in the air which would
have made a cripple cast away his
crutches, and, after backing himself
heavily both ways, enter for the
Strangers Hundred Yards.
Jim had wandered off alone. He was
feeling too nervous at the thought of the
coming mile and all it meant to him to
move in society for the present.
Charteris, Welch, and Tony, going out
shortly before lunch to inspect the track,
found him already on the spot, and in a
very low state of mind.
Hullo, you chaps, he said
dejectedly, as they came up.
Hullo.
Our James is preoccupied, said
Charteris. Why this jaundiced air,
Jim? Look at our other Thompson over
there.
Our other Thompson was at that
moment engaged in conversation with
the Headmaster at the opposite side of
the field.
Look at him, said Charteris,
prattling away as merrily as a little
che-ild to the Old Man. You should
take a lesson from him.
Look here, I say, said Jim, after a
pause, I believe theres something jolly
queer up between Thompson and the
Old Man, and I believe its about me.
What on earth makes you think
that? asked Welch.
Its his evil conscience, said
Charteris. No one who hadnt
committed the awful crime that Jim has,
could pay the least attention to anything
Thompson said. What does our friend
Thucydides remark on the subject?
"Conscia mens recti, nec si sinit
48 THE POTHUNTERS
esse dolorem
Sed revocare gradum.
Very well then.
But why should you think
anythings up? asked Tony.
Perhaps nothing is, but its jolly
fishy. You see Thompson and the Old
Un pacing along there? Well, theyve
been going like that for about twenty
minutes. Ive been watching them.
But you cant tell theyre talking
about you, you rotter, said Tony. For
all you know they may be discussing
the exams.
Or why the sea is boiling hot, and
whether pigs have wings, put in
Charteris.
Or anything, added Welch
profoundly.
Well, all I know is that Thompsons
been doing all the talking, and the Old
Mans been getting more and more
riled.
Probably Thompsons been
demanding a rise of screw or asking for
a small loan or something, said
Charteris. How long have you been
watching them?
About twenty minutes.
From here?
Yes.
Why didnt you go and join them?
Theres nothing like tact. If you were
to go and ask the Old Man why the
whale wailed or something after that
style it ud buck him up like a tonic. I
wish you would. And then you could
tell him to tell you all about it and see if
you couldnt do something to smooth
the wrinkles from his careworn brow
and let the sunshine of happiness into
his heart. Hed like it awfully.
Would he! said Jim grimly. Well,
I got the chance just now. Thompson
said something to him, and he spun
round, saw me, and shouted
Thomson. I went up and capped him,
and he was starting to say something
when he seemed to change his mind,
and instead of confessing everything, he
took me by the arm, and said, No, no,
Thomson. Go away. Its nothing. I
will send for you later."
And did you knock him down?
asked Charteris.
What happened? said Welch.
He gave me a shove as if he were
putting the weight, and said again, Its
no matter. Go away, Thomson, now.
So I went.
And youve kept an eye on him ever
since? said Charteris. Didnt he seem
at all restive?
I dont think he noticed me.
Thompson had the floor and he was
pretty well full up listening to him.
I suppose you dont know what its
all about? asked Tony.
Must be this Pavilion business.
Now, my dear, sweet cherub, said
Charteris, dont you go and make an
utter idiot of yourself and think youre
found out and all that sort of thing.
Even if they suspect you theyve got to
prove it. Theres no sense in your
giving them a helping hand in the
business. What youve got to do is to
look normal. Dont overdo it or youll
look like a swashbuckler, and thatll be
worse than underdoing it. Cant you
make yourself look less like a convicted
forger? For my sake?
You really do look a bit off it, said
Welch critically. As if you were
sickening for the flu., or something.
Doesnt he, Tony?
Rather! said that expert in
symptoms. You simply must buck up,
Jim, or Drakell walk away from you.
Its disappointing, said Charteris,
to find a chap who can crack a crib as
neatly as you can doubling up like this.
Think how Charles Peace would have
behaved under the circs. Dont disgrace
 THE SPORTS
him, poor man.
Besides, said Jim, with an attempt
at optimism, it isnt as if Id actually
done anything, is it?
Just so, said Charteris, thats what
Ive been trying to get you to see all
along. Keep that fact steadily before
you, and youll be all right.
There goes the lunch-bell, said
Tony. You can always tell Merevales
bell in a crowd. William rings it as if he
was doing it for his health.
William, also known in criminal
circles as the Moke, was the gentleman
who served the Housein a perpetual
grin and a suit of livery four sizes too
large for himas a sort of butler.
Hes an artist, agreed Charteris, as
he listened to the performance. Does it
as if he enjoyed it, doesnt he? Well, if
we dont want to spoil Merevales
appetite by coming in at half-time, we
might be moving. They moved
accordingly.
The Sports were to begin at two
oclock with a series of hundred-yards
races, which commenced with the
under twelve (Cameron of Praters a
warm man for this, said those who had
means of knowing), and culminated at
about a quarter past with the open
event, for which Welch was a certainty.
By a quarter to the hour the places
round the ropes were filled, and more
visitors were constantly streaming in at
the two entrances to the School
grounds, while in the centre of the ring
the band of the local police forcethe
military being unavailable owing to
exigencies of distancewere seating
themselves with the grim determination
of those who know that they are going
to play the soldiers chorus out of
Faust. The band at the Sports had
played the soldiers chorus out of Faust
every year for decades past, and will in
all probability play it for decades to
49
come.
The Sports at St Austins were
always looked forward to by everyone
with the keenest interest, and when the
day arrived, were as regularly voted
slow. In all school sports there are too
many foregone conclusions. In the
present instance everybody knew, and
none better than the competitors
themselves, that Welch would win the
quarter and hundred. The high jump
was an equal certainty for a boy named
Reece in Hallidays House. Jackson,
unless he were quite out of form, would
win the long jump, and the majority of
the other events had already been
decided. The gem of the afternoon
would be the mile, for not even the
shrewdest judge of form could say
whether Jim would beat Drake, or
Drake Jim. Both had done equally good
times in practice, and both were known
to be in the best of training. The
adherents of Jim pointed to the fact that
he had won the half off Drakeby a
narrow margin, true, but still he had
won it. The other side argued that a
half-mile is no criterion for a mile, and
that if Drake had timed his sprint better
he would probably have won, for he had
finished up far more strongly than his
opponent. And so on the subject of the
mile, public opinion was for once
divided.
The field was nearly full by this
time. The only clear space outside the
ropes was where the Headmaster stood
to greet and talk about the weather to
such parents and guardians and other
celebrities as might pass. This habit of
his did not greatly affect the unattached
members of the School, those whose
parents lived in distant parts of the
world and were not present on Sports
Day, but to St Jones Brown (for
instance) of the Lower Third, towing
Mr Brown, senior, round the ring, it was
50 THE POTHUNTERS
a nervous ordeal to have to stand by
while his father and the Head
exchanged polite commonplaces. He
could not help feeling that there was
just a chance (horrible thought) that the
Head, searching for something to say,
might seize upon that little matter of
broken bounds or shaky examination
papers as a subject for discussion. He
was generally obliged, when the
interview was over, to conduct his
parent to the shop by way of pulling his
system together again, the latter, of
course, paying.
At intervals round the ropes Old
Austinian number one was meeting Old
Austinian number two (whom he
emphatically detested, and had hoped to
avoid), and was conversing with him in
a nervous manner, the clearness of his
replies being greatly handicapped by a
feeling, which grew with the minutes,
that he would never be able to get rid of
him and go in search of Old Austinian
number three, his bosom friend.
At other intervals, present Austinians
of tender years were manoeuvring half-
companies of sisters, aunts, and
mothers, and trying without much
success to pretend that they did not
belong to them. A pretence which came
down heavily when one of the aunts
addressed them as Willie or Phil, conducted Jim to the starting-place, and
and wanted to know audibly if that boy
who had just passed (the one person in
the School whom they happened to hate
and despise) was their best friend. It
was a little trying, too, to have to
explain in the middle of a crowd that
the reason why you were not running in
that race (the under thirteen hundred, said Charteris.
by Jove, which ought to have been a
gift to you, only, etc.) was because you
had been ignominiously knocked out in
the trial heats.
In short, the afternoon wore on.
Welch won the hundred by two yards
and the quarter by twenty, and the other
events fell in nearly every case to the
favourite. The hurdles created
something of a surpriseJackson, who
ought to have won, coming down over
the last hurdle but two, thereby enabling
Dallas to pull off an unexpected victory
by a couple of yards. Vaughans
enthusiastic watch made the time a little
under sixteen seconds, but the official
timekeeper had other views. There
were no instances of the timid new boy,
at whom previously the world had
scoffed, walking away with the most
important race of the day.
And then the spectators were roused
from a state of coma by the sound of the
bell ringing for the mile. Old Austinian
number one gratefully seized the
opportunity to escape from Old
Austinian number two, and lose himself
in the crowd. Young Pounceby-Green
with equal gratitude left his father
talking to the Head, and shot off
without ceremony to get a good place at
the ropes. In fact, there was a general
stir of anticipation, and all round the
ring paterfamilias was asking his son
and heir which was Drake and which
Thomson, and settling his glasses more
firmly on the bridge of his nose.
The staff of The Glow Worm
did their best to relieve his obvious
nervousness with light conversation.
Eh, old chap? said Jim. He had
been saying Eh? to everything
throughout the afternoon.
I said, Is my hat on straight, and
does it suit the colour of my eyes?"
Oh, yes. Yes, rather. Ripping, in a
far-off voice.
And have you a theory of the
Universe?
Eh, old chap?
I said, Did you want your legs
 THE SPORTS
rubbed before you start? I believe its
an excellent specific for the gout.
Gout? What? No, I dont think so,
thanks.
And youll write to us sometimes,
Jim, and give my love to little Henry,
and always wear flannel next your skin,
my dear boy? said Charteris.
This seemed to strike even Jim as
irrelevant.
Do shut up for goodness sake,
Alderman, he said irritably. Why
cant you go and rag somebody else?
My place is by your side. Go, my
son, or else theyll be starting without
you. Give us your blazer. And take my
tip, the tip of an old runner, and dont
pocket your opponents ball in your
own twenty-five. And come back
victorious, or on the shields of your
soldiers. All right, sir (to the starter),
hes just making his will. Good-bye
Jim. Buck up, or Ill lynch you after the
race.
Jim answered by muffling him in his
blazer, and walking to the line. There
were six competitors in all, each of
whom owned a name ranking
alphabetically higher than Thomson.
Jim, therefore, had the outside berth.
Drake had the one next to the inside,
which fell to Adamson, the victim of
the lost two pounds episode.
Both Drake and Jim got off well at
the sound of the pistol, and the pace
was warm from the start. Jim evidently
had his eye on the inside berth, and,
after half a lap had been completed, he
got it, Drake falling back. Jim
continued to make the running, and led
at the end of the first lap by about five
yards. Then came Adamson, followed
by a batch of three, and finally Drake,
taking things exceedingly coolly, a
couple of yards behind them. The
distance separating him from Jim was
little over a dozen yards. A roar of
51
applause greeted the runners as they
started on the second lap, and it was
significant that while Jims supporters
shouted, Well run, those of Drake
were fain to substitute advice for
approval, and cry Go it. Drake,
however, had not the least intention of
going it in the generally accepted
meaning of the phrase. A yard or two
to the rear meant nothing in the first lap,
and he was running quite well enough
to satisfy himself, with a nice, springy
stride, which he hoped would begin to
tell soon.
With the end of the second lap the
real business of the race began, for the
survival of the fittest had resulted in
eliminations and changes of order. Jim
still led, but now by only eight or nine
yards. Drake had come up to second,
and Adamson had dropped to a bad
third. Two of the runners had given the
race up, and retired, and the last man
was a long way behind, and, to all
practical purposes, out of the running.
There were only three laps, and, as the
last lap began, the pace quickened, fast
as it had been before. Jim was exerting
every particle of his strength. He was
not a runner who depended overmuch
on his final dash. He hoped to gain so
much ground before Drake made his
sprint as to neutralize it when it came.
Adamson he did not fear.
And now they were in the last two
hundred yards, Jim by this time some
thirty yards ahead, but in great straits.
Drake had quickened his pace, and
gained slowly on him. As they rounded
the corner and came into the straight,
the cheers were redoubled. It was a
great race. Then, fifty yards from the
tape, Drake began his final sprint. If he
had saved himself before, he made up
for it now. The gap dwindled and
dwindled. Neither could improve his
pace. It was a question whether there
52 THE POTHUNTERS
was enough of the race left for Drake to
catch his man, or whether he had once
more left his sprint till too late. Jim
could hear the roars of the spectators,
and the frenzied appeals of Merevales
House to him to sprint, but he was
already doing his utmost. Everything
seemed black to him, a black, surging
mist, and in its centre a thin white line,
the tape. Could he reach it before
Drake? Or would he collapse before he
reached it? There were only five more
yards to go now, and still he led. Four.
Three. Two. Then something white
swept past him on the right, the white
line quivered, snapped, and vanished,
and he pitched blindly forward on to the
turf at the track-side. Drake had won
by a foot.
AN INTERESTING
INTERVIEW
For the rest of the afternoon Jim had
a wretched time. To be beaten after
such a race by a foot, and to be beaten
by a foot when victory would have cut
the Gordian knot of his difficulties once
and for all, was enough to embitter
anybodys existence. He found it hard
to accept the well-meant condolences of
casual acquaintances, and still harder to
do the right thing and congratulate
Drake on his victory, a refinement of
self-torture which is by custom
expected of the vanquished in every
branch of work or sport. But he
managed it somehow, and he also
managed to appear reasonably gratified
when he went up to take his prize for
the half-mile. Tony and the others, who
knew what his defeat meant to him,
kept out of his way, for which he was
grateful. After lock-up, however, it was
a different matter, but by that time he
was more ready for society. Even now
there might be some way out of the
difficulty. He asked Tonys advice on
the subject. Tony was perplexed. The
situation was beyond his grip.
I dont see what you can do, Jim,
he said, unless the Rugby chapll be
satisfied with a pound on account. Its
a beastly business. Do you think your
pater will give you your money all the
same as it was such a close finish?
Jim thought not. In fact, he was
certain that he would not, and Tony
relapsed into silence as he tried to bring
another idea to the surface. He had not
succeeded when Charteris came in.
Jim, he said you have my
sympathy. It was an awfully near
thing. But Ive got something more
solid than sympathy. I will take a seat.
Dont rag, Charteris, said Tony.
Its much too serious.
Whos ragging, you rotter? I say I
have something more solid than
sympathy, and instead of giving me an
opening, as a decent individual would,
by saying, What? you accuse me of
ragging. James, my son, if you will
postpone your suicide for two minutes,
I will a tale unfold. I have an idea.
Well?
Thats more like it. Now you are
talking. We will start at the beginning.
First, you want a pound. So do I.
Secondly, you want it before next
Tuesday. Thirdly, you havent it on
you. How, therefore, are you to get it?
As the song hath it, you dont know,
they dont know, butnow we come to
the pointI do know.
Yes? said Jim and Tony together.
It is a luminous idea. Why
shouldnt we publish a special number
of The Glow Worm before the end of
term?
Jim was silent at the brilliance of the
scheme. Then doubts began to harass
him.
 AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW
Is there time?
Time? Yards of it. This is
Saturday. We start tonight, and keep at
it all night, if necessary. We ought to
manage it easily before tomorrow
morning. On Sunday we jellygraph it
itll have to be a jellygraphed number
this time. On Monday and Tuesday we
sell it, and there you are.
How are you going to sell it? In the
ordinary way at the shop?
Yes, Ive arranged all that. All
weve got to do is to write the thing. As
the penalty for your sins you shall take
on most of it. Ill do the editorial,
Welch is pegging away at the Sports
account now, and I waylaid Jackson just
before lock-up, and induced him by
awful threats to knock off some verses.
So were practically published already.
Its grand, said Jim. And its was no longer necessary to keep up the
awfully decent of you chaps to fag
yourselves like this for me. Ill start on
something now.
But can you raise a sovereign on
one number? asked Tony.
Either that, or Ive arranged with
the shop to give us a quid down, and
take all profits on this and the next
number. Theyre as keen as anything
on the taking-all-profits idea, but Ive
kept that back to be used only in case of
necessity. But the point is that Jim gets
his sovereign in any case. I must be off
to my editorial. So long, and he went.
Grand man, Charteris, said Tony,
as he leant back in his chair in search of
a subject. Youd better weigh in with
an account of the burglary. Its a pity
you cant give the realistic description
you gave us. It would sell like
anything.
Wouldnt do to risk it.
At that moment the door swung
violently open, with Merevale holding
on to the handle, and following it in its
course. Merevale very rarely knocked
53
at a study door, a peculiarity of his
which went far towards shattering the
nervous systems of the various inmates,
who never knew when it was safe to
stop work and read fiction. Ah,
Thomson, he said, I was looking for
you. The Headmaster wants to see you
over at his House, if you are feeling
well enough after your exertions. Very
close thing, that mile. I dont know
when I have seen a better-run race on
the College grounds. I suppose you are
feeling pretty tired, eh?
I am rather, sir, but I had better see
the Head. Will he be in his study, sir?
Yes, I think so.
Jim took his cap and went off, while
Merevale settled down to spend the
evening in Tonys study, as he often did
when the terms work was over, and it
pretence of preparation.
Parker, the Heads butler, conducted
Jim into the presence.
Sit down, Thomson, said the Head.
Jim took a seat, and he had just time
to notice that his namesake, Mr
Thompson, was also present, and that,
in spite of the fact that his tie had crept
up to the top of his collar, he was
looking quite unnecessarily satisfied
with himself, when he became aware
that the Head was speaking to him.
I hope you are not feeling any bad
effects from your race, Thomson?
Jim was half inclined to say that his
effects were nil, but he felt that the quip
was too subtle, and would be lost on his
present audience, so he merely said that
he was not. There was a rather
awkward silence for a minute. Then the
Head coughed, and said:
Thomson.
Yes, sir.
I think it would be fairest to you to
come to the point at once, and to tell
you the reason why I wished to see
54 THE POTHUNTERS
you.
Jim ran over the sins which shot up
in his mind like rockets as he heard
these ominous words, and he knew that
this must be the matter of the Pavilion.
He was, therefore, in a measure
prepared for the Heads next words.
Thomson.
Yessir.
A very serious charge has been
brought against you. You are accused
of nothing less than this unfortunate
burglary of the prizes for the Sports.
Yes, sir. Is my accuser Mr
Thompson?
The Headmaster hesitated for a
moment, and Mr Thompson spoke.
That is so, he said.
Yes, said the Head, the accusation
is brought by Mr Thompson.
Yes, sir, said Jim again, and this
time the observation was intended to
convey the meaning, My dear, good
sir, when youve known him as long as
I have, you wont mind what Mr
Thompson says or does. Its a kind of
way hes got, and if hes not under
treatment for it, he ought to be.
I should like to hear from your own
lips that the charge is groundless.
Anything to oblige, thought Jim.
Then aloud, Yes, sir.
You say it is groundless? This from
Mr Thompson.
Yes, sir.
I must warn you, Thomson, that the
evidence against you is very strong
indeed, said the Head. Without
suggesting that you are guilty of this
thing, I think I ought to tell you that if
you have any confession to make, it will
be greatly, very greatly, to your own
advantage to make it at once.
And give myself away, free, gratis
and for nothing, thought Jim. Not for
me, thank you.
Might I hear Mr Thompsons
evidence, sir? he asked.
Certainly, Thomson. He effected a
movement in Mr Thompsons direction,
midway between a bow and a nod.
Mr Thompson coughed. Jim
coughed, too, in the same key. This put
Mr Thompson out, and he had to cough
again.
In the first place, he began, it has
been conclusively proved that the
burglary was the work of an unskilful
hand.
That certainly seems to point to me
as the author, said Jim flippantly.
Silence, Thomson, said the Head,
and counsel for the prosecution
resumed.
In the second place, it has been
proved that you were at the time of the
burglary in great need of money.
This woke Jim up. It destroyed that
feeling of coolness with which he had
started the interview. Awful thoughts
flashed across his mind. Had he been
seen at the time of his burglarious
entry? At any rate, how did Mr
Thompson come to know of his
pecuniary troubles?
Did you say it had been proved,
sir?
Yes.
How, sir?
He felt the question was a mistake as
he was uttering it. Your really injured
innocent would have called all the
elements to witness that he was a
millionaire. But it was too late to try
that now. And, besides, he really did
want to know how Mr Thompson had
got to hear of this skeleton in his
cupboard.
The Headmaster interrupted
hurriedly. It is a very unfortunate
affair altogether, and this is quite the
most unfortunate part. A letter came to
the College addressed to J. Thomson,
and Mr Thompson opened and read it
 AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW
inadvertently. Quite inadvertently.
Yes, sir, said Jim, in a tone which
implied, I am no George Washington
myself, but when you say he read it
inadvertently, well
This letter was signed Allen certainly to have been in your study at
My brother, sir.
Exactly. And it asked for two
pounds. Evidently in payment of a
debt, and the tone of the letter certainly
seemed to show that you were not then
in possession of the money.
Could I have the letter, sir? Then
with respectful venom to Mr
Thompson: If you have finished with
it. The letter was handed over, and
pocketed, and Jim braced his moral
pecker up for the next round of the
contest.
I take it, then, Thomson, resumed
the Head, that you owe your brother
this money?
Yes, sir.
Two pounds is a great deal of
money for one boy to lend another.
It was not lent, sir. It was a bet.
A bet! in a nasty tone from the
Head.
A bet! in a sepulchral echo from
Mr Thompson.
There was a long pause.
At any other time, said the Head, I
should feel it my duty to take serious
notice of this, but beside this other
matter with which you are charged, it
becomes trivial. I can only repeat that
the circumstances are exceedingly
suspicious, and I think it would be in
your interests to tell us all you know
without further delay.
You take it for granted I am guilty,
sir, began Jim hotly.
I say that the circumstances seems
to point to it. In the first place, you
were in need of money. You admit
that?
Yes, sir.
55
In the second place, said the Head
slowly, in the second place, I am told
that you were nowhere to be found in
the House at half-past eight on the night
of the burglary, when you ought
your work.
Bombshell number two, and a worse
one than the first. For the moment
Jims head swam. If he had been asked
just then in so many words where he
had been at that time, it is likely that he
would have admitted everything. By
some miracle the Head did not press his
point.
You may go now, Thomson, he
said. I should like to see you after
morning school on Monday. Good-
night.
Good-night, sir, said Jim, and went
without another word. Coming so soon
after the exertion and strain of the mile,
this shock made him feel sick and
dizzy.
When he had gone, the Head turned
to Mr Thompson with a worried look on
his face. I feel as certain as I do of
anything, he said thoughtfully, that
that boy is telling the truth. If he had
been guilty, he would not have behaved
like that. I feel sure of it.
Mr Thompson looked equally
thoughtful. The circumstances are
certainly very suspicious, he said,
echoing the Heads own words. I wish
I could think he was innocent, but I am
bound to say I do not. I regard the
evidence as conclusive.
Circumstantial evidence is
proverbially uncertain, Mr Thompson.
That is principally the reason why I was
so bent on making him confess if he had
anything to confess. I cant expel a boy
and ruin his whole career on mere
suspicion. The matter must be proved,
doubly proved, and even then I should
feel uneasy until he owned himself
56 THE POTHUNTERS
guilty. It is a most unpleasant affair, a
terrible affair.
Most, agreed Mr Thompson.
And exactly the same thing was
occurring at that moment to Jim, as he
sat on his bed in his dormitory, and
pondered hopelessly on this new
complication that had presented itself so
unexpectedly. He was getting very near
to the end of his tether, was J. Thomson
of Merevales. It seemed to him,
indeed, that he had reached it already.
Possibly if he had had a clearer
conscience and a larger experience, he
might have recognized that the evidence
which Mr Thompson had described as
conclusive, was in reality not strong
enough to hang a cat on. Unfortunately,
he did not enjoy those advantages.
SIR ALFRED SCORES
Soon after Jim had taken his
departure, Mr Thompson, after waiting
a few minutes in case the Headmaster
had anything more to say, drifted
silently out of the room. The Head, like
the gentleman in the ballad, continued
to wear a worried look. The more he
examined the matter, the less did he
know what to make of it. He believed,
as he had said to Mr Thompson, that
Jim was entirely innocent. It was an
incredible thing, he thought, that a
public school boy, a School-prefect,
too, into the bargain, should break out
of his House and into a cricket pavilion,
however great a crisis his finances
might be undergoing. And then to steal
two of the prizes for the Sports.
Impossible. Against this, however,
must be placed the theft of the two
pounds. It might occur to a boy, as
indeed Mr Thompson had suggested, to
steal the cups in order to give the
impression that a practised burglar had
been at work. There was certainly
something to be said in favour of this
view. But he would never believe such
a thing. He was a good judge of
charactera headmaster generally is-
and he thought he could tell when a boy
was speaking the truth and when he was
not.
His reflections were interrupted by a
knock at the door. The butler entered
with a card on a tray. Sir Alfred
Venner, M.P., Badgwick Hall, said-
almost shoutedthe card. He read the
words without any apparent pleasure.
Is Sir Alfred here himself, Parker?
he said.
He is, sir.
The Headmaster sighed inaudibly
but very wearily. He was feeling
worried already, and he knew from
experience that a tete-a-tete with Sir
Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall,
would worry him still more.
The Head was a man who tried his
very hardest to like each and all of his
fellow-creatures, but he felt bound to
admit that he liked most people a great,
a very great, deal better than he liked
the gentleman who had just sent in his
card. Sir Alfreds manner always jarred
upon him. It was so exactly the
antithesis of his own. He was quiet and
dignified, and addressed everybody
alike, courteously. Sir Alfred was
restless and fussy. His manner was
always dictatorial and generally rude.
When he had risen in the House to
make his maiden speech, calling the
attention of the Speaker to what he
described as a thorough draught, he
had addressed himself with such
severity to that official, that a party of
Siamese noblemen, who, though not
knowing a word of English, had come
to listen to the debate, had gone away
with the impression that he was the
prime minister. No wonder the
 SIR ALFRED SCORES
Headmaster sighed.
Show him in, Parker, said he
resignedly.
Yessir.
Parker retired, leaving the Head to
wonder what his visitors grievance
might be this time. Sir Alfred rarely
called without a grievance, generally
connected with the trespassing of the
School on his land.
Good evening, Sir Alfred, he said,
as his visitor whirled into the room.
O-o-o, this sort of thing wont do,
you know, Mr Perceval, said Sir Alfred
fussily, adjusting a pair of gold pince-
nez on his nose. The Heads name,
which has not before been mentioned,
was the Reverend Herbert Perceval,
M.A. He had shivered at the sound of
the O-o-o which had preceded Sir
Alfreds remark. He knew, as did other
unfortunate people, that the great man
was at his worst when he said O-o-o.
In moments of comparative calm he
said Er.
I cant put up with it, you know, Mr
Perceval. Its too much. A great deal
too much.
You refer to? suggested the
Head, with a patience that did him
credit.
This eternal trespassing and
tramping in and out of my grounds all
day.
You have been misinformed, I fear,
Sir Alfred. I have not trespassed in
your grounds foraha considerable
time. The Head could not resist this
thrust. In his unregenerate Varsity
days he had been a power at the Union,
where many a foeman had exposed
himself to a verbal counter from him
with disastrous results. Now the
fencing must be done with buttons on
the foils.
YouwhatI dont follow you,
Mr Perceval.
57
I understand you to reproach me for
trespassing andahtramping in and
out of your grounds all day. Was that
not your meaning?
Sir Alfred almost danced with
impatience.
No, no, no. You misunderstand
me. You dont follow my drift.
In that case, I beg your pardon. I
gathered from the extreme severity of
your attitude towards me that I was the
person to whom you referred.
No, no, no. Ive come here to
complain of your boys.
It occurred to the Head to ask if the
complaint embraced the entire six
hundred of them, or merely referred to
one of them. But he reflected that the
longer he fenced, the longer his visitor
would stay. And he decided, in spite of
the illicit pleasure to be derived from
the exercise, that it was not worth
while.
Ah, he said.
Yes, continued Sir Alfred, my
keepers tell me the woods were full of
them, sir.
The Head suggested that possibly the
keepers had exaggerated.
Possibly. Possibly they may have
exaggerated. But that is not the point.
The nuisance is becoming intolerable,
Mr Perceval, perfectly intolerable. It is
time to take steps.
I have already done all that can be
done. I have placed your land out of
bounds, considerably out of bounds
indeed. And I inflict the severest
penalties when a breach of the rule is
reported to me.
Its not enough. Its not nearly
enough.
I can scarcely do more, I fear, Sir
Alfred. There are more than six
hundred boys at St Austins, and it is
not within my power to place them all
under my personal supervision.
58 THE POTHUNTERS
Here the Head, who had an eye to
the humorous, conjured up a picture of
six hundred Austinians going for walks,
two and two, the staff posted at
intervals down the procession, and
himself bringing up the rear. He made
a mental mem. to laugh when his visitor
had retired.
Hm, said the baffled M.P.
thoughtfully, adjusting his pince-nez
once more. M no. No, perhaps not.
Buthere he brightened upyou can
punish them when they do trespass.
That is so, Sir Alfred. I can and
invariably do.
Then punish that whats-his-name,
Plinkett, PlunkettIve got the name
down somewhere. Yes, Plunkett. I
thought so. Punish Plunkett.
Plunkett! said the Head, taken
completely by surprise. He, in common
with the rest of the world, had imagined
Plunkett to be a perfect pattern of what
should be. A headmaster, like other
judges of character, has his failures.
Plunkett. Yes, that is the name.
Boy with spectacles. Good gracious,
Mr Perceval, dont tell me the boy gave
me a false name.
No. His name is Plunkett. Am I to
understand that he was trespassing on
your land? Surely there is some
mistake? The boys a School-prefect.
Here it suddenly flashed upon his
mind that he had used that expression
before in the course of the day, on the
occasion when Mr Thompson first told
him of his suspicions in connection with
Jim. Why, Mr Thompson, the boys a
School-prefect, had been his exact
words. School-prefects had been in his
eyes above suspicion. It is a bad day
for a school when they are not so. Had
that day arrived for St Austins? he
asked himself.
He may be a School-prefect, Mr
Perceval, but the fact remains that he is
a trespasser, and ought from your point
of view to be punished for breaking
bounds.
The Head suddenly looked almost
cheerful again.
Of course, he said, of course. I
thought that there must be an
explanation. The rules respecting
bounds, Sir Alfred, do not apply to
School-prefects, only to the rest of the
School.
Indeed? said Sir Alfred. His tone
should have warned the Head that
something more was coming, but it did
not. He continued.
Of course it was very wrong of him
to trespass on your land, but I have no
doubt that he did it quite
unintentionally. I will speak to him,
and I think I can guarantee that he will
not do it again.
Oh, said his visitor. That is very
gratifying, I am sure. Might I ask, Mr
Perceval, if School-prefects at St
Austins have any other privileges?
The Head began to look puzzled.
There was something in his visitors
manner which suggested unpleasant
possibilities.
A few, he replied. They have a
few technical privileges, which it would
be a matter of some little time to
explain.
It must be very pleasant to be a
prefect at St Austins, said Sir Alfred
nastily. Very pleasant indeed. Might I
ask, Mr Perceval, if the technical
privileges to which you refer include-
smoking?
The Head started as if, supposing
such a thing possible, someone had
pinched him. He did not know what to
make of the question. From the
expression on his face his visitor did not
appear to be perpetrating a joke.
No, he said sharply, they do not
include smoking.
 SIR ALFRED SCORES
I merely asked because this was
found by my keeper on the boy when he
caught him.
He produced a small silver match-
box. The Head breathed again. The
reputation of the School-prefect, though
shaky, was still able to come up to the
scratch.
A match-box is scarcely a proof that
a boy has been smoking, I think, said
he. Many boys carry matches for
various purposes, I believe. I myself,
though a non-smoker, frequently place a
box in my pocket.
For answer Sir Alfred laid a bloated
and exceedingly vulgar-looking plush
tobacco-pouch on the table beside the
match-box.
That also, he observed, was found
in his pocket by my keeper.
He dived his hand once more into his
coat. And also this, he said.
And, with the air of a card-player
who trumps his opponents ace, he
placed on the pouch a pipe. And, to
make the matter, if possible, worse, the
pipe was not a new pipe. It was caked
within and coloured without, a pipe that
had seen long service. The only
mitigating circumstance that could
possibly have been urged in favour of
the accused, namely that of first
offence, had vanished.
It is pleasant, said Sir Alfred with
laborious sarcasm, to find a trespasser
doing a thing which has caused the
dismissal of several keepers. Smoking
in my woods Iwillnotpermit. I
will not have my property burnt down
while I can prevent it. Good evening,
Mr Perceval. With these words he
made a dramatic exit.
For some minutes after he had gone
the Head remained where he stood,
thinking. Then he went across the room
and touched the bell.
Parker, he said, when that
59
invaluable officer appeared, go across
to Mr Wards House, and tell him I
wish to see Plunkett. Say I wish to see
him at once.
Yessir.
After ten minutes had elapsed,
Plunkett entered the room, looking
nervous.
Sit down, Plunkett.
Plunkett collapsed into a seat. His
eye had caught sight of the smoking
apparatus on the table.
The Head paced the room,
something after the fashion of the tiger
at the Zoo, whose clock strikes lunch.
Plunkett, he said, suddenly, you
are a School-prefect.
Yes, sir, murmured Plunkett. The
fact was undeniable.
You know the
duties of a School-prefect?
Yes, sir.
And yet you deliberately break one
of the most important rules of the
School. How long have you been in the
habit of smoking?
Plunkett evaded the question.
My father lets me smoke, sir, when
Im at home.
(A hasty word in the readers ear. If
ever you are accused of smoking, please
for my sake, if not for your owntry
to refrain from saying that your father
lets you do it at home. It is a fatal
mistake.)
At this, to employ a metaphor, the
champagne of the Heads wrath, which
had been fermenting steadily during his
late interview, got the better of the cork
of self-control, and he exploded. If the
Mutual Friend ever has grandchildren
he will probably tell them with bated
breath the story of how the Head paced
the room, and the legend of the things
he said. But it will be some time before
he will be able to speak about it with
any freedom. At last there was a lull in
60 THE POTHUNTERS
the storm.
I am not going to expel you,
Plunkett. But you cannot come back
after the holidays. I will write to your
father to withdraw you. He pointed to
the door. Plunkett departed in level
time.
What did the Old Un want you
for? asked Dallas, curiously, when he
returned to the study.
Plunkett had recovered himself by
this time sufficiently to be able to tell a
lie.
He wanted to tell me hed heard
from my father about my leaving.
About your leaving! Dallas tried to
keep his voice as free as possible from
triumphant ecstasy.
Are you leaving? When?
This term.
Oh! said Dallas. It was an
uncomfortable moment. He felt that at
least some conventional expression of
regret ought to proceed from him.
Dont trouble to lie about being
sorry, said Plunkett with a sneer.
Thanks, said Dallas, gratefully,
since you mention it, I rather think I
wont.
THE LONG RUN
Vaughan came up soon afterwards,
and Dallas told him the great news.
They were neither of them naturally
vindictive, but the Mutual Friend had
been a heavy burden to them during his
stay in the House, and they did not
attempt to conceal from themselves
their unfeigned pleasure at the news of
his impending departure.
Ill never say another word against
Mr Plunkett, senior, in my life, said
Vaughan. Hes a philanthropist. I
wonder what the Mutuals going to do?
Gentleman of leisure, possibly. Unless
hes going to the Varsity.
Same thing, rather. I dont know a
bit what hes going to do, and I cant
say I care much. Hes going, thats the
main point.
I say, said Vaughan. I believe the
Old Man was holding a sort of
reception tonight. I know he had
Thomson over to his House. Do you
think theres a row on?
Oh, I dont know. Probably only
wanted to see if he was all right after
the mile. By Jove, it was a bit of a race,
wasnt it? And the conversation drifted
off into matters athletic.
There were two persons that night
who slept badly. Jim lay awake until
the College clock had struck three,
going over in his mind the various
points of his difficulties, on the chance
of finding a solution of them. He fell
asleep at a quarter past, without having
made any progress. The Head, also,
passed a bad night. He was annoyed for
many reasons, principally, perhaps,
because he had allowed Sir Alfred
Venner to score so signal a victory over
him. Besides that, he was not easy in
his mind about Jim. He could not come
to a decision. The evidence was all
against him, but evidence is noted for
its untrustworthiness. The Head would
have preferred to judge the matter from
his knowledge of Jims character. But
after the Plunkett episode he mistrusted
his powers in that direction. He thought
the matter over for a time, and then,
finding himself unable to sleep, got up
and wrote an article for a leading
review on the subject of the Doxology.
The article was subsequently rejected
which proves that Providence is not
altogether incapable of a kindly action
but it served its purpose by sending
its author to sleep.
Barrett, too, though he did not allow
it to interfere with his slumbers, was
 THE LONG RUN
considerably puzzled as to what he
ought to do about the cups which he had
stumbled upon in the wood. He
scarcely felt equal to going to the
Dingle again to fetch them, and yet
every minute he delayed made the
chances of their remaining there more
remote. He rather hoped that Reade
would think of some way out of it. He
had a great respect for Reades intellect,
though he did not always show it. The
next day was the day of the Inter-House
cross-country race. It was always fixed
for the afternoon after Sports Day, a
most inconvenient time for it, as
everybody who had exerted or over-
exerted himself the afternoon before
was unable to do himself justice.
Today, contrary to general expectation,
both Drake and Thomson had turned
out. The knowing ones, however, were
prepared to bet anything you liked
(except cash), that both would drop out
before the first mile was over.
Merevales pinned their hopes on
Welch. At that time Welch had not
done much long-distance running. He
confined himself to the hundred yards
and the quarter. But he had it in him to
do great things, as he proved in the
following year, when he won the half,
and would have beaten the great
Mitchell-Jones record for the mile, but
for an accident, or rather an event,
which prevented his running. The tale
of which is told elsewhere.
The course for the race was a
difficult one. There were hedges and
brooks to be negotiated, and, worst of
all, ploughed fields. The first ploughed
field usually thinned the ranks of the
competitors considerably. The distance
was about ten miles.
The race started at three oclock.
Jim and Welch, Merevales first string,
set the pace from the beginning, and
gradually drew away from the rest.
61
Drake came third, and following him
the rest of the Houses in a crowd.
Welch ran easily and springily; Jim
with more effort. He felt from the start
that he could not last. He resolved to do
his best for the honour of the House, but
just as the second mile was beginning,
the first of the ploughed fields appeared
in view, stretching, so it appeared to
Jim, right up to the horizon. He
groaned.
Go on, Welch, he gasped. Im
done.
Welch stopped short in his stride,
and eyed him critically.
Yes, he said, better get back to the
House. You overdid it yesterday. Lie
down somewhere. Gbye. And he got
into his stride again. Jim watched his
figure diminish, until at last it was a
shapeless dot of white against the
brown surface. Then he lay down on
his back and panted.
It was in this attitude that Drake
found him. For a moment an almost
irresistible wish seized him to act in the
same way. There was an unstudied
comfort about Jims pose which
appealed to him strongly. His wind still
held out, but his legs were beginning to
feel as if they did not belong to him at
all. He pulled up for an instant.
Hullo, he said, done up?
For reply Jim merely grunted.
Slacker, said Drake. Wheres
Welch?
Miles ahead.
Oh Lord! groaned Drake and,
pulling himself together, set out
painfully once more across the heavy
surface of the field.
Jim lay where he was a little longer.
The recollection of the other runners,
who might be expected to arrive
shortly, stirred him to action. He did
not wish to interview everyone on the
subject of his dropping out. He struck
62 THE POTHUNTERS
off at right angles towards the hedge on
the left. As he did so, the first of the
crowd entered the field. Simpson
major, wearing the colours of Perkinss
House on his manly bosom, was
leading. Behind him came a group of
four, two School House, Dallas of
Wards, and a representative of
Praters. A minute later they were
followed by a larger group, consisting
this time of twenty or more runnersall
that was left of the fifty who had
started. The rest had dropped out at the
sight of the ploughed field.
Jim watched the procession vanish
over the brow of the hill, and, as it
passed out of sight, began to walk
slowly back to the School again.
He reached it at last, only to find it
almost entirely deserted. In Merevales
House there was nobody. He had hoped
that Charteris and Tony might have
been somewhere about. When he had
changed into his ordinary clothes, he
made a tour of the School grounds. The
only sign of life, as far as he could see,
was Biffen, who was superintending the
cutting of the grass on the cricket-field.
During the winter Biffen always
disappeared, nobody knew where,
returning at the beginning of Sports
Week to begin preparations for the
following cricket season. It had been
stated that during the winter he shut
himself up and lived on himself after
the fashion of a bear. Others believed
that he went and worked in some Welsh
mine until he was needed again at the
School. Biffen himself was not
communicative on the subject, a fact
which led a third party to put forward
the awful theory that he was a
professional association player and
feared to mention his crime in a school
which worshipped Rugby.
Why, Mr Thomson, he said, as Jim
came up, I thought you was running.
Whoa! The last remark was addressed
to a bored-looking horse attached to the
mowing-machine. From the expression
on its face, the animal evidently voted
the whole process pure foolishness. He
pulled up without hesitation, and Biffen
turned to Jim again.
Surely they aint come back yet?
he said.
I have, said Jim. I did myself up
rather in the mile yesterday, and
couldnt keep up the pace. I dropped
out at that awfully long ploughed field
by Parkers Spinney.
Biffen nodded.
And oo was winning, sir?
Well, Welch was leading, the last I
saw of it. Shouldnt wonder if he won
either. He was going all right. I say,
the place seems absolutely deserted.
Isnt anybody about?
Just what Mr MacArthur was saying
to me just this minute, sir. E went into
the Pavilion.
Good. Ill go and hunt for him.
Biffen clicked the blase horse into
movement again. Jim went to the
Pavilion and met the Babe coming
down the steps.
Hullo, Babe! I was looking for
you.
Hullo! Why arent you running?
Dropped out. Come and have tea in
my study.
No, Ill tell you what. You come
back with me. Ive got rather a decent
dog I want to show you. Only got him
yesterday.
Jim revelled in dogs, so he agreed
instantly. The Babe lived with his
parents in a big house about a mile from
the College, and in so doing was the
object of much envy amongst those who
had to put up with life at the Houses.
Jim had been to his home once or twice
before, and had always had a very good
time indeed there. The two strolled off.
 THE LONG RUN
In another hour the place began to show
signs of life again. The School began to
return by ones and twos, most of them
taking up a position near the big gates.
This was where the race was to finish.
There was a straight piece of road about
two hundred yards in length before the
high road was reached. It was a sight
worth seeing when the runners, paced
by their respective Houses on each side
of the road, swept round the corner, and
did their best to sprint with all that was
left in them after ten miles of difficult
country. Suddenly a distant shouting
began to be heard. The leaders had
been sighted. The noise increased,
growing nearer and nearer, until at last
it swelled into a roar, and a black mass
of runners turned the corner. In the
midst of the black was one white figure
Welch, as calm and unruffled as if he
had been returning from a short trot to
improve his wind. Merevales surged
round him in a cheering mob. Welch
simply disregarded them. He knew
where he wished to begin his sprint, and
he would begin it at that spot and no
other. The spot he had chosen was well
within a hundred yards from the gates.
When he reached it, he let himself go,
and from the uproar, the crowd
appeared to be satisfied. A long pause,
and still none of the other runners
appeared. Five minutes went by before
they began to appear. First Jones, of the
School House, and Simpson, who raced
every yard of the way, and finished in
the order named, and then three of
Philpotts House in a body. The rest
dropped in at intervals for the next
quarter of an hour.
The Headmaster always made a
point of watching the finish of the
cross-country run. Indeed, he was
generally one of the last to leave. With
the majority of the spectators it was
enough to see the first five safely in.
63
The last man and lock-up arrived
almost simultaneously, and the Head
went off to a well-earned dinner.
He had just finished this meal, and
was congratulating himself on not being
obliged to spend the evening in a series
of painful interviews, as had happened
the night before, when Parker, the
butler, entered the room.
Well, Parker, what is it? asked he.
Mr Roberts, sir, wishes to see you.
For a moment the Head was at a
loss. He could not recall any friend or
acquaintance of that name. Then he
remembered that Roberts was the name
of the detective who had come down
from London to look into the matter of
the prizes.
Very well, he said, resignedly,
show him into the study.
Parker bowed, and retired. The
Head, after an interval, followed him,
and made his way to the study.
MR ROBERTS
EXPLAINS
Inspector Roberts was standing with
his back to the door, examining a
photograph of the College, when the
Head entered. He spun round briskly.
Good evening, Mr Roberts. Pray be
seated. You wish to see me?
The detective took a seat.
This business of the cups, sir.
Ah! said the Head, have you made
any progress?
Considerable. Yes, very
considerable progress. Ive found out
who stole them.
You have? cried the Head.
Excellent. I suppose it was Thomson,
then? I was afraid so.
Thomson, sir? That was certainly
not the name he gave me. Stokes he
called himself.
64 THE POTHUNTERS
Stokes? Stokes? This is curious.
Perhaps if you were to describe his
appearance? Was he a tall boy, of a
rather slight build
The detective interrupted.
Excuse me, sir, but I rather fancy
we have different persons in our mind.
Stokes is not a boy. Not at all. Well
over thirty. Red moustache. Height,
five foot seven, I should say. Not
more. Works as a farmhand when
required, and does odd jobs at times.
Thats the man.
The Heads face expressed relief, as
he heard this description. Then
Thomson did not do it after all, he said.
Thomson? queried Mr Roberts.
Thomson, explained the Head, is
the name of one of the boys at the
School. I am sorry to say that I strongly
suspected him of this robbery.
A boy at the School. Curious.
Unusual, I should have thought, for a
boy to be mixed up in an affair like
this. Though I have known cases.
I was very unwilling, I can assure
you, to suspect him of such a thing, but
really the evidence all seemed to point
to it. I am afraid, Mr Roberts, that I
have been poaching on your preserves
without much success.
Curious thing evidence, murmured
Mr Roberts, fixing with his eye a bust
of Socrates on the writing-desk, as if he
wished it to pay particular attention to
his words. Very curious. Very seldom
able to trust it. Case the other day.
Man charged with robbery from the
person. With violence. They gave the
case to me. Worked up beautiful case
against the man. Not a hitch anywhere.
Whole thing practically proved. Man
brings forward alibi. Proves it. Turned
out that at time of robbery he had been
serving seven days without the option
for knocking down two porters and a
guard on the District Railway. Yet the
evidence seemed conclusive. Yes,
curious thing evidence. He nodded
solemnly at Socrates, and resumed an
interested study of the carpet.
The Head, who had made several
spirited attempts at speaking during this
recital, at last succeeded in getting in a
word.
You have the cups?
No. No, cups still missing. Only
flaw in the affair. Perhaps I had better
begin from the beginning?
Exactly. Pray let me hear the whole
story. I am more glad than I can say
that Thomson is innocent. There is no
doubt of that, I hope?
Not the least, sir. Not the very
least. Stokes is the man.
I am very glad to hear it.
The inspector paused for a moment,
coughed, and drifted into his narrative.
... Saw at once it was not the work
of a practised burglar. First place, how
could regular professional know that the
cups were in the Pavilion at all? Quite
so. Second place, work very clumsily
done. No neatness. Not the
professional touch at all. Tell it in a
minute. No mistaking it. Very good.
Must, therefore, have been amateur-
this night onlyand connected with
School. Next question, who? Helped a
little there by luck. Capital thing luck,
when its not bad luck. Was passing by
the village innyou know the village
inn, I dare say, sir?
The Head, slightly scandalized,
explained that he was seldom in the
village. The detective bowed and
resumed his tale.
As I passed the door, I ran into a
man coming out. In a very elevated, not
to say intoxicated, state. As a matter of
fact, barely able to stand. Reeled
against wall, and dropped handful of
money. I lent helping hand, and picked
up his money for him. Not my place to
 MR ROBERTS EXPLAINS
arrest drunken men. Constables! No
constable there, of course. Noticed, as I
picked the money up, that there was a
good deal of it. For ordinary rustic, a
very good deal. Sovereign and plenty
of silver. He paused, mused for a
while, and went on again.
Yes. Sovereign, and quite ten
shillings worth of silver. Now the
nature of my profession makes me a
suspicious man. It struck me as
curious, not to say remarkable, that such
a man should have thirty shillings or
more about him so late in the week.
And then there was another thing. I
thought Id seen this particular man
somewhere on the School grounds.
Couldnt recall his face exactly, but just
had a sort of general recollection of
having seen him before. I happened to
have a camera with me. As a matter of
fact I had been taking a few
photographs of the place. Pretty place,
sir.
Very, agreed the Head.
You photograph yourself, perhaps?
No. Iahdo not. combination of good price and
Ah. Pity. Excellent hobby.
HoweverI took a snap-shot of this
man to show to somebody who might
know him better than I did. This is the
photograph. Drunk as a lord, is he not?
He exhibited a small piece of paper.
The Head examined it gravely, and
admitted that the subject of the picture
did not appear to be ostentatiously
sober. The sunlight beat full on his
face, which wore the intensely solemn
expression of the man who, knowing
his own condition, hopes, by means of
exemplary conduct, to conceal it from
the world. The Head handed the
photograph back without further
comment.
I gave the man back his money,
went on Mr Roberts, and saw him
safely started again, and then I set to
65
work to shadow him. Not a difficult
job. He walked very slowly, and for all
he seemed to care, the whole of
Scotland Yard might have been
shadowing him. Went up the street, and
after a time turned in at one of the
cottages. I marked the place, and went
home to develop the photograph. Took
it to show the man who looks after the
cricket-field.
Biffen?
Just so, Biffen. Very intelligent
man. Given me a good deal of help in
one way and another all along. Well, I
showed it to him and he said he thought
he knew the face. Was almost certain it
was one of the men at work on the
grounds at the time of the robbery.
Showed it to friend of his, the other
ground-man. He thought same. That
made it as certain as I had any need for.
Went off at once to the mans cottage,
found him sober, and got the whole
thing out of him. But not the cups. He
had been meaning to sell them, but had
not known where to go. Wanted
complete safety. Very hard to find, so
had kept cups hidden till further notice.
Here the Head interrupted.
And the cups? Where are they?
We-e-ll, said the detective, slowly.
It is this way. We have only got his
word to go on as regards the cups. This
man, Stokes, it seems is a notorious
poacher. The night after the robbery he
took the cups out with him on an
expedition in some woods that lie in the
direction of Badgwick. I think
Badgwick is the name.
Badgwick! Not Sir Alfred Venners
woods?
Sir Alfred Venner it was, sir. That
was the name he mentioned. Stokes
appears to have been in the habit of
visiting that gentlemans property pretty
frequently. He had a regular hiding
66 THE POTHUNTERS
place, a sort of store where he used to
keep all the game he killed. He
described the place to me. It is a big
tree on the bank of the stream nearest
the high road. The tree is hollow. One
has to climb to find the opening to it.
Inside are the cups, and, I should say, a
good deal of mixed poultry. That is
what he told me, sir. I should advise
you, if I may say so, to write a note to
Sir Alfred Venner, explaining the case,
and ask him to search the tree, and send
the cups on here.
This idea did not appeal to the Head
at all. Why, he thought bitterly, was
this wretched M.P. always mixed up
with his affairs? Left to himself, he
could have existed in perfect comfort
without either seeing, writing to, or
hearing from the great man again for
the rest of his life. I will think it over,
he said, though it seems the only thing
to be done. As for Stokes, I suppose I
must prosecute
The detective raised a hand in
protest.
Pardon my interruption, sir, but I
really should advise you not to
prosecute.
Indeed! Why?
It is this way. If you prosecute, you
get the man his term of imprisonment.
A year, probably. Well and good. But
then what happens? After his sentence
has run out, he comes out of prison an
ex-convict. Tries to get work. No
good. Nobody will look at him. Asks
for a job. People lock up their spoons
and shout for the police. What happens
then? Not being able to get work, tries
another burglary. Being a clumsy hand
at the game, gets caught again and sent
back to prison, and so is ruined and
becomes a danger to society. Now, if
he is let off this time, he will go straight
for the rest of his life. Run a mile to
avoid a silver cup. Hes badly scared,
and I took the opportunity of scaring
him more. Told him nothing would
happen this time, if the cups came back
safely, but that hed be watched ever
afterwards to see he did not get into
mischief. Of course he wont really be
watched, you understand, but he thinks
he will. Which is better, for it saves
trouble. Besides, we know where the
cups areI feel sure he was speaking
the truth about them, he was too
frightened to invent a storyand here is
most of the money. So it all ends well,
if I may put it so. My advice, sir, and I
think you will find it good adviceis
not to prosecute.
Very well, said the Head, I will
not.
Very good, sir. Good morning,
sir. And he left the room.
The Head rang the bell.
Parker, said he, go across to Mr
Merevales, and ask him to send
Thomson to me.
It was with mixed feelings that he
awaited Jims arrival. The detectives
story had shown how unjust had been
his former suspicions, and he felt
distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect
of the apology which he felt bound to
make to him. On the other hand, this
feeling was more than equalled by his
relief at finding that his faith in the
virtue of the genus School-prefect,
though at fault in the matter of Plunkett,
was not altogether misplaced. It made
up for a good deal. Then his thoughts
drifted to Sir Alfred Venner. Struggle
with his feelings as he might, the Head
could not endure that local potentate.
The recent interview between them had
had no parallel in their previous
acquaintance, but the Head had always
felt vaguely irritated by his manner and
speech, and he had always feared that
matters would come to a head sooner or
later. The prospect of opening
 MR ROBERTS EXPLAINS
communication with him once more
was not alluring. In the meantime there
was his more immediate duty to be
performed, the apology to Thomson.
But that reminded him. The apology
must only be of a certain kind. It must
not be grovelling. And this for a very
excellent reason. After the apology
must come an official lecture on the
subject of betting. He had rather lost
sight of that offence in the excitement
of the greater crime of which Thomson
had been accused, and very nearly
convicted. Now the full heinousness of
it came back to him. Betting!
Scandalous!
Come in, he cried, as a knock at the
door roused him from his thoughts. He
turned. But instead of Thomson, there
appeared Parker. Parker carried a note.
It was from Mr Merevale.
The Head opened it.
What! he cried, as he read it.
Impossible. Parker made no
comment. He stood in the doorway,
trying to look as like a piece of furniture
as possiblewhich is the duty of a
good butler.
Impossible! said the Head again.
What Mr Merevale had said in his
note was this, that Thomson was not in
the House, and had not been in the
House since lunchtime. He ought to
have returned at six oclock. It was
now half-past eight, and still there were
no signs of him. Mr Merevale
expressed a written opinion that this
was a remarkable thing, and the Head
agreed with him unreservedly.
THE DISAPPEARANCE
OF J. THOMSON
Certainly the Head was surprised.
He read the note again. No. There
was no mistake. Thomson is not in the
67
House. There could be no two
meanings about that.
Go across to Mr Merevales, he
said at last, and ask him if he would
mind seeing me here for a moment.
The butler bowed his head gently,
but with more than a touch of pained
astonishment. He thought the
Headmaster might show more respect
for persons. A butler is not an errand-
boy.
Sir? he said, giving the Head a last
chance, as it were, of realizing the
situation.
Ask Mr Merevale to step over here
for a moment.
The poor man bowed once more.
The phantom of a half-smoked cigar
floated reproachfully before his eyes.
He had lit it a quarter of an hour ago in
fond anticipation of a quiet evening.
Unless a miracle had occurred, it must
be out by this time. And he knew as
well as anybody else that a relighted
cigar is never at its best. But he went,
and in a few minutes Mr Merevale
entered the room.
Sit down, Mr Merevale, said the
Head. Am I to understand from your
note that Thomson is actually not in the
House?
Mr Merevale thought that if he had
managed to understand anything else
from the note he must possess a mind of
no common order, but he did not say so.
No, he said. Thomson has not
been in the House since lunchtime, as
far as I know. It is a curious thing.
It is exceedingly serious.
Exceedingly so. For many reasons.
Have you any idea where he was seen
last?
Harrison in my House says he saw
him at about three oclock.
Ah!
According to Harrison, he was
walking in the direction of Stapleton.
68 THE POTHUNTERS
Ah. Well, it is satisfactory to know
even as little as that.
Just so. But Macehe is in my
House, toodeclares that he saw
Thomson at about the same time
cycling in the direction of Badgwick.
Both accounts can scarcely be correct.
Butdear me, are you certain, Mr
Merevale?
Merevale nodded to imply that he
was. The Head drummed irritably with
his fingers on the arm of his chair. This
mystery, coming as it did after the
series of worries through which he had
been passing for the last few days,
annoyed him as much as it is to be
supposed the last straw annoyed the
proverbial camel.
As a matter of fact, said Merevale,
I know that Thomson started to run in
the long race this afternoon. I met him
going to the starting-place, and advised
him to go and change again. He was
not looking at all fit for such a long
run. It seems to me that Welch might
know where he is. Thomson and he got
well ahead of the others after the start,
so that if, as I expect, Thomson dropped
out early in the race, Welch could
probably tell us where it happened.
That would give us some clue to his
whereabouts, at any rate.
Have you questioned Welch?
Not yet. Welch came back very
tired, quite tired out, in fact and went
straight to bed. I hardly liked to wake
him except as a last resource. Perhaps I
had better do so now?
I think you should most certainly.
Something serious must have happened
to Thomson to keep him out of his
House as late as this. Unless
He stopped. Merevale looked up
enquiringly. The Head, after a
moments deliberation, proceeded to
explain.
I have made a very unfortunate
mistake with regard to Thomson, Mr
Merevale. A variety of reasons led me
to think that he had had something to do
with this theft of the Sports prizes.
Thomson! broke in Merevale
incredulously.
There was a considerable weight of
evidence against him, which I have
since found to be perfectly
untrustworthy, but which at the time
seemed to me almost conclusive.
But surely, put in Merevale again,
surely Thomson would be the last boy
to do such a thing. Why should he?
What would he gain by it?
Precisely. I can understand that
perfectly in the light of certain
information which I have just received
from the inspector. But at the time, as I
say, I believed him guilty. I even went
so far as to send for him and question
him upon the subject. Now it has
occurred to me, Mr Merevaleyou
understand that I put it forward merely
as a conjectureit occurs to me
That Thomson has run away, said
Merevale bluntly.
The Head, slightly discomposed by
this Sherlock-Holmes-like reading of
his thoughts, pulled himself together,
and said, Ahjust so. I think it very
possible.
I do not agree with you, said
Merevale. I know Thomson well, and
I think he is the last boy to do such a
thing. He is neither a fool nor a
coward, to put it shortly, and he would
need to have a great deal of both in him
to run away.
The Head looked slightly relieved at
this.
Youahthink so? he said.
I certainly do. In the first place,
where, unless he went home, would he
run to? And as he would be going
home in a couple of days in the ordinary
course of things, he would hardly be
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF J. THOMSON
foolish enough to risk expulsion in such
a way.
Mr Merevale always rather enjoyed
his straight talks with the Headmaster.
Unlike most of his colleagues he stood
in no awe of him whatever. He always
found him ready to listen to sound
argument, and, what was better, willing
to be convinced. It was so in this case.
Then I think we may dismiss that
idea, said the Head with visible relief.
The idea of such a scandal occurring at
St Austins had filled him with
unfeigned horror. And now I think it
would be as well to go across to your
House and hear what Welch has to say
about the matter. Unless Thomson
returns soonand it is already past nine
oclockwe shall have to send out
search-parties.
Five minutes later Welch, enjoying a
sound beauty-sleep, began to be
possessed of a vague idea that
somebody was trying to murder him.
His subsequent struggles for life
partially woke him, and enabled him to
see dimly that two figures were
standing by his bed.
Yes? he murmured sleepily,
turning over on to his side again, and
preparing to doze off. The shaking
continued. This was too much. Look
here, said he fiercely, sitting up. Then
he recognized his visitors. As his eye
fell on Merevale, he wondered whether
anything had occurred to bring down
his wrath upon him. Perhaps he had
gone to bed without leave, and was
being routed out to read at prayers or do
some work? No, he remembered
distinctly getting permission to turn in.
What then could be the matter?
At this point he recognized the
Headmaster, and the last mists of sleep
left him.
Yes, sir? he said, wide-awake now.
Merevale put the case briefly and
69
clearly to him. Sorry to disturb you,
Welch. I know you are tired.
Not at all, sir, said Welch, politely.
But there is something we must ask
you. You probably do not know that
Thomson has not returned?
Not returned!
No. Nobody knows where he is.
You were probably the last to see him.
What happened when you and he
started for the long run this afternoon?
You lost sight of the rest, did you not?
Yes, sir.
Well?
And Thomson dropped out.
Ah. This from the Headmaster.
Yes, sir. He said he couldnt go any
farther. He told me to go on. And, of
course, I did, as it was a race. I advised
him to go back to the House and
change. He looked regularly done up. I
think he ran too hard in the mile
yesterday.
The Head spoke.
I thought that some such thing must
have happened. Where was it that he
dropped out, Welch?
It was just as we came to a long
ploughed field, sir, by the side of a big
wood.
Parkers Spinney, I expect, put in
Merevale.
Yes, sir. About a mile from the
College.
And you saw nothing more of him
after that? enquired the Headmaster.
No, sir. He was lying on his back
when I left him. I should think some of
the others must have seen him after I
did. He didnt look as if he was likely
to get up for some time.
Well, said the Head, as he and
Merevale went out of the room, leaving
Welch to his slumbers, we have gained
little by seeing Welch. I had hoped for
something more. I must send the
prefects out to look for Thomson at
70 THE POTHUNTERS
once.
It will be a difficult business, said
Merevale, refrainingto his credit be it
saidfrom a mention of needles and
haystacks. We have nothing to go
upon. He may be anywhere for all we
know. I suppose it is hardly likely that
he is still where Welch left him?
The Head seemed to think this
improbable. That would scarcely be
the case unless he were very much
exhausted. It is more than five hours
since Welch saw him. I can hardly
believe that the worst exhaustion would
last so long. However, if you would
kindly tell your House-prefects of this
And send them out to search?
Yes. We must do all we can. Tell
them to begin searching where
Thomson was last seen. I will go round
to the other Houses. Dear me, this is
exceedingly annoying. Exceedingly
so.
Merevale admitted that it was, and,
having seen his visitor out of the House,
went to the studies to speak to his
prefects. He found Charteris and Tony
together in the formers sanctum.
Has anything been heard about
Thomson, sir? said Tony, as he
entered.
That is just what I want to see you
about. Graham, will you go and bring
the rest of the prefects here?
Now, he said, as Tony returned
with Swift and Daintree, the two
remaining House-prefects, you all
know, of course, that Thomson is not in
the House. The Headmaster wants you
to go and look for him. Welch seems to
have been the last to see him, and he
left him lying in a ploughed field near
Parkers Spinney. You all know
Parkers Spinney, I suppose?
Yes, sir.
Then you had better begin searching
from there. Go in twos if you like, or
singly. Dont all go together. I want
you all to be back by eleven. All got
watches?
Yes, sir.
Good. Youd better take lanterns of
some sort. I think I can raise a bicycle
lamp each, and there is a good moon.
Look everywhere, and shout as much as
you like. I think he must have sprained
an ankle or something. He is probably
lying somewhere unable to move, and
too far away from the road to make his
voice heard to anyone. If you start now,
you will have just an hour and a half.
You should have found him by then.
The prefects from the other Houses will
help you.
Daintree put in a pertinent question.
How about trespassing, sir?
Oh, go where you like. In reason,
you know. Dont go getting the School
mixed up in any unpleasantness, of
course, but remember that your main
object is to find Thomson. You all
understand?
Yes, sir.
Very good. Then start at once.
By Jove, said Swift, when he had
gone, what an unholy rag! This suits
yours truly. Poor old Jim, though. I
wonder what the deuce has happened to
him?
At that very moment the
Headmaster, leaving Philpotts House
to go to Praters, was wondering the
same thing. In spite of Mr Merevales
argument, he found himself drifting
back to his former belief that Jim had
run away. What else could keep him
out of his House more than three hours
after lock-up? And he had had some
reason for running away, for the
conscia mens recti, though an excellent
institution in theory, is not nearly so
useful an ally as it should be in
practice. The Head knocked at Praters
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF J. THOMSON 71

door, pondering darkly within himself.
WELL PROCEED TO SEARCH
FOR THOMSON IF HE BE ABOVE
THE GROUND
How sweet the moonlight sleeps on
yonder haystack, observed Charteris
poetically, as he and Tony,
accompanied by Swift and Daintree,
made their way across the fields to
Parkers Spinney. Each carried a
bicycle lamp, and at irregular intervals
each broke into piercing yells, to the
marked discomfort of certain birds
roosting in the neighbourhood, who
burst noisily from the trees, and made
their way with visible disgust to quieter
spots.
Theres one thing, said Swift, we through the wood Charteris caught his
ought to hear him if he yells on a night
like this. A yell ought to travel about a
mile.
Suppose we try one now, said
Charteris. Now. A concerted piece,
andante in six-eight time. Ready?
The next moment the stillness of the
lovely spring night was shattered by a
hideous uproar.
R.S.V.P., said Charteris to space in
general, as the echoes died away. But
there was no answer, though they
waited several minutes on the chance of
hearing some sound that would indicate
Jims whereabouts.
If he didnt hear that, observed form appeared in front of him, blocking
Tony, he cant be within three miles,
thats a cert. Wed better separate, I
think.
They were at the ploughed field by
Parkers Spinney now.
Anybody got a coin? asked
Daintree. Lets toss for directions. take his something-or-other lamp out of
Charteris produced a shilling.
My ewe lamb, he said. Tails. and state his business briefly.
Tails it was. Charteris expressed his
intention of striking westward and
drawing the Spinney. He and Tony
made their way thither, Swift and
Daintree moving off together in the
opposite direction.
This is jolly rum, said Tony, as
they entered the Spinney. I wonder
where the deuce the man has got to?
Yes. Its beastly serious, really, but
Im hanged if I can help feeling as if I
were out on a picnic. I suppose its the
night air.
I wonder if we shall find him?
Not the slightest chance in my
opinion. Theres not the least good in
looking through this forsaken Spinney.
Still, wed better do it.
Yes. Dont make a row. Were
trespassing.
They moved on in silence. Half-way
foot in a hole and fell.
Hurt? said Tony.
Only in spirit, thanks. The absolute
dashed foolishness of this is being
rapidly borne in upon me, Tony. What
is the good of it? We shant find him
here.
Tony put his foot down upon these
opinions with exemplary promptitude.
We must go on trying. Hang it all,
if it comes to the worst, its better than
frousting indoors.
Tony, youre a philosopher. Lead
on, Macduff.
Tony was about to do so, when a
the way. He flashed his lamp at the
form, and the form, prefacing its
remarks with a good, honest swearword
of a variety peculiar to that part of the
countryrequested him, without any
affectation of ceremonious courtesy, to
his (the forms) whats-its-named face,
Surely I know that voice, said
Charteris. Archibald, my long-lost
brother.
The keeper failed to understand him,
72 THE POTHUNTERS
and said so tersely.
Can you tell me, went on Charteris,
if you have seen such a thing as a boy
in this Spinney lately? We happen to
have lost one. An ordinary boy. No
special markings. His name is
Thomson, on the Grampian Hills
At this point the keeper felt that he
had had enough. He made a dive for
the speaker.
Charteris dodged behind Tony, and
his assailant, not observing this,
proceeded to lay violent hands upon the
latter, who had been standing waiting
during the conversation.
Let go, you fool, cried he. The
keepers hand had come smartly into
contact with his left eye, and from there
had taken up a position on his shoulder.
In reply the keeper merely tightened his
grip.
Ill count three, said Tony, and Enjoying a moonlight stroll, Biffen?
The keepers hand shifted to his
collar.
All right, then, said Tony between
his teeth. He hit up with his left at the
keepers wrist. The hand on his collar
loosed its grip. Its owner rushed, and as
he came, Tony hit him in the parts
about the third waistcoat-button with
his right. He staggered and fell. Tony
hit very hard when the spirit moved
him.
Come on, man, said Charteris
quickly, before he gets his wind again.
We mustnt be booked trespassing.
Tony recognized the soundness of
the advice. They were out of the
Spinney in two minutes.
Now, said Charteris, lets do a
steady double to the road. This is no
place for us. Come on, you man of
blood.
When they reached the road they
slowed down to a walk again. Charteris
laughed.
I feel just as if wed done a murder,
somehow. What an ass that fellow was
to employ violence. He went down all
right, didnt he?
Think therell be a row?
No. Should think not. He didnt
see us properly. Anyhow, he was
interfering with an officer in the
performance of his duty. So were we, I
suppose. Well, lets hope for the best.
Hullo!
Whats up?
All right. Its only somebody
coming down the road. Thought it
might be the keeper at first. Why, its
Biffen.
It was Biffen. He looked at them
casually as he came up, but stopped
short in surprise when he saw who they
were.
Mr Charteris!
The same, said Charteris.
But what are you doing out of the
ouse at this time of night, Mr
Charteris?
Its this way, said Tony, all the
House-prefects have been sent out to
look for Thomson. Hes not come
back.
Not come back, sir!
No. Bit queer, isnt it? The last
anybody saw of him was when he
dropped out of the long race near
Parkers Spinney.
I seen him later than that, Mr
Graham. He come on to the grounds
while I was mowing the cricket field.
Not really? When was that?
Four. Alf past four, nearly.
What became of him?
E went off with Mr MacArthur.
Mr MacArthur took im off ome with
im, I think, sir.
By Jove, said Charteris with
enthusiasm. Now we are on the track.
Thanks awfully, Biffen, Ill remember
you in my will. Come on, Tony.
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF J. THOMSON
Where are you going now?
Babes place, of course. The Babe
holds the clue to this business. We
must get it out of him. Night, Biffen.
Good-night, sir.
Arrived at the Babes residence, they
rang the bell, and, in the interval of
waiting for the door to be opened,
listened with envy to certain sounds of
revelry which filtered through the
windows of a room to the right of the
porch.
The Babe seems to be making a
night of it, said Charteris. Ohas quarry? I like the calm way the Babe
the servant opened the doorcan we
see Mr MacArthur, please?
The servant looked doubtful on the
point.
Theres company tonight, sir.
I knew he was making a night of it,
said Charteris to Tony. Its not Mr
MacArthur we want to see. Itsdash
it, whats the Babes name?
Robert, I believe. Wouldnt swear
to it.
Mr Robert. Is he in? It seemed to
Charteris that the form of this question
smacked of Ollendorf. He half
expected the servant to say No, but he
has the mackintosh of his brothers
cousin. It produced the desired effect,
however, for after inviting them to step
in, the servant disappeared, and the
Babe came on the scene, wearing a
singularly prosperous expression, as if
he had dined well.
Hullo, you chaps, he said.
Sir to you, said Charteris. Look
here, Babe, we want to know what you
have done with Jim. He was seen by
competent witnesses to go off with you,
and hes not come back. If youve
murdered him, you might let us have
the body.
Not come back! Rot. Are you
certain?
My dear chap, every House-prefect
73
on the list has been sent out to look for
him. When did he leave here?
The Babe reflected.
Six, I should think. Little after,
perhaps. Whyoh Lord!
He broke off suddenly.
Whats up? asked Tony.
Why I sent him by a short cut
through some woods close by here, and
Ive only just remembered theres a sort
of quarry in the middle of them. Ill bet
hes in there.
Great Scott, man, what sort of a
talks of sending unsuspecting friends
into quarries. Deep?
Not very, thank goodness. Still, if
he fell down he might not be able to get
up again, especially if hed hurt himself
at all. Half a second. Let me get on
some boots, and Ill come out and look.
Shant be long.
When he came back, the three of
them set out for the quarry.
There you are, cried the Babe, with
an entirely improper pride in his voice,
considering the circumstances. What
did I tell you? Out of the darkness in
front of them came a shout. They
recognized the voice at once as Jims.
Tony uttered a yell of
encouragement, and was darting
forward to the spot from which the cry
had come, when the Babe stopped him.
Dont do that, man, he said. Youll
be over yourself, if you dont look out.
Its quite close here.
He flashed one of the lamps in front
of him. The light fell on a black
opening in the ground, and Jims voice
sounded once more from the bowels of
the earth, this time quite close to where
they stood.
Jim, shouted Charteris, where are
you?
Hullo, said the voice, whos that?
You might lug me out of here.
74 THE POTHUNTERS
Are you hurt?
Twisted my ankle.
How far down are you?
Not far. Ten feet, about. Cant you
get me out?
Half a second, said the Babe, Ill
go and get help. You chaps had better
stay here and talk to him. He ran off.
How many of you are there up
there? asked Jim.
Only Tony and myself, said
Charteris.
Thought I heard somebody else.
Oh, that was the Babe. Hes gone
off to get help.
Oh. When he comes back, wring
his neck, and heave him down here,
said Jim. I want a word with him on
the subject of short cuts. I say, is there
much excitement about this?
Rather. All the House-prefects are
out after you. Weve been looking in
Parkers Spinney, and Tony was
reluctantly compelled to knock out a
keeper who tried to stop us. You
should have been there. It was a rag.
Wish I had been. Hullo, is that the
Babe come back?
It was. The Babe, with his father
and a party of friends arrayed in
evening dress. They carried a ladder
amongst them.
The pungent remarks Jim had
intended to address to the Babe had no
opportunity of active service. It was not
the Babe who carried him up the ladder,
but two of the dinner-party. Nor did the
Babe have a hand in the carrying of the
stretcher. That was done by as many of
the evening-dress brigade as could get
near enough. They seemed to enjoy it.
One of them remarked that it reminded
him of South Africa. To which another
replied that it was far more like a party
of policemen gathering in an early
drunk in the Marylebone Road. The
procession moved on its stately way to
the Babes fathers house, and the last
Tony and Charteris saw of Jim, he was
the centre of attraction, and appeared to
be enjoying himself very much.
Charteris envied him, and did not
mind saying so.
Why cant I smash my ankle? he
demanded indignantly of Tony.
He was nearing section five, sub-
section three, of his discourse, when
they reached Merevales gates. It was
after eleven, but they felt that the news
they were bringing entitled them to be a
little late. Charteris brought his
arguments to a premature end, and
Tony rang the bell. Merevale himself
opened the door to them.
IN WHICH THE
AFFAIRS OF VARIOUS
PERSONS ARE WOUND
UP
Well, he said, youre rather late.
Any luck?
Weve found him, sir, said Tony.
Really? Thats a good thing.
Where was he?
Hed fallen down a sort of quarry
place near where MacArthur lives.
MacArthur took him home with him to
tea, and sent him back by a short cut,
forgetting all about the quarry, and
Thomson fell in and couldnt get out
again.
Is he hurt?
Only twisted his ankle, sir.
Then where is he now?
They carried him back to the
house.
MacArthurs house?
Yes, sir.
Oh, well, I suppose he will be all
right then. Graham, just go across and
report to the Headmaster, will you?
 IN WHICH THE AFFAIRS OF VARIOUS PERSONS ARE WOUND UP 75
Youll find him in his study.
The Head was immensely relieved to
hear Tonys narrative. After much
internal debate he had at last come to
the conclusion that Jim must have run
away, and he had been wondering how
he should inform his father of the fact.
You are certain that he is not badly
hurt, Graham? he said, when Tony had
finished his story.
Yes, sir. Its only his ankle.
Very good. Good-night, Graham.
The Head retired to bed that night
filled with a virtuous resolve to seek
Jim out on the following day, and speak
a word in season to him on the subject
of crime in general and betting in
particular. This plan he proceeded to
carry out as soon as afternoon school
was over. When, however, he had
arrived at the Babes house, he found
that there was one small thing which he
had left out of his calculations. He had
counted on seeing the invalid alone. On
entering the sick-room he found there
Mrs MacArthur, looking as if she
intended to remain where she sat for
several hourswhich, indeed, actually
was her intentionand Miss
MacArthur, whose face and attitude
expressed the same, only, if anything,
more so. The fact was that the Babe, a
very monument of resource on
occasions, had, as he told Jim, given
them the tip not to let the Old Man get
at him, unless he absolutely chucked
them out, you know. When he had
seen the Headmaster approaching, he
had gone hurriedly to Jims room to
mention the fact, with excellent results.
The Head took a seat by the bed, and
asked, with a touch of nervousness,
after the injured ankle. This induced
Mrs MacArthur to embark on a
disquisition concerning the ease with
which ankles are twisted, from which
she drifted easily into a discussion of
Rugby football, its merits and demerits.
The Head, after several vain attempts to
jerk the conversation into other grooves,
gave it up, and listened for some ten
minutes to a series of anecdotes about
various friends and acquaintances of
Mrs MacArthurs who had either
twisted their own ankles or known
people who had twisted theirs. The
Head began to forget what exactly he
had come to say that afternoon. Jim lay
and grinned covertly through it all.
When the Head did speak, his first
words roused him effectually.
I suppose, Mrs MacArthur, your son
has told you that we have had a
burglary at the School?
Hang it, thought Jim, this isnt
playing the game at all. Why talk shop,
especially that particular brand of shop,
here? He wondered if the Head
intended to describe the burglary, and
then spring to his feet with a dramatic
wave of the hand towards him, and say,
There, Mrs MacArthur, is the
criminal! There lies the viper on whom
you have lavished your hospitality, the
snaky and systematic serpent you have
been induced by underhand means to
pity. Look upon him, and loathe him.
He stole the cups!
Yes, indeed, replied Mrs
MacArthur, I have heard a great deal
about it. I suppose you have never
found out who it was that did it?
Jim lay back resignedly. After all,
he had not done it, and if the Head liked
to say he had, well, let him. He didnt
care.
Yes, Mrs MacArthur, we have
managed to discover him.
And who was it? asked Mrs
MacArthur, much interested.
Now for it, said Jim to himself.
We found that it was a man living in
the village, who had been doing some
work on the School grounds. He had
76 THE POTHUNTERS
evidently noticed the value of the cups,
and determined to try his hand at
appropriating them. He is well known
as a poacher in the village, it seems. I
think that for the future he will confine
himself to thatahindustry, for he is
hardly likely ever toahshine as a
professional house-breaker. No.
Oh, well, that must be a relief to
you, I am sure, Mr Perceval. These
poachers are a terrible nuisance. They
do frighten the birds so.
She spoke as if it were an unamiable
eccentricity on the part of the poachers,
which they might be argued out of, if
the matter were put before them in a
reasonable manner. The Head agreed
with her and rose to go. Jim watched
him out of the room and then breathed a
deep, satisfying breath of relief. His
troubles were at an end.
In the meantime Barrett, who,
having no inkling as to the rate at which
affairs had been progressing since his
visit to the Dingle, still imagined that
the secret of the hollow tree belonged
exclusively to Reade, himself, and one
other, was much exercised in his mind
about it. Reade candidly confessed
himself baffled by the problem. Give
him something moderately
straightforward, and he was all right.
This secret society and dark lantern
style of affair was, he acknowledged,
beyond him. And so it came about that
Barrett resolved to do the only thing he
could think of, and go to the Head about
it. But before he had come to this
decision, the Head had received another
visit from Mr Roberts, as a result of
which the table where Sir Alfred
Venner had placed Plunketts pipe and
other accessories so dramatically during
a previous interview, now bore another
burdenthe missing cups.
Mr Roberts had gone to the Dingle
in person, and, by adroit use of the
divinity which hedges a detective, had
persuaded a keeper to lead him to the
tree where, as Mr Stokes had said, the
cups had been deposited.
The Heads first act, on getting the
cups, was to send for Welch, to whom
by right of conquest they belonged.
Welch arrived shortly before Barrett.
The Head was just handing him his
prizes when the latter came into the
room. It speaks well for Barretts
presence of mind that he had grasped
the situation and decided on his line of
action before Welch went, and the Head
turned his attention to him.
Well, Barrett? said the Head.
If you please, sir, said Barrett,
blandly, may I have leave to go to
Stapleton?
Certainly, Barrett. Why do you
wish to go?
This was something of a poser, but
Barretts brain worked quickly.
I wanted to send a telegram, sir.
Very well. Butwith suspicion
why did you not ask Mr Philpott?
Your House-master can give you leave
to go to Stapleton.
I couldnt find him, sir. This was
true, for he had not looked.
Ah. Very well.
Thank you, sir.
And Barrett went off to tell Reade
that in some mysterious manner the
cups had come back on their own
account.
When Jim had congratulated himself
that everything had ended happily, at
any rate as far as he himself was
concerned, he had forgotten for the
moment that at present he had only one
pound to his credit instead of the two
which he needed. Charteris, however,
had not. The special number of The
Glow Worm was due on the following
day, and Jims accident left a
considerable amount of copy to be
 IN WHICH THE AFFAIRS OF VARIOUS PERSONS ARE WOUND UP 77
accounted for. He questioned Tony on
the subject.
Look here, Tony, have you time to
do any more stuff for The Glow Worm?
My dear chap, said Tony, Ive not
half done my own bits. Ask Welch.
I asked him just now. He cant.
Besides, he only writes at about the rate
of one word a minute, and we must get
it all in by tonight at bed-time. Im
going to sit up as it is to jellygraph it.
Whats up?
Tonys face had assumed an
expression of dismay.
Why, he said, Great Scott, I never
thought of it before. If we jellygraph it,
our handwritingll be recognized, and
that will give the whole show away.
Charteris took a seat, and faced this
difficulty in all its aspects. The idea
had never occurred to him before. And
yet it should have been obvious.
Ill have to copy the whole thing out
in copper-plate, he said desperately at
last. My aunt, what a job.
Ill help, said Tony. Welch will,
too, I should think, if you ask him.
How many jelly machine things can you
raise?
Ive got three. One for each of us.
Wait a bit, Ill go and ask Welch.
Welch, having first ascertained that
the matter really was a pressing one,
agreed without hesitation. He had
objections to spoiling his sleep without
reason, but in moments of emergency
he put comfort behind him.
Good, said Charteris, when this
had been settled, be here as soon as
you can after eleven. I tell you what,
well do the thing in style, and brew. It
oughtnt to take more than an hour or
so. Itll be rather a rag than otherwise.
And how about Jims stuff? asked
Welch.
I shall have to do that, as you cant.
Ive done my own bits. I think Id
better start now. He did, and with
success. When he went to bed at half-
past ten, The Glow Worm was ready in
manuscript. Only the copying and
printing remained to be done.
Charteris was out of bed and in the
study just as eleven struck. Tony and
Welch, arriving half-an-hour later,
found him hard at work copying out an
article of topical interest in a fair, round
hand, quite unrecognizable as his own.
It was an impressive scene. The gas
had been cut off, as it always was when
the House went to bed, and they worked
by the light of candles. Occasionally
Welch, breathing heavily in his efforts
to make his handwriting look like that
of a member of a board-school (second
standard), blew one or more of the
candles out, and the others grunted
fiercely. That was all they could do,
for, for evident reasons, a vow of
silence had been imposed. Charteris
was the first to finish. He leant back in
his chair, and the chair, which at a
reasonable hour of the day would have
endured any treatment, collapsed now
with a noise like a pistol-shot.
Now youve done it, said Tony,
breaking all rules by speaking
considerably above a whisper.
Welch went to the door, and
listened. The House was still. They
settled down once more to work.
Charteris lit the spirit-lamp, and began
to prepare the meal. The others toiled
painfully on at their round-hand. They
finished almost simultaneously.
Not another stroke do I do, said
Tony, till Ive had something to drink.
Is that water boiling yet?
It was at exactly a quarter past two
that the work was finished.
Never again, said Charteris,
looking with pride at the piles of Glow
Worms stacked on the table; this jelly
business makes one beastly sticky. I
78 THE POTHUNTERS
think well keep to print in future.
And they did. Out of the twenty or
more numbers of The Glow Worm
published during Charteris stay at
School, that was the only one that did
not come from the press. Readers who
have themselves tried jellygraphing will
sympathize. It is a curious operation,
but most people will find one trial quite
sufficient. That special number,
however, reached a record circulation.
The School had got its journey-money
by the time it appeared, and wanted
something to read in the train. Jims
pound was raised with ease.
Charteris took it round to him at the
Babes house, together with a copy of
the special number.
By Jove, said Jim. Thanks
awfully. Do you know, Id absolutely
forgotten all about The Glow Worm. I
was to have written something for this
number, wasnt I?
And, considering the circumstances,
that remark, as Charteris was at some
pains to explain to him at the time,
containedwhen you came to analyse
itmore cynical immorality to the
cubic foot than any other half-dozen
remarks he (Charteris) had ever heard in
his life.
It passes out of the realm of the
merely impudent, he said, with a happy
recollection of a certain favourite author
of his, and soars into the boundless
empyrean of pure cheek.
 79

A PREFECTS UNCLE
by P. G. Wodehouse
1903
80 A PREFECT'S UNCLE

[Dedication]
TO W. TOWNEND
 CONTENTS 81

Contents
1 Term Begins
2 Introduces an Unusual Uncle
3 The Uncle Makes Himself at Home
4 Pringle Makes a Sporting Offer
5 Farnie Gets Into Trouble
6 and Stays There
7 The Bishop Goes For a Ride
8 The M.C.C. Match
9 The Bishop Finishes His Ride
10 In Which a Case is Fully Discussed
11 Poetry and Stump-cricket
12 We, the Undersigned
13 Leicesters House Team Goes Into a Second Edition
14 Norris Takes a Short Holiday
15 Versus Charchester (at Charchester)
16 A Disputed Authorship
17 The Winter Term
18 The Bishop Scores
82 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
TERM BEGINS
Marriott walked into the senior day-
room, and, finding no one there, hurled
his portmanteau down on the table with
a bang. The noise brought William into
the room. William was attached to
Leicesters House, Beckford College, as
a mixture of butler and bootboy. He
carried a pail of water in his hand. He
had been engaged in cleaning up the
House against the conclusion of the
summer holidays, of which this was the
last evening, by the simple process of
transferring all dust, dirt, and other
foreign substances from the floor to his
own person.
Ullo, Mr Marriott, he said.
Hullo, William, said Marriott.
How are you? Still jogging along?
Thats a mercy. I say, look here, I want
a quiet word in season with the
authorities. They must have known I
was coming back this evening. Of
course they did. Why, they specially
wrote and asked me. Well, wheres the
red carpet? Wheres the awning?
Wheres the brass band that ought to
have met me at the station? Wheres
anything? I tell you what it is, William,
my old companion, theres a bad time
coming for the Headmaster if he doesnt
mind what hes doing. He must learn
that life is stern and life is earnest,
William. Has Gethryn come back yet?
William, who had been gasping
throughout this harangue, for the
intellectual pressure of Marriotts
conversation (of which there was
always plenty) was generally too much
for him, caught thankfully at the last
remark as being the only intelligible one
uttered up to present date, and made
answer
Mr Gethryn es gorn out on to the
field, Mr Marriott. E come arf an
hour ago.
Oh! Right. Thanks. Goodbye,
William. Give my respects to the cook,
and mind you dont work too hard.
Think what it would be if you
developed heart disease. Awful! You
mustnt do it, William.
Marriott vanished, and William,
slightly dazed, went about his
professional duties once more. Marriott
walked out into the grounds in search of
Gethryn. Gethryn was the head of
Leicesters this term, vice Reynolds
departed, and Marriott, who was second
man up, shared a study with him.
Leicesters had not a good name at
Beckford, in spite of the fact that it was
generally in the running for the cricket
and football cups. The fact of the
matter was that, with the exception of
Gethryn, Marriott, a boy named Reece,
who kept wicket for the School Eleven,
and perhaps two others, Leicesters
seniors were not a good lot. To the
School in general, who gauged a
fellows character principally by his
abilities in the cricket and football
fields, it seemed a very desirable thing
to be in Leicesters. They had been
runners-up for the House football cup
that year, and this term might easily see
the cricket cup fall to them. Amongst
the few, however, it was known that the
House was passing through an
unpleasant stage in its career. A House
is either good or bad. It is seldom that
it can combine the advantages of both
systems. Leicesters was bad.
This was due partly to a succession
of bad Head-prefects, and partly to
Leicester himself, who was well-
meaning but weak. His spirit was
willing, but his will was not spirited.
When things went on that ought not to
have gone on, he generally managed to
avoid seeing them, and the things
continued to go on. Altogether, unless
Gethryns rule should act as a tonic,
 TERM BEGINS
Leicesters was in a bad way.
The Powers that Be, however, were
relying on Gethryn to effect some
improvement. He was in the Sixth, the
First Fifteen, and the First Eleven. Also
a backbone was included in his
anatomy, and if he made up his mind to
a thing, that thing generally happened.
The Rev. James Beckett, the
Headmaster of Beckford, had formed a
very fair estimate of Gethryns
capabilities, and at the moment when
Marriott was drawing the field for the
missing one, that worthy was sitting in
the Headmasters study with a cup in
his right hand and a muffin (half-eaten)
in his left, drinking in tea and wisdom
simultaneously. The Head was doing
most of the talking. He had led up to
the subject skilfully, and, once reached,
he did not leave it. The text of his
discourse was the degeneracy of
Leicesters.
Now, you know, Gethrynanother
muffin? Help yourself. You know,
Reynoldswell, he was a capital boy in
his way, capital, and Im sure we shall
all miss him very muchbut he was
not a good head of a House. He was
weak. Much too weak. Too easy-
going. You must avoid that, Gethryn.
Reynolds.... And much more in the
same vein. Gethryn left the room half
an hour later full of muffins and good
resolutions. He met Marriott at the
fives-courts.
Where have you been to? asked
Marriott. Ive been looking for you all
over the shop.
I and my friend the Headmaster,
said Gethryn, have been having a quiet
pot of tea between us.
Really? Was he affable?
Distinctly affable.
You know, said Marriott
confidentially, he asked me in, but I
told him it wasnt good enough. I said
83
that if he would consent to make his tea
with water that wasnt two degrees
below lukewarm, and bring on his
muffins cooked instead of raw, and
supply some butter to eat with them, I
might look him up now and then.
Otherwise it couldnt be done at the
price. But what did he want you for,
really?
He was ragging me about the
House. Quite right, too. You know,
theres no doubt about it, Leicesters
does want bucking up.
Were going to get the cricket cup,
said Marriott, for the defence.
We may. If it wasnt for the Houses
in between. School House and
Jephsons especially. And anyhow,
thats not what I meant. The games are
all right. Its
The moral je-ne-sas-quoi, so to
speak, said Marriott. Thatll be all
right. Wait till we get at em. What I
want you to turn your great brain to
now is this letter.
He produced a letter from his
pocket. Dont you bar chaps who
show you their letters? he said. This
was written by an aunt of mine. I dont
want to inflict the whole lot on you.
Just look at line four. You see what she
says: A boy is coming to Mr
Leicesters House this term, whom I
particularly wish you to befriend. He is
the son of a great friend of a friend of
mine, and is a nice, bright little fellow,
very jolly and full of spirits."
That means, interpolated Gethryn
grimly, that he is up to the eyes in
pure, undiluted cheek, and will want
kicking after every meal and before
retiring to rest. Go on.
His name is
Well?
Thats the point. At this point the
manuscript becomes absolutely
illegible. I have conjectured Percy for
84 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
the first name. It may be Richard, but
Ill plunge on Percy. Its the surname
that stumps me. Personally, I think its
MacCow, though I trust it isnt, for the
kids sake. I showed the letter to my
brother, the one whos at Oxford. He
swore it was Watson, but, on being
pressed, hedged with Sandys. You may
as well contribute your little bit. What
do you make of it?
Gethryn scrutinized the document
with care.
She begins with a D. You can see
that.
Well?
Next letter a or u. I see. Of course.
Its Duncan.
Think so? said Marriott
doubtfully. Well, lets go and ask the
matron if she knows anything about
him.
Miss Jones, he said, when they had
reached the House, have you on your
list of new boys a sportsman of the
name of MacCow or Watson? I am also
prepared to accept Sandys or Duncan.
The Christian name is either Richard or
Percy. There, that gives you a fairly
wide field to choose from.
Theres a P. V. Wilson on the list,
said the matron, after an inspection of
that document.
That must be the man, said
Marriott. Thanks very much. I
suppose he hasnt arrived yet?
No, not yet. You two are the only
ones so far.
Oh! Well, I suppose I shall have to
see him when he does come. Ill come
down for him later on.
They strolled out on to the field
again.
In re the proposed bucking-up of
the House, said Marriott, itll be rather
a big job.
Rather. I should think so. We
ought to have a most fearfully sporting
time. Its got to be done. The Old Man
talked to me like several fathers.
What did he say?
Oh, heaps of things.
I know. Did he mention amongst
other things that Reynolds was the
worst idiot on the face of this so-called
world?
Something of the sort.
So I should think. The late
Reynolds was a perfect specimen of the
gelatine-backboned worm. Thats not
my own, but its the only description of
him that really suits. Monk and
Danvers and the mob in general used to
do what they liked with him. Talking
of Monk, when you embark on your
tour of moral agitation, I should advise
you to start with him.
Yes. And Danvers. There isnt
much to choose between them. Its a
pity theyre both such good bats. When
you see a chap putting them through the
slips like Monk does, you cant help
thinking there must be something in
him.
So there is, said Marriott, and its
all bad. I bar the man. Hes slimy. Its
the only word for him. And he uses
scent by the gallon. Thank goodness
this is his last term.
Is it really? I never heard that.
Yes. He and Danvers are both
leaving. Monks going to Heidelberg to
study German, and Danvers is going
into his paters business in the City. I
got that from Waterford.
Waterford is another beast, said
Gethryn thoughtfully. I suppose hes
not leaving by any chance?
Not that I know of. But hell be
nothing without Monk and Danvers.
Hes simply a sort of bottle-washer to
the firm. When they go hell collapse.
Lets be strolling towards the House
now, shall we? Hullo! Our only
Reece! Hullo, Reece!
 TERM BEGINS
Hullo! said the new arrival. Reece
was a weird, silent individual, whom
everybody in the School knew up to a
certain point, but very few beyond that
point. His manner was exactly the same
when talking to the smallest fag as
when addressing the Headmaster. He
rather gave one the impression that he
was thinking of something a fortnight
ahead, or trying to solve a chess
problem without the aid of the board.
In appearance he was on the short side,
and thin. He was in the Sixth, and a
conscientious worker. Indeed, he was
only saved from being considered a
swot, to use the vernacular, by the fact
that from childhoods earliest hour he
had been in the habit of keeping wicket
like an angel. To a good wicket-keeper
much may be forgiven.
He handed Gethryn an envelope.
Letter, Bishop, he said. Gethryn
was commonly known as the Bishop,
owing to a certain sermon preached in
the College chapel some five years
before, in aid of the Church Missionary
Society, in which the preacher had
alluded at frequent intervals to another
Gethryn, a bishop, who, it appeared,
had a see, and did much excellent work
among the heathen at the back of
beyond. Gethryns friends and
acquaintances, who had been
alternating between Ginger-
Gethryns hair being inclined to redness
and Sneg, a name which utterly
baffles the philologist, had welcomed
the new name warmly, and it had stuck
ever since. And, after all, there are
considerably worse names by which
one might be called.
What the dickens! he said, as he
finished reading the letter.
Tell us the worst, said Marriott.
You must read it out now out of
common decency, after rousing our
expectations like that.
85
All right! It isnt private. Its from
an aunt of mine.
Seems to be a perfect glut of aunts,
said Marriott. What views has your
representative got to air? Is she
springing any jolly little fellow full of
spirits on this happy community?
No, its not that. Its only an uncle
of mine whos coming down here. Hes
coming tomorrow, and Im to meet
him. The uncanny part of it is that Ive
never heard of him before in my life.
That reminds me of a story I heard
began Reece slowly. Reeces
observations were not frequent, but
when they came, did so for the most
part in anecdotal shape. Somebody was
constantly doing something which
reminded him of something he had
heard somewhere from somebody. The
unfortunate part of it was that he
exuded these reminiscences at such a
leisurely rate of speed that he was rarely
known to succeed in finishing any of
them. He resembled those serial stories
which appear in papers destined at a
moderate price to fill an obvious void,
and which break off abruptly at the
third chapter, owing to the premature
decease of the said periodicals. On this
occasion Marriott cut in with a few sage
remarks on the subject of uncles as a
class. Uncles, he said, are tricky.
You never know where youve got
em. You think theyre going to come
out strong with a sovereign, and they
make it a shilling without a blush. An
uncle of mine once gave me a
threepenny bit. If it hadnt been that I
didnt wish to hurt his feelings, I should
have flung it at his feet. Also I
particularly wanted threepence at the
moment. Is your uncle likely to do his
duty, Bishop?
I tell you I dont know the man.
Never heard of him. I thought I knew
every uncle on the list, but I cant place
86 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
this one. However, I suppose I shall
have to meet him.
Rather, said Marriott, as they went
into the House; we should always
strive to be kind, even to the very
humblest. On the off chance, you
know. The unknown may have struck it
rich in sheep or something out in
Australia. Most uncles come from
Australia. Or he may be the boss of
some trust, and wallowing in dollars.
He may be anything. Lets go and
brew, Bishop. Come on, Reece.
I dont mind watching you two
chaps eat, said Gethryn, but I cant
join in myself. I have assimilated three
pounds odd of the Headmagisterial
muffins already this afternoon. Dont
mind me, though.
They went upstairs to Marriotts
study, which was also Gethryns. Two
in a study was the rule at Beckford,
though there were recluses who lived
alone, and seemed to enjoy it.
When the festive board had ceased to
groan, and the cake, which Marriotts
mother had expected to last a fortnight,
had been reduced to a mere wreck of its
former self, the thought of his aunts
friends friends son returned to
Marriott, and he went down to
investigate, returning shortly afterwards
unaccompanied, but evidently full of
news.
Well? said Gethryn. Hasnt he
come?
A little, said Marriott, just a little.
I went down to the fags room, and
when I opened the door I noticed a
certain weird stillness in the
atmosphere. There is usually a row
going on that you could cut with a
knife. I looked about. The room was
apparently empty. Then I observed a
quaint object on the horizon. Do you
know one Skinner by any chance?
My dear chap! said Gethryn.
Skinner was a sort of juvenile Professor
Moriarty, a Napoleon of crime. He
reeked of crime. He revelled in his
wicked deeds. If a Dormitory-prefect
was kept awake at night by some
diabolically ingenious contrivance for
combining the minimum of risk with
the maximum of noise, then it was
Skinner who had engineered the thing.
Again, did a master, playing nervously
forward on a bad pitch at the nets to
Gosling, the School fast bowler, receive
the ball gaspingly in the small ribs, and
look round to see whose was that
raucous laugh which had greeted the
performance, he would observe a
couple of yards away Skinner, deep in
conversation with some friend of
equally villainous aspect. In short, in a
word, the only adequate word, he was
Skinner.
Well? said Reece.
Skinner, proceeded Marriott, was
seated in a chair, bleeding freely into a
rather dirty pocket-handkerchief. His
usual genial smile was hampered by a
cut lip, and his right eye was blacked in
the most graceful and pleasing manner.
I made tender inquiries, but could get
nothing from him except grunts. So I
departed, and just outside the door I met
young Lee, and got the facts out of
him. It appears that P. V. Wilson, my
aunts friends friends son, entered the
fags room at four-fifteen. At four-
fifteen-and-a-half, punctually, Skinner
was observed to be trying to rag him.
Apparently the great Percy has no sense
of humour, for at four-seventeen he got
tired of it, and hit Skinner crisply in the
right eyeball, blacking the same as per
illustration. The subsequent fight raged
gorily for five minutes odd, and then
Wilson, who seems to be a professional
pugilist in disguise, landed what my
informant describes as three corkers on
his opponents proboscis. Skinners
 TERM BEGINS
reply was to sit down heavily on the
floor, and give him to understand that
the fight was over, and that for the next
day or two his face would be closed for
alterations and repairs. Wilson
thereupon harangued the company in
well-chosen terms, tried to get Skinner
to shake hands, but failed, and finally
took the entire crew out to the shop,
where they made pigs of themselves at
his expense. I have spoken.
And thats the kid youve got to
look after, said Reece, after a pause.
Yes, said Marriott. What I
maintain is that I require a kid built on
those lines to look after me. But you
ought to go down and see Skinners eye
sometime. Its a beautiful bit of work.
INTRODUCES AN
UNUSUAL UNCLE
On the following day, at nine
oclock, the term formally began.
There is nothing of Black Monday
about the first day of term at a public
school. Black Monday is essentially a
private school institution.
At Beckford the first day of every
term was a half holiday. During the
morning a feeble pretence of work was
kept up, but after lunch the school was
free, to do as it pleased and to go where
it liked. The nets were put up for the
first time, and the School professional
emerged at last from his winter
retirement with his, Coom right out to
em, sir, right forward, which had
helped so many Beckford cricketers to
do their duty by the School in the field.
There was one net for the elect, the
remnants of last years Eleven and the
probables for this season, and half a
dozen more for lesser lights.
At the first net Norris was batting to
the bowling of Gosling, a long, thin day
87
boy, Gethryn, and the professionalas
useful a trio as any school batsman
could wish for. Norris was captain of
the team this year, a sound, stylish bat,
with a stroke after the manner of
Tyldesley between cover and mid-off,
which used to make Miles the
professional almost weep with joy. But
today he had evidently not quite got
into form. Twice in successive balls
Gosling knocked his leg stump out of
the ground with yorkers, and the ball
after that, Gethryn upset his middle
with a beauty.
Hat-trick, Norris, shouted Gosling.
Cant see em a bit today. Bowled,
Bishop.
A second teaser from Gethryn had
almost got through his defence. The
Bishop was undoubtedly a fine bowler.
Without being quite so fast as Gosling,
he nevertheless contrived to work up a
very considerable speed when he
wished to, and there was always
something in every ball he bowled
which made it necessary for the
batsman to watch it all the way. In
matches against other schools it was
generally Gosling who took the
wickets. The batsmen were bothered by
his pace. But when the M.C.C. or the
Incogniti came down, bringing
seasoned county men who knew what
fast bowling really was, and rather
preferred it on the whole to slow, then
Gethryn was called upon.
Most Beckfordians who did not play
cricket on the first day of term went on
the river. A few rode bicycles or
strolled out into the country in couples,
but the majority, amongst whom on this
occasion was Marriott, sallied to the
water and hired boats. Marriott was one
of the six old cricket coloursthe
others were Norris, Gosling, Gethryn,
Reece, and Pringle of the School House
who formed the foundation of this
88 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
years Eleven. He was not an
ornamental bat, but stood quite alone in
the matter of tall hitting. Twenty
minutes of Marriott when in form
would often completely alter the course
of a match. He had been given his
colours in the previous year for making
exactly a hundred in sixty-one minutes
against the Authentics when the rest of
the team had contributed ninety-eight.
The Authentics made a hundred and
eighty-four, so that the School just won;
and the story of how there were five
men out in the deep for him, and how
he put the slow bowler over their heads
and over the ropes eight times in three
overs, had passed into a school legend.
But today other things than cricket
occupied his attention. He had run
Wilson to earth, and was engaged in
making his acquaintance, according to
instructions received.
Are you Wilson? he asked. P.V.
Wilson?
Wilson confirmed the charge.
My names Marriott. Does that
convey any significance to your young
mind?
Oh, yes. My mater knows
somebody who knows your aunt.
It is a true bill.
And she said you would look after
me. I know you wont have time, of
course.
I expect I shall have time to give
you all the looking after youll require.
It wont be much, from all Ive heard.
Was all that true about you and young
Skinner?
Wilson grinned.
I did have a bit of a row with a chap
called Skinner, he admitted.
So Skinner seems to think, said
Marriott. What was it all about?
Oh, he made an ass of himself, said
Wilson vaguely.
Marriott nodded.
He would. I know the man. I
shouldnt think youd have much
trouble with Skinner in the future. By
the way, Ive got you for a fag this
term. You dont have to do much in the
summer. Just rot around, you know,
and go to the shop for biscuits and
things, thats all. And, within limits of
course, you get the run of the study.
I see, said Wilson gratefully. The
prospect was pleasant.
Oh yes, and its your privilege to
pipe-clay my cricket boots occasionally
before First matches. Youll like that.
Can you steer a boat?
I dont think so. I never tried.
Its easy enough. Ill tell you what
to do. Anyhow, you probably wont
steer any worse than I row, so lets go
and get a boat out, and Ill try and think
of a few more words of wisdom for
your benefit.
At the nets Norris had finished his
innings, and Pringle was batting in his
stead. Gethryn had given up his ball to
Baynes, who bowled slow leg-breaks,
and was the most probable of the
probables above-mentioned. He went
to where Norris was taking off his pads,
and began to talk to him. Norris was
the head of Jephsons House, and he
and the Bishop were very good friends,
in a casual sort of way. If they did not
see one another for a couple of days,
neither of them broke his heart.
Whenever, on the other hand, they did
meet, they were always glad, and
always had plenty to talk about. Most
school friendships are of that
description.
You were sending down some
rather hot stuff, said Norris, as Gethryn
sat down beside him, and began to
inspect Pringles performance with a
critical eye.
I did feel rather fit, said he. But I
dont think half those that got you
 INTRODUCES AN UNUSUAL UNCLE
would have taken wickets in a match.
You arent in form yet.
I tell you what it is, Bishop, said
Norris, I believe Im going to be a rank
failure this season. Being captain does
put one off.
Dont be an idiot, man. How can
you possibly tell after one days play at
the nets?
I dont know. I feel so beastly
anxious somehow. I feel as if I was
personally responsible for every match
lost. It was all right last year when John
Brown was captain. Good old John!
Do you remember his running you out
in the Charchester match?
Dont, said Gethryn pathetically.
The only time Ive ever felt as if I
really was going to make that century.
By Jove, see that drive? Pringle seems
all right.
Yes, you know, hell simply walk
into his Blue when he goes up to the
Varsity. What do you think of
Baynes?
Ought to be rather useful on his
wicket. Jephson thinks hes good.
Mr Jephson looked after the School
cricket.
Yes, I believe he rather fancies
him, said Norris. Says he ought to do
some big things if we get any rain.
Hullo, Pringle, are you coming out?
Youd better go in, then, Bishop.
All right. Thanks. Oh, by Jove,
though, I forgot. I cant. Ive got to go
down to the station to meet an uncle of
mine.
Whats he coming up today for?
Why didnt he wait till wed got a
match of sorts on?
I dont know. The mans probably
a lunatic. Anyhow, I shall have to go
and meet him, and I shall just do it
comfortably if I go and change now.
Oh! Right you are! Sammy, do
you want a knock?
89
Samuel Wilberforce Gosling, known
to his friends and admirers as Sammy,
replied that he did not. All he wanted
now, he said, was a drink, or possibly
two drinks, and a jolly good rest in the
shade somewhere. Gosling was one of
those rare individuals who cultivate
bowling at the expense of batting, a
habit the reverse of what usually obtains
in schools.
Norris admitted the justice of his
claims, and sent in a Second Eleven
man, Baker, a member of his own
House, in Pringles place. Pringle and
Gosling adjourned to the School shop
for refreshment.
Gethryn walked with them as far as
the gate which opened on to the road
where most of the boarding Houses
stood, and then branched off in the
direction of Leicesters. To change into
everyday costume took him a quarter of
an hour, at the end of which period he
left the House, and began to walk down
the road in the direction of the station.
It was an hours easy walking
between Horton, the nearest station to
Beckford, and the College. Gethryn,
who was rather tired after his exertions
at the nets, took it very easily, and when
he arrived at his destination the church
clock was striking four.
Is the three-fifty-six in yet? he
asked of the solitary porter who
ministered to the needs of the traveller
at Horton station.
Just a-coming in now, zur, said the
porter, adding, in a sort of inspired
frenzy: Orton! Orton stertion!
Orton! and ringing a bell with
immense enthusiasm and vigour.
Gethryn strolled to the gate, where
the station-masters son stood at the
receipt of custom to collect the tickets.
His uncle was to arrive by this train,
and if he did so arrive, must of
necessity pass this way before leaving
90 A PREFECT'S UNCLE

the platform. The train panted in, your acquaintance. My names Farnie.
pulled up, whistled, and puffed out Im your uncle, you know.
again, leaving three people behind it. My what? gurgled the Bishop.
One of these was a woman of sixty Your uncle. U-n, un; c-l-ekul.
(approximately), the second a small girl Uncle. Fact, I assure you.
of ten, the third a young gentleman in a
top hat and Etons, who carried a bag,
and looked as if he had seen the THE UNCLE MAKES
hollowness of things, for his face wore
a bored, supercilious look. His uncle HIMSELF AT HOME
had evidently not arrived, unless he had
But, dash it, said Gethryn, when he
come disguised as an old woman, an act
had finished gasping, that must be rot!
of which Gethryn refused to believe
Not a bit, said the self-possessed
him capable.
youth. Your mater was my elder
He enquired as to the next train that
sister. Youll find it works out all
was expected to arrive from London.
right. Look here. A, the daughter of B
The station-masters son was not sure,
and C, marries. No, look here. I was
but would ask the porter, whose name it
born when you were four. See?
appeared was Johnny. Johnny gave the
Then the demoralized Bishop
correct answer without an effort.
remembered. He had heard of his
Seven-thirty it was, sir, except on
juvenile uncle, but the tales had made
Saturdays, when it was eight oclock.
little impression upon him. Till now
Thanks, said the Bishop. Dash the
they had not crossed one anothers
man, he might at least have wired.
tracks.
He registered a silent wish
Oh, all right, said he, Ill take your
concerning the uncle who had brought
word for it. You seem to have been
him a long three miles out of his way
getting up the subject.
with nothing to show at the end of it,
Yes. Thought you might want to
and was just turning to leave the station,
know about it. I say, how far is it to
when the top-hatted small boy, who had
Beckford, and how do you get there?
been hovering round the group during
Up till now Gethryn had scarcely
the conversation, addressed winged
realized that his uncle was actually
words to him. These were the winged
coming to the School for good. These
words
words brought the fact home to him.
I say, are you looking for
Oh, Lord, he said, are you coming
somebody? The Bishop stared at him
to Beckford?
as a naturalist stares at a novel species
The thought of having his footsteps
of insect.
perpetually dogged by an uncle four
Yes, he said. Why?
years younger than himself, and
Is your name Gethryn?
manifestly a youth with a fine taste in
This affair, thought the Bishop, was
cheek, was not pleasant.
beginning to assume an uncanny aspect.
Of course, said his uncle. What
How the dickens did you know
did you think I was going to do? Camp
that? he said.
out on the platform?
Oh, then you are Gethryn? Thats
What House are you in?
all right. I was told you were going to
Leicesters.
be here to meet this train. Glad to make
The worst had happened. The bitter
 THE UNCLE MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME
cup was full, the iron neatly inserted in
Gethryns soul. In his most pessimistic
moments he had never looked forward
to the coming term so gloomily as he
did now. His uncle noted his lack of
enthusiasm, and attributed it to anxiety
on behalf of himself.
Whats up? he asked. Isnt airy patronage which made the Bishops
Leicesters all right? Is Leicester a
beast?
No. Hes a perfectly decent sort of
man. Its a good enough House. At
least it will be this term. I was only
thinking of something.
I see. Well, how do you get to the
place?
Walk. It isnt far.
How far?
Three miles.
The porter said four.
It may be four. I never measured
it.
Well, how the dickens do you think
Im going to walk four miles with
luggage? I wish you wouldnt rot.
And before Gethryn could quite
realize that he, the head of Leicesters,
the second-best bowler in the School,
and the best centre three-quarter the
School had had for four seasons, had
been requested in a peremptory manner
by a youth of fourteen, a mere kid, not
to rot, the offender was talking to a
cabman out of the reach of retaliation.
Gethryn became more convinced every
minute that this was no ordinary kid.
This man says, observed Farnie,
returning to Gethryn, that hell drive
me up to the College for seven bob. As
its a short four miles, and Ive only got
two boxes, it seems to me that hes
doing himself fairly well. What do you
think?
Nobody ever gives more than four
bob, said Gethryn.
I told you so, said Farnie to the
cabman. You are a bally swindler, he
91
added admiringly.
Look ere, began the cabman, in a
pained voice.
Oh, dry up, said Farnie. Want a
lift, Gethryn?
The words were spoken not so much
as from equal to equal as in a tone of
blood boil. But as he intended to instil
a few words of wisdom into his uncles
mind, he did not refuse the offer.
The cabman, apparently accepting
the situation as one of those slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune which no
man can hope to escape, settled down
on the box, clicked up his horse, and
drove on towards the College.
What sort of a hole is Beckford?
asked Farnie, after the silence had
lasted some time.
I find it good enough personally,
said Gethryn. If youd let us know
earlier that you were coming, wed have
had the place done up a bit for you.
This, of course, was feeble, distinctly
feeble. But the Bishop was not feeling
himself. The essay in sarcasm left the
would-be victim entirely uncrushed. He
should have shrunk and withered up, or
at the least have blushed. But he did
nothing of the sort. He merely smiled
in his supercilious way, until the Bishop
felt very much inclined to spring upon
him and throw him out of the cab.
There was another pause.
Farnie, began Gethryn at last.
Um?
Doesnt it strike you that for a kid
like you youve got a good deal of edge
on? asked Gethryn.
Farnie effected a masterly counter-
stroke. He pretended not to be able to
hear. He was sorry, but would the
Bishop mind repeating his remark.
Eh? What? he said. Very sorry,
but this cabs making such a row. I say,
cabby, why dont you sign the pledge,
92 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
and save your money up to buy a new
cab? Eh? Oh, sorry! I wasnt
listening. Now, inasmuch as the whole
virtue of the wretched-little-kid-like-
you argument lies in the crisp despatch
with which it is delivered, Gethryn
began to find, on repeating his
observation for the third time, that there
was not quite so much in it as he had
thought. He prudently elected to
change his style of attack.
It doesnt matter, he said wearily,
as Farnie opened his mouth to demand a
fourth encore, it wasnt anything
important. Now, look here, I just want
to give you a few tips about what to do
when you get to the Coll. To start with,
youll have to take off that white tie
youve got on. Black and dark blue are
the only sorts allowed here.
How about yours then? Gethryn
was wearing a somewhat sweet thing in
brown and yellow.
Mine happens to be a First Eleven
tie.
Oh! Well, as a matter of fact, you
know, I was going to take off my tie. I
always do, especially at night. Its a
sort of habit Ive got into.
Not quite so much of your beastly
cheek, please, said Gethryn.
Right-ho! said Farnie cheerfully,
and silence, broken only by the
shrieking of the cab wheels, brooded
once more over the cab. Then Gethryn,
feeling that perhaps it would be a shame
to jump too severely on a new boy on
his first day at a large public school,
began to think of something
conciliatory to say. Look here, he
said, youll get on all right at Beckford,
I expect. Youll find Leicesters a fairly
decent sort of House. Anyhow, you
neednt be afraid youll get bullied.
Theres none of that sort of thing at
School nowadays.
Really?
Yes, and theres another thing I
ought to warn you about. Have you
brought much money with you?
Bout fourteen pounds, I fancy,
said Farnie carelessly.
Fourteen what! said the amazed
Bishop. Pounds!
Or sovereigns, said Farnie. Each
worth twenty shillings, you know.
For a moment Gethryns only feeling
was one of unmixed envy. Previously
he had considered himself passing rich
on thirty shillings a term. He had heard
legends, of course, of individuals who
come to School bursting with bullion,
but never before had he set eyes upon
such an one. But after a time it began to
dawn upon him that for a new boy at a
public school, and especially at such a
House as Leicesters had become under
the rule of the late Reynolds and his
predecessors, there might be such a
thing as having too much money.
How the deuce did you get all that?
he asked.
My pater gave it me. Hes
absolutely cracked on the subject of
pocket-money. Sometimes he doesnt
give me a sou, and sometimes hell give
me whatever I ask for.
But you dont mean to say you had
the cheek to ask for fourteen quid?
I asked for fifteen. Got it, too. Ive
spent a pound of it. I said I wanted to
buy a bike. You can get a jolly good
bike for five quid about, so you see I
scoop ten pounds. What?
This ingenious, if slightly
unscrupulous, feat gave Gethryn an
insight into his uncles character which
up till now he had lacked. He began to
see that the moral advice with which he
had primed himself would be out of
place. Evidently this youth could take
quite good care of himself on his own
account. Still, even a budding Professor
Moriarty would be none the worse for
 THE UNCLE MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME
being warned against Gethryns bte
noire, Monk, so the Bishop proceeded
to deliver that warning.
Well, he said, you seem to be able
to look out for yourself all right, I must
say. But theres one tip I really can
give you. When you get to Leicesters,
and a beast with a green complexion
and an oily smile comes up and calls
you Old Cha-a-p, and wants you to
swear eternal friendship, tell him its
not good enough. Squash him!
Thanks, said Farnie. Who is this
genial merchant?
Chap called Monk. Youll
recognize him by the smell of scent.
When you find the place smelling like
an Eau-de-Cologne factory, youll
know Monks somewhere near. Dont
you have anything to do with him.
You seem to dislike the gentleman.
I bar the man. But that isnt why
Im giving you the tip to steer clear of
him. There are dozens of chaps I bar
who havent an ounce of vice in them.
And there are one or two chaps who
have got tons. Monks one of them. A
fellow called Danvers is another. Also
a beast of the name of Waterford.
There are some others as well, but those
are the worst of the lot. By the way, I
forgot to ask, have you ever been to
school before?
Yes, said Farnie, in the dreamy
voice of one who recalls memories from
the misty past, I was at Harrow before
I came here, and at Wellington before I
went to Harrow, and at Clifton before I
went to Wellington.
Gethryn gasped.
Anywhere before you went to
Clifton? he enquired.
Only private schools.
The recollection of the platitudes
which he had been delivering, under the
impression that he was talking to an
entirely raw beginner, made Gethryn
93
feel slightly uncomfortable. What must
this wanderer, who had seen men and
cities, have thought of his harangue?
Why did you leave Harrow? asked
he.
Sacked, was the laconic reply.
Have you ever, asks a modern
philosopher, gone upstairs in the dark,
and trodden on the last step when it
wasnt there? That sensation and the
one Gethryn felt at this unexpected
revelation were identical. And the
worst of it was that he felt the keenest
desire to know why Harrow had seen fit
to dispense with the presence of his
uncle.
Why? he began. I mean, he went
on hurriedly, why did you leave
Wellington?
Sacked, said Farnie again, with the
monotonous persistence of a Solomon
Eagle.
Gethryn felt at this juncture much as
the unfortunate gentleman in Punch
must have felt, when, having finished a
humorous story, the point of which
turned upon squinting and red noses, he
suddenly discovered that his host
enjoyed both those peculiarities. He
struggled manfully with his feelings for
a time. Tact urged him to discontinue
his investigations and talk about the
weather. Curiosity insisted upon
knowing further details. Just as the
struggle was at its height, Farnie came
unexpectedly to the rescue.
It may interest you, he said, to
know that I was not sacked from
Clifton.
Gethryn with some difficulty
refrained from thanking him for the
information.
I never stop at a school long, said
Farnie. If I dont get sacked my father
takes me away after a couple of terms.
I went to four private schools before I
started on the public schools. My pater
94 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
took me away from the first two
because he thought the drains were bad,
the third because they wouldnt teach
me shorthand, and the fourth because he
didnt like the headmasters face. I
worked off those schools in a year and a
half. Having finished this piece of
autobiography, he relapsed into silence,
leaving Gethryn to recollect various
tales he had heard of his grandfathers
eccentricity. The silence lasted until the
College was reached, when the matron
took charge of Farnie, and Gethryn
went off to tell Marriott of these strange
happenings.
Marriott was amused, nor did he
attempt to conceal the fact. When he
had finished laughing, which was not
for some time, he favoured the Bishop
with a very sound piece of advice. If I
were you, he said, I should try and
hush this affair up. Its all fearfully
funny, but I think youd enjoy life more
if nobody knew this kid was your
uncle. To see the head of the House
going about with a juvenile uncle in his
wake might amuse the chaps rather, and
you might find it harder to keep order; I
wont let it out, and nobody else knows
apparently. Go and square the kid. Oh,
I say though, whats his name? If its
Gethryn, youre done. Unless you like
to swear hes a cousin.
No; his names Farnie, thank
goodness.
Thats all right then. Go and talk to
him.
Gethryn went to the junior study.
Farnie was holding forth to a knot of
fags at one end of the room. His
audience appeared to be amused at
something.
I say, Farnie, said the Bishop, half
a second.
Farnie came out, and Gethryn
proceeded to inform him that, all things
considered, and proud as he was of the
relationship, it was not absolutely
essential that he should tell everybody
that he was his uncle. In fact, it would
be rather better on the whole if he did
not. Did he follow?
Farnie begged to observe that he did
follow, but that, to his sorrow, the
warning came too late.
Im very sorry, he said, I hadnt
the least idea you wanted the thing kept
dark. How was I to know? Ive just
been telling it to some of the chaps in
there. Awfully decent chaps. They
seemed to think it rather funny.
Anyhow, Im not ashamed of the
relationship. Not yet, at any rate.
For a moment Gethryn seemed about
to speak. He looked fixedly at his uncle
as he stood framed in the doorway, a
cheerful column of cool, calm,
concentrated cheek. Then, as if
realizing that no words that he knew
could do justice to the situation, he
raised his foot in silence, and booted
his own flesh and blood with marked
emphasis. After which ceremony he
went, still without a word, upstairs
again.
As for Farnie, he returned to the
junior day-room whistling Down
South in a soft but cheerful key, and
solidified his growing popularity with
doles of food from a hamper which he
had brought with him. Finally, on
retiring to bed and being pressed by the
rest of his dormitory for a story, he
embarked upon the history of a certain
Pollock and an individual referred to
throughout as the Porroh Man, the
former of whom caused the latter to be
decapitated, and was ever afterwards
haunted by his head, which appeared to
him all day and every day (not
excepting Sundays and Bank Holidays)
in an upside-down position and wearing
a horrible grin. In the end Pollock very
sensibly committed suicide (with
 THE UNCLE MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME 95

ghastly details), and the dormitory way. When, however, he came on the
thanked Farnie in a subdued and scene, he introduced a welcome element
chastened manner, and tried, with small of science into the sport. As witness the
success, to go to sleep. In short, following. Mr Strudwick, the regular
Farnies first evening at Beckford had master of the form, happened on one
been quite a triumph. occasion to be away for a couple of
days, and a stop-gap was put in in his
place. The name of the stop-gap was
PRINGLE MAKES A Mr Somerville Smith. He and Farnie
exchanged an unspoken declaration of
SPORTING OFFER war almost immediately. The first
round went in Mr Smiths favour. He
Estimating it roughly, it takes a new
contrived to catch Farnie in the act of
boy at a public school about a week to
performing some ingenious breach of
find his legs and shed his skin of
the peace, and, it being a Wednesday
newness. The period is, of course,
and a half-holiday, sent him into extra
longer in the case of some and shorter
lesson. On the following morning,
in the case of others. Both Farnie and
more by design than accident, Farnie
Wilson had made themselves at home
upset an inkpot. Mr Smith observed
immediately. In the case of the latter,
icily that unless the stain was wiped
directly the Skinner episode had been
away before the beginning of afternoon
noised abroad, and it was discovered in
school, there would be trouble. Farnie
addition that he was a promising bat,
observed (to himself) that there would
public opinion recognized that here was
be trouble in any case, for he had hit
a youth out of the common run of new
upon the central idea for the most
boys, and the Lower Fourththe form
colossal rag that, in his opinion, ever
in which he had been placed on arrival
was. After morning school he gathered
took him to its bosom as an equal.
the form around him, and disclosed his
Farnies case was exceptional. A career
idea. The floor of the form-room, he
at Harrow, Clifton, and Wellington,
pointed out, was some dozen inches
however short and abruptly terminated,
below the level of the door. Would it
gives one some sort of grip on the way
not be a pleasant and profitable notion,
public school life is conducted. At an
he asked, to flood the floor with water
early date, moreover, he gave signs of
to the depth of those dozen inches? On
what almost amounted to genius in the
the wall outside the form-room hung a
Indoor Game department. Now,
row of buckets, placed there in case of
success in the field is a good thing, and
fire, and the lavatory was not too far off
undoubtedly makes for popularity. But
for practical purposes. Mr Smith had
if you desire to command the respect
bidden him wash the floor. It was
and admiration of your fellow-beings to
obviously his duty to do so. The form
a degree stretched almost to the point of
thought so too. For a solid hour, thirty
idolatry, make yourself proficient in the
weary but enthusiastic reprobates
art of whiling away the hours of
laboured without ceasing, and by the
afternoon school. Before Farnies
time the bell rang all was prepared. The
arrival, his form, the Upper Fourth, with
floor was one still, silent pool. Two
the best intentions in the world, had not
caps and a few notebooks floated
been skilful raggers. They had ragged
sluggishly on the surface, relieving the
in an intermittent, once-a-week sort of
96 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
picture of any tendency to monotony.
The form crept silently to their places
along the desks. As Mr Smiths
footsteps were heard approaching, they
began to beat vigorously upon the
desks, with the result that Mr Smith,
quickening his pace, dashed into the
form-room at a hard gallop. The
immediate results were absolutely
satisfactory, and if matters subsequently
(when Mr Smith, having changed his
clothes, returned with the Headmaster)
did get somewhat warm for the thirty
criminals, they had the satisfying
feeling that their duty had been done,
and a hearty and unanimous vote of
thanks was passed to Farnie. From
which it will be seen that Master
Reginald Farnie was managing to
extract more or less enjoyment out of
his life at Beckford.
Another person who was enjoying
life was Pringle of the School House.
The keynote of Pringles character was
superiority. At an early period of his
lifehe was still unable to speak at the
timehis grandmother had died. This
is probably the sole reason why he had
never taught that relative to suck eggs.
Had she lived, her education in that
direction must have been taken in hand.
Baffled in this, Pringle had turned his
attention to the rest of the human race.
He had a rooted conviction that he did
everything a shade better than anybody
else. This belief did not make him
arrogant at all, and certainly not
offensive, for he was exceedingly
popular in the School. But still there
were people who thought that he might
occasionally draw the line somewhere.
Watson, the ground-man, for example,
thought so when Pringle primed him
with advice on the subject of preparing
a wicket. And Langdale, who had been
captain of the team five years before,
had thought so most decidedly, and had
not hesitated to say so when Pringle,
then in his first term and aged twelve,
had stood behind the First Eleven net
and requested him peremptorily to
keep em down, sir, keep em down.
Indeed, the great man had very nearly
had a fit on that occasion, and was wont
afterwards to attribute to the effects of
the shock so received a sequence of
three ducks which befell him in the
next three matches.
In short, in every department of life,
Pringles advice was always (and
generally unsought) at everybodys
disposal. To round the position off
neatly, it would be necessary to picture
him as a total failure in the practical
side of all the subjects in which he was
so brilliant a theorist. Strangely
enough, however, this was not the case.
There were few better bats in the
School than Pringle. Norris on his day
was more stylish, and Marriott not
infrequently made more runs, but for
consistency Pringle was unrivalled.
That was partly the reason why at
this time he was feeling pleased with
life. The School had played three
matches up to date, and had won them
all. In the first, an Oxford college team,
containing several Old Beckfordians,
had been met and routed, Pringle
contributing thirty-one to a total of three
hundred odd. But Norris had made a
century, which had rather diverted the
public eye from this performance. Then
the School had played the Emeriti, and
had won again quite comfortably. This
time his score had been forty-one,
useful, but still not phenomenal. Then
in the third match, versus Charchester,
one of the big school matches of the
season, he had found himself. He ran
up a hundred and twenty-three without
a chance, and felt that life had little
more to offer. That had been only a
week ago, and the glow of satisfaction
 PRINGLE MAKES A SPORTING OFFER
was still pleasantly warm.
It was while he was gloating silently
in his study over the bat with which a
grateful Field Sports Committee had
presented him as a reward for this feat,
that he became aware that Lorimer, his
study companion, appeared to be in an
entirely different frame of mind to his
own. Lorimer was in the Upper Fifth,
Pringle in the Remove. Lorimer sat at
the study table gnawing a pen in a
feverish manner that told of an
overwrought soul. Twice he uttered
sounds that were obviously sounds of
anguish, half groans and half grunts.
Pringle laid down his bat and decided to
investigate.
Whats up? he asked. looked her up in the Dic. of Antiquities,
This bally poem thing, said
Lorimer.
Poem? Oh, ah, I know. Pringle
had been in the Upper Fifth himself a
year before, and he remembered that
every summer term there descended
upon that form a Bad Time in the shape
of a poetry prize. A certain Indian
potentate, the Rajah of Seltzerpore, had
paid a visit to the school some years
back, and had left behind him on his
departure certain monies in the local
bank, which were to be devoted to
providing the Upper Fifth with an
annual prize for the best poem on a
subject to be selected by the
Headmaster. Entrance was
compulsory. The wily authorities knew
very well that if it had not been, the
entries for the prize would have been
somewhat small. Why the Upper Fifth
were so favoured in preference to the
Sixth or Remove is doubtful. Possibly
it was felt that, what with the Jones
History, the Smith Latin Verse, the
Robinson Latin Prose, and the De Vere
Crespigny Greek Verse, and other
trophies open only to members of the
Remove and Sixth, those two forms had
97
enough to keep them occupied as it
was. At any rate, to the Upper Fifth the
prize was given, and every year, three
weeks after the commencement of the
summer term, the Bad Time arrived.
Cant you get on? asked Pringle.
No.
Whats the subject?
Death of Dido.
Something to be got out of that,
surely.
Wish youd tell me what.
Heap of things.
Such as what? Cant see anything
myself. I call it perfectly indecent
dragging the good lady out of her well-
earned tomb at this time of day. Ive
and it appears that she committed
suicide some years ago. Body-
snatching, I call it. What do I want to
know about her?
Whats Hecuba to him or he to
Hecuba? murmured Pringle.
Hecuba? said Lorimer, looking
puzzled, Whats Hecuba got to do with
it?
I was only quoting, said Pringle,
with gentle superiority.
Well, I wish instead of quoting rot
youd devote your energies to helping
me with these beastly verses. How on
earth shall I begin?
You might adapt my quotation.
Whats Dido got to do with me, or I to
do with Dido? I rather like that. Jam it
down. Then you go on in a sort of rag-
time metre. In the Coon Drum-Major
style. Besides, you see, the beauty of it
is that you administer a wholesome
snub to the examiner right away.
Makes him sit up at once. Put it down.
Lorimer bit off another quarter of an
inch of his pen. You neednt be an
ass, he said shortly.
My dear chap, said Pringle,
enjoying himself immensely, what on
98 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
earth is the good of my offering you
suggestions if you wont take them?
Lorimer said nothing. He bit off
another mouthful of penholder.
Well, anyway, resumed Pringle. I
cant see why youre so keen on the
business. Put down anything. The
beaks never make a fuss about these
special exams.
It isnt the beaks I care about, said
Lorimer in an injured tone of voice, as
if someone had been insinuating that he
had committed some crime, only my
people are rather keen on my doing well
in this exam.
Why this exam, particularly?
Oh, I dont know. My grandfather
or someone was a bit of a pro at verse in
his day, I believe, and they think it
ought to run in the family.
Pringle examined the situation in all
its aspects. Cant you get along? he
enquired at length.
Not an inch.
Pity. I wish we could swop places.
So do I for some things. To start
with, I shouldnt mind having made that
century of yours against Charchester.
Pringle beamed. The least hint that
his fellow-man was taking him at his
own valuation always made him happy.
Thanks, he said. No, but what I
meant was that I wished I was in for
this poetry prize. I bet I could turn out
a rattling good screed. Why, last year I
almost got the prize. I sent in fearfully
hot stuff.
Think so? said Lorimer doubtfully,
in answer to the rattling good screed
passage of Pringles speech. Well, I
wish youd have a shot. You might as
well.
What, really? How about the
prize?
Oh, hang the prize. Well have to
chance that.
I thought you were keen on getting
it.
Oh, no. Second or third will do me
all right, and satisfy my people. They
only want to know for certain that Ive
got the poetic afflatus all right. Will
you take it on?
All right.
Thanks, awfully.
I say, Lorimer, said Pringle after a
pause.
Yes?
Are your people coming down for
the O.B.s match?
The Old Beckfordians match was
the great function of the Beckford
cricket season. The Headmaster gave a
garden-party. The School band played;
the School choir sang; and sisters,
cousins, aunts, and parents flocked to
the School in platoons.
Yes, I think so, said Lorimer.
Why?
Is your sister coming?
Oh, I dont know. A brothers
utter lack of interest in his sisters
actions is a weird and wonderful thing
for an outsider to behold.
Well, look here, I wish youd get
her to come. We could give them tea in
here, and have rather a good time, dont
you think?
All right. Ill make her come. Look
here, Pringle, I believe youre rather
gone on Mabel.
This was Lorimers vulgar way.
Dont be an ass, said Pringle, with
a laugh which should have been
careless, but was in reality merely
feeble. Shes quite a kid.
Miss Mabel Lorimers exact age was
fifteen. She had brown hair, blue eyes,
and a smile which disclosed to view a
dimple. There are worse things than a
dimple. Distinctly so, indeed. When
ladies of fifteen possess dimples, mere
man becomes but as a piece of damp
blotting-paper. Pringle was seventeen
 PRINGLE MAKES A SPORTING OFFER
and a half, and consequently too old to
take note of such frivolous attributes;
but all the same he had a sort of vague,
sketchy impression that it would be
pleasanter to run up a lively century
against the O.B.s with Miss Lorimer as
a spectator than in her absence. He felt
pleased that she was coming.
I say, about this poem, said
Lorimer, dismissing a subject which
manifestly bored him, and returning to
one which was of vital interest, youre
sure you can write fairly decent stuff?
Its no good sending in stuff thatll turn
the examiners hair grey. Can you turn
out something really decent?
Pringle said nothing. He smiled
gently as who should observe, I and
Shakespeare.
FARNIE GETS INTO
TROUBLE
It was perhaps only natural that
Farnie, having been warned so strongly
of the inadvisability of having anything
to do with Monk, should for that very
reason be attracted to him. Nobody
ever wants to do anything except what
they are not allowed to do. Otherwise
there is no explaining the friendship that
arose between them. Jack Monk was
not an attractive individual. He had a
slack mouth and a shifty eye, and his
complexion was the sort which friends
would have described as olive, enemies
(with more truth) as dirty green. These
defects would have mattered little, of
course, in themselves. Theres many a
bilious countenance, so to speak, covers
a warm heart. With Monk, however,
appearances were not deceptive. He
looked a bad lot, and he was one.
It was on the second morning of
term that the acquaintanceship began.
Monk was coming downstairs from his
99
study with Danvers, and Farnie was
leaving the fags day-room.
See that kid? said Danvers. Thats
the chap I was telling you about.
Gethryns uncle, you know.
Not really? Lets cultivate him. I
say, old chap, dont walk so fast.
Farnie, rightly concluding that the
remark was addressed to him, turned
and waited, and the three strolled over
to the School buildings together.
They would have made an
interesting study for the observer of
human nature, the two seniors fancying
that they had to deal with a small boy
just arrived at his first school, and in the
grip of that strange, lost feeling which
attacks the best of new boys for a day or
so after their arrival; and Farnie, on the
other hand, watching every move, as
perfectly composed and at home as a
youth should be with the experience of
three public schools to back him up.
When they arrived at the School
gates, Monk and Danvers turned to go
in the direction of their form-room, the
Remove, leaving Farnie at the door of
the Upper Fourth. At this point a small
comedy took place. Monk, after feeling
hastily in his pockets, requested
Danvers to lend him five shillings until
next Saturday. Danvers knew this
request of old, and he knew the answer
that was expected of him. By replying
that he was sorry, but he had not got the
money, he gave Farnie, who was still
standing at the door, his cue to offer to
supply the deficiency. Most new boys
they had grasped this fact from
experiencewould have felt it an
honour to oblige a senior with a small
loan. As Farnie made no signs of doing
what was expected of him, Monk was
obliged to resort to the somewhat cruder
course of applying for the loan in
person. He applied. Farnie with the
utmost willingness brought to light a
100 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
handful of money, mostly gold.
Monks eye gleamed approval, and he
stretched forth an itching palm.
Danvers began to think that it would be
rash to let a chance like this slip.
Ordinarily the tacit agreement between
the pair was that only one should
borrow at a time, lest confidence should
be destroyed in the victim. But here
was surely an exception, a special case.
With a young gentleman so obviously a
man of coin as Farnie, the rule might
well be broken for once.
While youre about it, Farnie, old
man, he said carelessly, you might let
me have a bob or two if you dont
mind. Five bobll see me through to
Saturday all right.
Do you mean tomorrow? enquired
Farnie, looking up from his heap of
gold.
No, Saturday week. Let you have it
back by then at the latest. Make a point
of it.
How would a quid do?
Ripping, said Danvers ecstatically.
Same here, assented Monk.
Then thats all right, said Farnie
briskly; I thought perhaps you mightnt
have had enough. Youve got a quid, I
know, Monk, because I saw you haul
one out at breakfast. And Danvers has
got one too, because he offered to toss
you for it in the study afterwards. And
besides, I couldnt lend you anything in
any case, because Ive only got about
fourteen quid myself.
With which parting shot he retired,
wrapped in gentle thought, into his
form-room; and from the noise which
ensued immediately upon his arrival,
the shrewd listener would have
deduced, quite correctly, that he had
organized and taken the leading part in
a general rag.
Monk and Danvers proceeded upon
their way.
You got rather left there, old chap,
said Monk at length.
I like that, replied the outraged
Danvers. How about you, then? It
seemed to me you got rather left, too.
Monk compromised.
Well, anyhow, he said, we shant
get much out of that kid.
Little beast, said Danvers
complainingly. And they went on into
their form-room in silence.
I saw your youngerrelative in
earnest conversation with friend Monk
this morning, said Marriott, later on in
the day, to Gethryn; I thought you were
going to give him the tip in that
direction?
So I did, said the Bishop wearily;
but I cant always be looking after the
little brute. He only does it out of sheer
cussedness, because Ive told him not
to. It stands to reason that he cant like
Monk.
You remind me of the psalmist and
the wicked man, surname unknown,
said Marriott. You cant see the good
side of Monk.
There isnt one.
No. Hes only got two sides, a bad
side and a worse side, which he sticks
on on the strength of being fairly good
at games. I wonder if hes going to get
his First this season. Hes not a bad
bat.
I dont think he will. He is a good
bat, but there are heaps better in the
place. I say, I think I shall give young
Farnie the tip once more, and let him
take it or leave it. What do you think?
Hell leave it, said Marriott, with
conviction.
Nor was he mistaken. Farnie
listened with enthusiasm to his
nephews second excursus on the Monk
topic, and, though he said nothing, was
apparently convinced. On the following
afternoon Monk, Danvers, Waterford,
 FARNIE GETS INTO TROUBLE
and he hired a boat and went up the
river together. Gethryn and Marriott,
steered by Wilson, who was rapidly
developing into a useful coxswain, got
an excellent view of them moored under
the shade of a willow, drinking ginger-
beer, and apparently on the best of
terms with one another and the world in
general. In a brief but moving speech
the Bishop finally excommunicated his
erring relative. For all I care, he
concluded, he can do what he likes in
future. I shant stop him.
No, said Marriott, I dont think non-appearance at a half-holiday game
you will.
For the first month of his school life
Farnie behaved, except in his choice of
companions, much like an ordinary
junior. He played cricket moderately
well, did his share of compulsory
fielding at the First Eleven net, and
went for frequent river excursions with
Monk, Danvers, and the rest of the
Mob.
At first the other juniors of the
House were inclined to resent this
extending of the right hand of
fellowship to owners of studies and
Second Eleven men, and attempted to
make Farnie see the sin and folly of his
ways. But Nature had endowed that
youth with a fund of vitriolic repartee.
When Millett, one of Leicesters
juniors, evolved some laborious
sarcasm on the subject of Farnies swell
friends, Farnie, in a series of three
remarks, reduced him, figuratively
speaking, to a small and palpitating spot
of grease. After that his actions came in
for no further, or at any rate no
outspoken comment.
Given sixpence a week and no more,
Farnie might have survived an entire
term without breaking any serious
School rule. But when, after buying a
bicycle from Smith of Markhams, he
found himself with eight pounds to his
101
name in solid cash, and the means of
getting far enough away from the
neighbourhood of the School to be able
to spend it much as he liked, he began
to do strange and risky things in his
spare time.
The great obstacle to illicit
enjoyment at Beckford was the four
oclock roll-call on half-holidays.
There were other obstacles, such as
half-holiday games and so forth, but
these could be avoided by the exercise
of a little judgement. The penalty for
was a fine of sixpence. Constant
absence was likely in time to lead to a
more or less thrilling interview with the
captain of cricket, but a very occasional
attendance was enough to stave off this
disaster; and as for the sixpence, to a
man of means like Farnie it was a mere
nothing. It was a bad system, and it
was a wonder, under the circumstances,
how Beckford produced the elevens it
did. But it was the system, and Farnie
availed himself of it to the full.
The obstacle of roll-call he managed
also to surmount. Some reckless and
penniless friend was generally willing,
for a consideration, to answer his name
for him. And so most Saturday
afternoons would find Farnie leaving
behind him the flannelled fools at their
various wickets, and speeding out into
the country on his bicycle in the
direction of the village of
Biddlehampton, where mine host of the
Cow and Cornflower, in addition to
other refreshment for man and beast,
advertised that ping-pong and billiards
might be played on the premises. It was
not the former of these games that
attracted Farnie. He was no pinger.
Nor was he a pongster. But for billiards
he had a decided taste, a genuine taste,
not the pumped-up affectation
sometimes displayed by boys of his
102 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
age. Considering his age he was a
remarkable player. Later on in life it
appeared likely that he would have the
choice of three professions open to him,
namely, professional billiard player,
billiard marker, and billiard sharp. At
each of the three he showed distinct
promise. He was not lured to the green
cloth by Monk or Danvers. Indeed, if
there had been any luring to be done, it
is probable that he would have done it,
and not they. Neither Monk nor
Danvers was in his confidence in the
matter. Billiards is not a cheap
amusement. By the end of his sixth
week Farnie was reduced to a single
pound, a sum which, for one of his
tastes, was practically poverty. And
just at the moment when he was least
able to bear up against it, Fate dealt him
one of its nastiest blows. He was
playing a fifty up against a friendly but
unskilful farmer at the Cow and
Cornflower. Better look out, he said,
as his opponent effected a somewhat
rustic stroke, youll be cutting the cloth
in a second. The farmer grunted,
missed by inches, and retired, leaving
the red ball in the jaws of the pocket,
and Farnie with three to make to win.
It was an absurdly easy stroke, and
the Bishops uncle took it with an
absurd amount of conceit and
carelessness. Hardly troubling to aim,
he struck his ball. The cue slid off in
one direction, the ball rolled sluggishly
in another. And when the cue had
finished its run, the smooth green
surface of the table was marred by a
jagged and unsightly cut. There was
another young man gone wrong!
To say that the farmer laughed
would be to express the matter feebly.
That his young opponent, who had been
irritating him unspeakably since the
beginning of the game with advice and
criticism, should have done exactly
what he had cautioned him, the farmer,
against a moment before, struck him as
being the finest example of poetic
justice he had ever heard of, and he
signalized his appreciation of the same
by nearly dying of apoplexy.
The marker expressed an opinion
that Farnie had been and gone and done
it.
Ere, he said, inserting a finger in
the cut to display its dimensions. Look
ere. Thisll mean a noo cloth, young
feller me lad. Thats wot thisll mean.
Thatll be three pound we will trouble
you for, if you please.
Farnie produced his sole remaining
sovereign.
All Ive got, he said. Ill leave my
name and address.
Dont you trouble, young feller me
lad, said the marker, who appeared to
be a very aggressive and unpleasant sort
of character altogether, with meaning, I
know yer name and I knows yer
address. Today fortnight at the very
latest, if you please. You dont want me
to ave to go to your master about it,
now, do yer? What say? No. Ve well
then. Today fortnight is the time, and
you remember it.
What was left of Farnie then rode
slowly back to Beckford. Why he went
to Monk on his return probably he
could not have explained himself. But
he did go, and, having told his story in
full, wound up by asking for a loan of
two pounds. Monks first impulse was
to refer him back to a previous
interview, when matters had been the
other way about, that small affair of the
pound on the second morning of the
term. Then there flashed across his
mind certain reasons against this move.
At present Farnies attitude towards him
was unpleasantly independent. He
made him understand that he went
about with him from choice, and that
 FARNIE GETS INTO TROUBLE
there was to be nothing of the patron
and dependant about their alliance. If
he were to lend him the two pounds
now, things would alter. And to have
got a complete hold over Master
Reginald Farnie, Monk would have paid
more than two pounds. Farnie had the
intelligence to carry through anything,
however risky, and there were many
things which Monk would have liked to
do, but, owing to the risks involved,
shirked doing for himself. Besides, he
happened to be in funds just now.
Well, look here, old chap, he said,
lets have strict business between
friends. If youll pay me back four quid
at the end of term, you shall have the
two pounds. How does that strike you?
It struck Farnie, as it would have
struck most people, that if this was
Monks idea of strict business, there
were the makings of no ordinary
financier in him. But to get his two
pounds he would have agreed to
anything. And the end of term seemed
a long way off.
The awkward part of the billiard-
playing episode was that the
punishment for it, if detected, was not
expulsion, but flogging. And Farnie
resembled the lady in The Ingoldsby
Legends who didnt mind death, but
who couldnt stand pinching. He
didnt mind expulsionhe was used to
it, but he could not stand flogging.
Thatll be all right, he said. And
the money changed hands.
AND STAYS THERE
I say, said Baker of Jephsons
excitedly some days later, reeling into
the study which he shared with Norris,
have you seen the team the M.C.C.s
bringing down?
At nearly every school there is a type
103
of youth who asks this question on the
morning of the M.C.C. match. Norris
was engaged in putting the finishing
touches to a snow-white pair of cricket
boots.
No. Hullo, where did you raise that
Sporter? Lets have a look.
But Baker proposed to conduct this
business in person. It is ten times more
pleasant to administer a series of shocks
to a friend than to sit by and watch him
administering them to himself. He
retained The Sportsman, and began to
read out the team.
Thought Middlesex had a match,
said Norris, as Baker paused
dramatically to let the name of a world-
famed professional sink in.
No. They dont play Surrey till
Monday.
Well, if theyve got an important
match like Surrey on on Monday, said
Norris disgustedly, what on earth do
they let their best man come down here
today for, and fag himself out?
Baker suggested gently that if
anybody was going to be fagged out at
the end of the day, it would in all
probability be the Beckford bowlers,
and not a man who, as he was careful to
point out, had run up a century a mere
three days ago against Yorkshire, and
who was apparently at that moment at
the very top of his form.
Well, said Norris, he might crock
himself or anything. Rank bad policy, I
call it. Anybody else?
Baker resumed his reading. A string
of unknowns ended in another celebrity.
Blackwell? said Norris. Not O. T.
Blackwell?
It says A. T. But, went on Baker,
brightening up again, they always get
the initials wrong in the papers. Certain
to be O. T. By the way, I suppose you
saw that he made eighty-three against
Notts the other day?
104 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
Norris tried to comfort himself by
observing that Notts couldnt bowl for
toffee.
Last week, too, said Baker, he
made a hundred and forty-six not out
against Malvern for the Gentlemen of
Warwickshire. They couldnt get him
out, he concluded with unction. In
spite of the fact that he himself was
playing in the match today, and might
under the circumstances reasonably
look forward to a considerable dose of
leather-hunting, the task of announcing
the bad news to Norris appeared to have
a most elevating effect on his spirits:
Thats nothing extra special, said
Norris, in answer to the last item of
information, the Malvern wickets like
a billiard-table.
Our wickets arent bad either at this
time of year, said Baker, and I heard
rumours that they had got a record one
ready for this match.
It seems to me, said Norris, that
what Id better do if we want to bat at
all today is to win the toss. Though
Sammy and the Bishop and Baynes
ought to be able to get any ordinary side
out all right.
Only this isnt an ordinary side. Its
a sort of improved county team.
Theyve got about four men who
might come off, but the M.C.C.
sometimes have a bit of a tail. We
ought to have a look in if we win the
toss.
Hope so, said Baker. I doubt it,
though.
At a quarter to eleven the School
always went out in a body to inspect the
pitch. After the wicket had been
described by experts in hushed whispers
as looking pretty good, the bell rang,
and all who were not playing for the
team, with the exception of the lucky
individual who had obtained for himself
the post of scorer, strolled back towards
the blocks. Monk had come out with
Waterford, but seeing Farnie ahead and
walking alone he quitted Waterford, and
attached himself to the genial Reginald.
He wanted to talk business. He had not
found the speculation of the two pounds
a very profitable one. He had advanced
the money under the impression that
Farnie, by accepting it, was practically
selling his independence. And there
were certain matters in which Monk
was largely interested, connected with
the breaking of bounds and the purchase
of contraband goods, which he would
have been exceedingly glad to have
performed by deputy. He had fancied
that Farnie would have taken over these
jobs as part of his debt. But he had
mistaken his man. On the very first
occasion when he had attempted to put
on the screw, Farnie had flatly refused
to have anything to do with what he
proposed. He said that he was not
Monks faga remark which had the
merit of being absolutely true.
All this, combined with a slight
sinking of his own funds, induced
Monk to take steps towards recovering
the loan.
I say, Farnie, old chap.
Hullo!
I say, do you remember my lending
you two quid some time ago?
You dont give me much chance of
forgetting it, said Farnie.
Monk smiled. He could afford to be
generous towards such witticisms.
I want it back, he said.
All right. Youll get it at the end of
term.
I want it now.
Why?
Awfully hard up, old chap.
You arent, said Farnie. Youve
got three pounds twelve and sixpence
half-penny. If you will keep counting
your money in public, you cant blame
 AND STAYS THERE
a chap for knowing how much youve
got.
Monk, slightly disconcerted,
changed his plan of action. He
abandoned skirmishing tactics.
Never mind that, he said, the point
is that I want that four pounds. Im
going to have it, too.
I know. At the end of term.
Im going to have it now.
You can have a pound of it now.
Not enough.
I dont see how you expect me to
raise any more. If I could, do you think
I should have borrowed it? You might
chuck rotting for a change.
Now, look here, old chap, said
Monk, I should think youd rather raise
that tin somehow than have it get about
that youd been playing pills at some
pub out of bounds. What?
Farnie, for one of the few occasions
on record, was shaken out of his usual
sang-froid. Even in his easy code of
morality there had always been one
crime which was an anathema, the sort
of thing no fellow could think of doing.
But it was obviously at this that Monk
was hinting.
Good Lord, man, he cried, you
dont mean to say youre thinking of
sneaking? Why, the fellows would boot
you round the field. You couldnt stay
in the place a week.
There are heaps of ways, said
Monk, in which a thing can get about
without anyone actually telling the
beaks. At present Ive not told a soul.
But, you know, if I let it out to anyone
they might tell someone else, and so
on. And if everybody knows a thing,
the beaks generally get hold of it sooner
or later. Youd much better let me have
that four quid, old chap.
Farnie capitulated.
All right, he said, Ill get it
somehow.
105
Thanks awfully, old chap, said
Monk, so long!
In all Beckford there was only one
person who was in the least degree
likely to combine the two qualities
necessary for the extraction of Farnie
from his difficulties. These qualities
werein the first place ability, in the
second place willingness to advance
him, free of security, the four pounds he
required. The person whom he had in
his mind was Gethryn. He had
reasoned the matter out step by step
during the second half of morning
school. Gethryn, though he had, as
Farnie knew, no overwhelming amount
of affection for his uncle, might in a
case of great need prove blood to be
thicker (as per advertisement) than
water. But, he reflected, he must
represent himself as in danger of
expulsion rather than flogging. He had
an uneasy idea that if the Bishop were
to discover that all he stood to get was a
flogging, he would remark with
enthusiasm that, as far as he was
concerned, the good work might go on.
Expulsion was different. To save a
member of his family from expulsion,
he might think it worth while to pass
round the hat amongst his wealthy
acquaintances. If four plutocrats with
four sovereigns were to combine,
Farnie, by their united efforts, would be
saved. And he rather liked the notion of
being turned into a sort of limited
liability company, like the Duke of
Plaza Toro, at a pound a share. It
seemed to add a certain dignity to his
position.
To Gethryns study, therefore, he
went directly school was over. If he
had reflected, he might have known that
he would not have been there while the
match was going on. But his brain,
fatigued with his recent calculations,
had not noted this point.
106 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
The study was empty.
Most people, on finding themselves
in a strange and empty room, are seized
with a desire to explore the same, and
observe from internal evidence what
manner of man is the owner. Nowhere
does character come out so clearly as in
the decoration of ones private den.
Many a man, at present respected by his
associates, would stand forth unmasked
at his true worth, could the world but
look into his room. For there they
would see that he was so lost to every
sense of shame as to cover his books
with brown paper, or deck his walls
with oleographs presented with the
Christmas numbers, both of which
habits argue a frame of mind fit for
murderers, stratagems, and spoils. Let
no such man be trusted.
The Bishops study, which Farnie
now proceeded to inspect, was not of
this kind. It was a neat study, arranged
with not a little taste. There were
photographs of teams with the College
arms on their plain oak frames, and
photographs of relations in frames
which tried to look, and for the most
part succeeded in looking, as if they had
not cost fourpence three farthings at a
Christmas bargain sale. There were
snap-shots of various moving incidents
in the careers of the Bishop and his
friends: Marriott, for example, as he
appeared when carried to the Pavilion
after that sensational century against the
Authentics: Robertson of Blakers
winning the quarter mile: John Brown,
Norriss predecessor in the captaincy,
and one of the four best batsmen
Beckford had ever had, batting at the
nets: Norris taking a skier on the
boundary in last years M.C.C. match:
the Bishop himself going out to bat in
the Charchester match, and many more
of the same sort.
All these Farnie observed with
considerable interest, but as he moved
towards the book-shelf his eye was
caught by an object more interesting
still. It was a cash-box, simple and
unornamental, but undoubtedly a cash-
box, and as he took it up it rattled.
The key was in the lock. In a
boarding House at a public school it is
not, as a general rule, absolutely
necessary to keep ones valuables
always hermetically sealed. The
difference between meum and tuum is
so very rarely confused by the
occupants of such an establishment, that
one is apt to grow careless, and every
now and then accidents happen. An
accident was about to happen now.
It was at first without any motive
except curiosity that Farnie opened the
cash-box. He merely wished to see how
much there was inside, with a view to
ascertaining what his prospects of
negotiating a loan with his relative were
likely to be. When, however, he did
see, other feelings began to take the
place of curiosity. He counted the
money. There were ten sovereigns, one
half-sovereign, and a good deal of
silver. One of the institutions at
Beckford was a mission. The School by
(more or less) voluntary contributions
supported a species of home somewhere
in the wilds of Kennington. No one
knew exactly what or where this home
was, but all paid their subscriptions as
soon as possible in the term, and tried to
forget about it. Gethryn collected not
only for Leicesters House, but also for
the Sixth Form, and was consequently,
if only by proxy, a man of large means.
Too large, Farnie thought. Surely four
pounds, to be paid back (probably)
almost at once, would not be missed.
Why shouldnt he
Hullo!
Farnie spun round. Wilson was
standing in the doorway.
 AND STAYS THERE
Hullo, Farnie, said he, what are
you playing at in here?
What are you? retorted Farnie
politely.
Come to fetch a book. Marriott said
I might. What are you up to?
Oh, shut up! said Farnie. Why
shouldnt I come here if I like? Matter
of fact, I came to see Gethryn.
He isnt here, said Wilson
luminously.
You dont mean to say youve
noticed that already? Youve got an
eye like a hawk, Wilson. I was just
taking a look round, if you really want
to know.
Well, I shouldnt advise you to let
Marriott catch you mucking his study
up. Seen a book called Round the Red
Lamp? Oh, here it is. Coming over to
the field?
Not just yet. I want to have another
look round. Dont you wait, though.
Oh, all right. And Wilson retired
with his book.
Now, though Wilson at present
suspected nothing, not knowing of the
existence of the cash-box, Farnie felt
that when the money came to be
missed, and inquiries were made as to
who had been in the study, and when,
he would recall the interview. Two
courses, therefore, remained open to
him. He could leave the money
altogether, or he could take it and leave
himself. In other words, run away.
In the first case there would, of
course, remain the chance that he might
induce Gethryn to lend him the four
pounds, but this had never been more
than a forlorn hope; and in the light of
the possibilities opened out by the cash-
box, he thought no more of it. The real
problem was, should he or should he
not take the money from the cash-box?
As he hesitated, the recollection of
Monks veiled threats came back to
107
him, and he wavered no longer. He
opened the box again, took out the
contents, and dropped them into his
pocket. While he was about it, he
thought he might as well take all as only
a part.
Then he wrote two notes. Oneto
the Bishophe placed on top of the
cash-box; the other he placed with four
sovereigns on the table in Monks
study. Finally he left the room, shut the
door carefully behind him, and went to
the yard at the back of the House, where
he kept his bicycle.
The workings of the human mind,
and especially of the young human
mind, are peculiar. It never occurred to
Farnie that a result equally profitable to
himself, and decidedly more convenient
for all concernedwith the possible
exception of Monkmight have been
arrived at if he had simply left the
money in the box, and run away without
it.
However, as the poet says, you cant
think of everything.
THE BISHOP GOES FOR
A RIDE
The M.C.C. match opened
auspiciously. Norris, for the first time
that season, won the toss. Tom Brown,
we read, in a similar position, with the
usual liberality of young hands, put his
opponents in first. Norris was not so
liberal. He may have been young, but
he was not so young as that. The sun
was shining on as true a wicket as was
ever prepared when he cried Heads,
and the coin, after rolling for some time
in diminishing circles, came to a
standstill with the dragon undermost.
And Norris returned to the Pavilion and
informed his gratified team that, all
things considered, he rather thought that
108 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
they would bat, and he would be
obliged if Baker would get on his pads
and come in first with him.
The M.C.C. men took the fieldO.
T. Blackwell, by the way, had shrunk
into a mere brother of the century-
making A. T.and the two School
House representatives followed them.
An amateur of lengthy frame took the
ball, a man of pace, to judge from the
number of slips. Norris asked for two
leg. An obliging umpire informed him
that he had got two leg. The long
bowler requested short slip to stand
finer, swung his arm as if to see that the
machinery still worked, and dashed
wildly towards the crease. The match
had begun.
There are few pleasanter or more
thrilling moments in ones school career
than the first over of a big match.
Pleasant, that is to say, if you are
actually looking on. To have to listen
to a match being started from the
interior of a form-room is, of course,
maddening. You hear the sound of bat
meeting ball, followed by distant
clapping. Somebody has scored. But
who and what? It may be a four, or it
may be a mere single. More important
still, it may be the other side batting
after all. Some miscreant has possibly
lifted your best bowler into the road.
The suspense is awful. It ought to be a
School rule that the captain of the team
should send a message round the form-
rooms stating briefly and lucidly the
result of the toss. Then one would
know where one was. As it is, the
entire form is dependent on the man
sitting under the window. The form-
master turns to write on the blackboard.
The only hope of the form shoots up
like a rocket, gazes earnestly in the
direction of the Pavilion, and falls back
with a thud into his seat. They havent
started yet, he informs the rest in a
stage whisper. Si-lence, says the
form-master, and the whole business
must be gone through again, with the
added disadvantage that the master now
has his eye fixed coldly on the
individual nearest the window, your
only link with the outer world.
Various masters have various
methods under such circumstances.
One more than excellent man used to
close his book and remark, I think
well make up a little party to watch this
match. And the form, gasping its
thanks, crowded to the windows.
Another, the exact antithesis of this
great and good gentleman, on seeing a
boy taking fitful glances through the
window, would observe acidly, You
are at perfect liberty, Jones, to watch
the match if you care to, but if you do
you will come in in the afternoon and
make up the time you waste. And as
all that could be seen from that
particular window was one of the
umpires and a couple of fieldsmen,
Jones would reluctantly elect to reserve
himself, and for the present to turn his
attention to Euripides again.
If you are one of the team, and watch
the match from the Pavilion, you escape
these trials, but there are others. In the
first few overs of a School match, every
ball looks to the spectators like taking a
wicket. The fiendish ingenuity of the
slow bowler, and the lightning speed of
the fast man at the other end, make one
feel positively ill. When the first ten
has gone up on the scoring-board
matters begin to right themselves.
Today ten went up quickly. The fast
mans first ball was outside the off-
stump and a half-volley, and Norris,
whatever the state of his nerves at the
time, never forgot his forward drive.
Before the bowler had recovered his
balance the ball was half-way to the
ropes. The umpire waved a large hand
 THE BISHOP GOES FOR A RIDE
towards the Pavilion. The bowler
looked annoyed. And the School inside
the form-rooms asked itself feverishly
what had happened, and which side it
was that was applauding.
Having bowled his first ball too far
up, the M.C.C. man, on the principle of
anything for a change, now put in a
very short one. Norris, a new man after
that drive, steered it through the slips,
and again the umpire waved his hand.
The rest of the over was more quiet.
The last ball went for four byes, and
then it was Bakers turn to face the slow
man. Baker was a steady, plodding bat.
He played five balls gently to mid-on,
and glanced the sixth for a single to
leg. With the fast bowler, who had not
yet got his length, he was more
vigorous, and succeeded in cutting him
twice for two.
With thirty up for no wickets the
School began to feel more comfortable.
But at forty-three Baker was shattered
by the man of pace, and retired with
twenty to his credit. Gethryn came in
next, but it was not to be his day out
with the bat.
The fast bowler, who was now
bowling excellently, sent down one
rather wide of the off-stump. The
Bishop made most of his runs from off
balls, and he had a go at this one. It
was rising when he hit it, and it went off
his bat like a flash. In a School match it
would have been a boundary. But today
there was unusual talent in the slips.
The man from Middlesex darted
forward and sideways. He took the ball
one-handed two inches from the
ground, and received the applause
which followed the effort with a rather
bored look, as if he were saying, My
good sirs, why make a fuss over these
trifles! The Bishop walked slowly back
to the Pavilion, feeling that his luck was
out, and Pringle came in.
109
A boy of Pringles character is
exactly the right person to go in in an
emergency like the present one. Two
wickets had fallen in two balls, and the
fast bowler was swelling visibly with
determination to do the hat-trick. But
Pringle never went in oppressed by the
fear of getting out. He had a serene and
boundless confidence in himself.
The fast man tried a yorker. Pringle
came down hard on it, and forced the
ball past the bowler for a single. Then
he and Norris settled down to a lengthy
stand.
I do like seeing Pringle bat, said
Gosling. He always gives you the idea
that hes doing you a personal favour by
knocking your bowling about. Oh, well
hit!
Pringle had cut a full-pitch from the
slow bowler to the ropes. Marriott, who
had been silent and apparently in pain
for some minutes, now gave out the
following homemade effort:
A dashing young sportsman
named Pringle,
On breaking his duck (with a
single),
Observed with a smile,
Just notice my style,
How science with vigour I
mingle.
Little thing of my own, he added,
quoting Englands greatest librettist. I
call it Heart Foam. I shall not publish
it. Oh, run it out!
Both Pringle and Norris were
evidently in form. Norris was now not
far from his fifty, and Pringle looked as
if he might make anything. The century
went up, and a run later Norris off-
drove the slow bowlers successor for
three, reaching his fifty by the stroke.
Must be fairly warm work fielding
today, said Reece.
By Jove! said Gethryn, I forgot. I
left my white hat in the House. Any of
110 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
you chaps like to fetch it?
There were no offers. Gethryn got
up.
Marriott, you slacker, come over to
the House.
My good sir, Im in next. Why
dont you wait till the fellows come out
of school and send a kid for it?
He probably wouldnt know where
to find it. I dont know where it is
myself. No, I shall go, but theres no
need to fag about it yet. Hullo! Norris
is out.
Norris had stopped a straight one
with his leg. He had made fifty-one in
his best manner, and the School, leaving
the form-rooms at the exact moment
when the fatal ball was being bowled,
were just in time to applaud him and
realize what they had missed.
Gethryns desire for his hat was not
so pressing as to make him deprive
himself of the pleasure of seeing
Marriott at the wickets. Marriott ought
to do something special today.
Unfortunately, after he had played out
one over and hit two fours off it, the
luncheon interval began.
It was, therefore, not for half an hour
that the Bishop went at last in search of
the missing headgear. As luck would
have it, the hat was on the table, so that
whatever chance he might have had of
overlooking the note which his uncle
had left for him on the empty cash-box
disappeared. The two things caught his
eye simultaneously. He opened the
note and read it. It is not necessary to
transcribe the note in detail. It was no
masterpiece of literary skill. But it had
this merit, that it was not vague.
Reading it, one grasped its meaning
immediately.
The Bishops first feeling was that
the bottom had dropped out of
everything suddenly. Surprise was not
the word. It was the arrival of the
absolutely unexpected.
Then he began to consider the
position.
Farnie must be brought back. That
was plain. And he must be brought
back at once, before anyone could get to
hear of what had happened. Gethryn
had the very strongest objections to his
uncle, considered purely as a human
being; but the fact remained that he was
his uncle, and the Bishop had equally
strong objections to any member of his
family being mixed up in a business of
this description.
Having settled that point, he went on
to the next. How was he to be brought
back? He could not have gone far, for
he could not have been gone much
more than half an hour. Again, from his
knowledge of his uncles character, he
deduced that he had in all probability
not gone to the nearest station, Horton.
At Horton one had to wait hours at a
time for a train. Farnie must have made
his wayon his bicyclestraight for
the junction, Anfield, fifteen miles off
by a good road. A train left Anfield for
London at three-thirty. It was now a
little past two. On a bicycle he could do
it easily, and get back with his prize by
about five, if he rode hard. In that case
all would be well. Only three of the
School wickets had fallen, and the pitch
was playing as true as concrete.
Besides, there was Pringle still in at one
end, well set, and surely Marriott and
Jennings and the rest of them would
manage to stay in till five. They
couldnt help it. All they had to do was
to play forward to everything, and they
must stop in. He himself had got out, it
was true, but that was simply a
regrettable accident. Not one man in a
hundred would have caught that catch.
No, with luck he ought easily to be able
to do the distance and get back in time
to go out with the rest of the team to
 THE BISHOP GOES FOR A RIDE
field.
He ran downstairs and out of the
House. On his way to the bicycle-shed
he stopped, and looked towards the
field, part of which could be seen from
where he stood. The match had begun
again. The fast bowler was just
commencing his run. He saw him tear
up to the crease and deliver the ball.
What happened then he could not see,
owing to the trees which stood between
him and the School grounds. But he
heard the crack of ball meeting bat, and
a great howl of applause went up from
the invisible audience. A boundary,
apparently. Yes, there was the umpire
signalling it. Evidently a long stand
was going to be made. He would have
oceans of time for his ride. Norris
wouldnt dream of declaring the innings
closed before five oclock at the
earliest, and no bowler could take seven
wickets in the time on such a pitch. He
hauled his bicycle from the shed, and
rode off at racing speed in the direction
of Anfield.
THE M.C.C. MATCH
But out in the field things were
going badly with Beckford. The aspect
of a game often changes considerably
after lunch. For a while it looked as if
Marriott and Pringle were in for their
respective centuries. But Marriott was
never a safe batsman.
A hundred and fifty went up on the
board off a square leg hit for two, which
completed Pringles half-century, and
then Marriott faced the slow bowler,
who had been put on again after lunch.
The first ball was a miss-hit. It went
behind point for a couple. The next he
got fairly hold of and drove to the
boundary. The third was a very simple-
looking ball. Its sole merit appeared to
111
be the fact that it was straight. Also it
was a trifle shorter than it looked.
Marriott jumped out, and got too much
under it. Up it soared, straight over the
bowlers head. A trifle more weight
behind the hit, and it would have
cleared the ropes. As it was, the man in
the deep-field never looked like missing
it. The batsmen had time to cross over
before the ball arrived, but they did it
without enthusiasm. The run was not
likely to count. Nor did it. Deep-field
caught it like a bird. Marriott had made
twenty-two.
And now occurred one of those rots
which so often happen without any
ostensible cause in the best regulated
school elevens. Pringle played the three
remaining balls of the over without
mishap, but when it was the fast mans
turn to bowl to Bruce, Marriotts
successor, things began to happen.
Bruce, temporarily insane, perhaps
through nervousness, played back at a
half-volley, and was clean bowled. Hill
came in, and was caught two balls later
at the wicket. And the last ball of the
over sent Jenningss off-stump out of
the ground, after that batsman had
scored two.
I can always bowl like blazes after
lunch, said the fast man to Pringle.
Its the lobster salad that does it, I
think. Four for a hundred and fifty-
seven had changed to seven for a
hundred and fifty-nine in the course of a
single over. Gethryns calculations, if
he had only known, could have done
now with a little revision.
Gosling was the next man. He was
followed, after a brief innings of three
balls, which realized eight runs, by
Baynes. Baynes, though abstaining
from runs himself, helped Pringle to
add three to the score, all in singles, and
was then yorked by the slow man, who
meanly and treacherously sent down,
112 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
without the slightest warning, a very
fast one on the leg stump. Then Reece
came in for the last wicket, and the rot
stopped. Reece always went in last for
the School, and the School in
consequence always felt that there were
possibilities to the very end of the
innings.
The lot of a last-wicket man is
somewhat trying. As at any moment his
best innings may be nipped in the bud
by the other man getting out, he
generally feels that it is hardly worth
while to play himself in before
endeavouring to make runs. He
therefore tries to score off every ball,
and thinks himself lucky if he gets half
a dozen. Reece, however, took life
more seriously. He had made quite an
art of last-wicket batting. Once, against
the Butterflies, he had run up sixty not
out, and there was always the chance
that he would do the same again.
Today, with Pringle at the other end, he
looked forward to a pleasant hour or
two at the wicket.
No bowler ever looks on the last
man quite in the same light as he does
the other ten. He underrates him
instinctively. The M.C.C. fast bowler
was a man with an idea. His idea was
that he could bowl a slow ball of
diabolical ingenuity. As a rule, public
feeling was against his trying the
experiment. His captains were in the
habit of enquiring rudely if he thought
he was playing marbles. This was
exactly what the M.C.C. captain asked
on the present occasion, when the head
ball sailed ponderously through the air,
and was promptly hit by Reece into the
Pavilion. The bowler grinned, and
resumed his ordinary pace.
But everything came alike to Reece.
Pringle, too, continued his career of
triumph. Gradually the score rose from
a hundred and seventy to two hundred.
Pringle cut and drove in all directions,
with the air of a prince of the blood
royal distributing largesse. The second
century went up to the accompaniment
of cheers.
Then the slow bowler reaped his
reward, for Pringle, after putting his
first two balls over the screen, was
caught on the boundary off the third.
He had contributed eighty-one to a total
of two hundred and thirteen.
So far Gethryns absence had not
been noticed. But when the umpires
had gone out, and the School were
getting ready to take the field, inquiries
were made.
You might begin at the top end,
Gosling, said Norris.
Right, said Samuel. Whos going
on at the other?
Baynes. Hullo, wheres Gethryn?
Isnt he here? Perhaps hes in the
Pavi
Any of you chaps seen Gethryn?
He isnt in the Pav., said Baker.
Ive just come out of the First room
myself, and he wasnt there. Shouldnt
wonder if hes over at Leicesters.
Dash the man, said Norris, he
might have known wed be going out to
field soon. Anyhow, we cant wait for
him. We shall have to field a sub. till
he turns up.
Lorimers in the Pav., changed,
said Pringle.
All right. Hell do.
And, reinforced by the gratified
Lorimer, the team went on its way.
In the beginning the fortunes of the
School prospered. Gosling opened, as
was his custom, at a tremendous pace,
and seemed to trouble the first few
batsmen considerably. A worried-
looking little person who had fielded
with immense zeal during the School
innings at cover-point took the first
ball. It was very fast, and hit him just
 THE M.C.C. MATCH
under the knee-cap. The pain, in spite
of the pad, appeared to be acute. The
little man danced vigorously for some
time, and then, with much diffidence,
prepared himself for the second
instalment.
Now, when on the cricket field, the
truculent Samuel was totally deficient in
all the finer feelings, such as pity and
charity. He could see that the batsman
was in pain, and yet his second ball was
faster than the first. It came in quickly
from the off. The little batsman went
forward in a hesitating, half-hearted
manner, and played a clear two inches
inside the ball. The off-stump shot out
of the ground.
Bowled, Sammy, said Norris from
his place in the slips.
The next man was a clergyman, a
large man who suggested possibilities
in the way of hitting. But Gosling was
irresistible. For three balls the priest
survived. But the last of the over, a fast
yorker on the leg stump, was too much
for him, and he retired.
Two for none. The critic in the deck
chair felt that the match was as good as
over.
But this idyllic state of things was
not to last. The newcomer, a tall man
with a light moustache, which he felt
carefully after every ball, soon settled
down. He proved to be a
conversationalist. Until he had opened
his account, which he did with a strong
drive to the ropes, he was silent. When,
however, he had seen the ball safely to
the boundary, he turned to Reece and
began.
Rather a nice one, that. Eh, what?
Yes. Got it just on the right place, you
know. Not a bad bat this, is it? What?
Yes. One of Slogbury and
Whanghams Sussex Spankers, dont
you know. Chose it myself. Had it in
pickle all the winter. Yes.
113
Play, sir, from the umpire.
Eh, what? Oh, right. Yes, good
make these SussexSpankers. Oh,
well fielded.
At the word spankers he had effected
another drive, but Marriott at mid-off
had stopped it prettily.
Soon it began to occur to Norris that
it would be advisable to have a change
of bowling. Gosling was getting tired,
and Baynes apparently offered no
difficulties to the batsman on the perfect
wicket, the conversational man in
particular being very severe upon him.
It was at such a crisis that the Bishop
should have come in. He was Goslings
understudy. But where was he? The
innings had been in progress over half
an hour now, and still there were no
signs of him. A man, thought Norris,
who could cut off during the M.C.C.
match (of all matches!), probably on
some rotten business of his own, was
beyond the pale, and must, on
reappearance, be fallen upon and rent.
Hehere something small and red
whizzed at his face. He put up his
hands to protect himself. The ball
struck them and bounded out again.
When a fast bowler is bowling a slip he
should not indulge in absent-
mindedness. The conversational man
had received his first life, and, as he
was careful to explain to Reece, it was a
curious thing, but whenever he was let
off early in his innings he always made
fifty, and as a rule a century. Goslings
analysis was spoilt, and the match in all
probability lost. And Norris put it all
down to Gethryn. If he had been there,
this would not have happened.
Sorry, Gosling, he said.
All right, said Gosling, though
thinking quite the reverse. And he
walked back to bowl his next ball,
conjuring up a beautiful vision in his
mind. J. Douglas and Braund were
114 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
fielding slip to him in the vision, while
in the background Norris appeared, in a
cauldron of boiling oil.
Tut, tut, said Baker facetiously to
the raging captain.
Bakers was essentially a flippant
mind. Not even a moment of solemn
agony, such as this, was sacred to him.
Norris was icy and severe.
If you want to rot about, Baker, he
said, perhaps youd better go and play
stump-cricket with the juniors.
Well, retorted Baker, with great
politeness, I suppose seeing you miss a
gaper like that right into your hands
made me think I was playing stump-
cricket with the juniors.
At this point the conversation
ceased, Baker suddenly remembering
that he had not yet received his First
Eleven colours, and that it would
therefore be rash to goad the captain too
freely, while Norris, for his part,
recalled the fact that Baker had
promised to do some Latin verse for
him that evening, and might, if crushed
with some scathing repartee, refuse to
go through with that contract. So there
was silence in the slips.
The partnership was broken at last
by a lucky accident. The
conversationalist called his partner for a
short run, and when that unfortunate
gentleman had sprinted some twenty
yards, reconsidered the matter and sent
him back. Reece had the bails off
before the victim had completed a third
of the return journey.
For some time after this matters
began to favour the School again. With
the score at a hundred and five, three
men left in two overs, one bowled by
Gosling, the others caught at point and
in the deep off Jennings, who had
deposed Baynes. Six wickets were now
down, and the enemy still over a
hundred behind.
But the M.C.C. in its school matches
has this peculiarity. However badly it
may seem to stand, there is always
something up its sleeve. In this case it
was a professional, a man indecently
devoid of anything in the shape of
nerves. He played the bowling with a
stolid confidence, amounting almost to
contempt, which struck a chill to the
hearts of the School bowlers. It did
worse. It induced them to bowl with
the sole object of getting the
conversationalist at the batting end, thus
enabling the professional to pile up an
unassuming but rapidly increasing score
by means of threes and singles.
As for the conversationalist, he had
made thirty or more, and wanted all the
bowling he could get.
Its a very curious thing, he said to
Reece, as he faced Gosling, after his
partner had scored a three off the first
ball of the over, but some fellows
simply detest fast bowling. Now I
He never finished the sentence. When
he spoke again it was to begin a new
one.
How on earth did that happen? he
asked.
I think it bowled you, said Reece
stolidly, picking up the two stumps
which had been uprooted by Goslings
express.
Yes. But how? Dash it! What? I
cant underst. Most curious thing I
everdash it all, you know.
He drifted off in the direction of the
Pavilion, stopping on the way to ask
short leg his opinion of the matter.
Bowled, Sammy, said Reece,
putting on the bails.
Well bowled, Gosling, growled
Norris from the slips.
Sammy the marvel, by Jove, said
Marriott. Switch it on, Samuel, more
and more.
I wish Norris would give me a rest.
 THE M.C.C. MATCH
Where on earth is that man Gethryn?
Rum, isnt it? Theres going to be sort of bowler. That is to say, in a
something of a row about it. Norris
seems to be getting rather shirty. Hullo!
here comes the Deathless Author.
The author referred to was the new
batsman, a distinguished novelist, who
played a good deal for the M.C.C. He
broke his journey to the wicket to speak
to the conversationalist, who was still
engaged with short leg.
Bates, old man, he said, if youre innings took a risk. He slashed at a
going to the Pavilion you might wait for
me. I shall be out in an hour or two.
Upon which Bates, awaking
suddenly to the position of affairs, went
on his way.
With the arrival of the Deathless
Author an unwelcome change came
over the game. His cricket style
resembled his literary style. Both were
straightforward and vigorous. The first
two balls he received from Gosling he
drove hard past cover point to the
ropes. Gosling, who had been bowling
unchanged since the innings began, was
naturally feeling a little tired. He was
losing his length, and bowling more
slowly than was his wont. Norris now
gave him a rest for a few overs, Bruce
going on with rather innocuous medium
left-hand bowling. The professional
continued to jog along slowly. The
novelist hit. Everything seemed to
come alike to him. Gosling resumed,
but without effect, while at the other
end bowler after bowler was tried.
From a hundred and ten the score rose
and rose, and still the two remained
together. A hundred and ninety went
up, and Norris in despair threw the ball
to Marriott.
Here you are, Marriott, he said,
Im afraid we shall have to try you. and two wickets to fall.
Thats what I call really nicely
expressed, said Marriott to the umpire.
Yes, over the wicket.
115
Marriott was a slow, House-match
House match he was quite likely to get
wickets, but in a First Eleven match
such an event was highly improbable.
His bowling looked very subtle, and if
the ball was allowed to touch the
ground it occasionally broke quite a
remarkable distance.
The forlorn hope succeeded. The
professional for the first time in his
very mild ball almost a wide on the off
side. The ball touched the corner of the
bat, and soared up in the direction of
cover-point, where Pringle held it
comfortably.
There you are, said Marriott, when
you put a really scientific bowler on
youre bound to get a wicket. Why on
earth didnt I go on before, Norris?
You wait, said Norris, there are
five more balls of the over to come.
Bad job for the batsman, said
Marriott.
There had been time for a run before
the ball reached Pringle, so that the
novelist was now at the batting end.
Marriotts next ball was not unlike his
first, but it was straighter, and
consequently easier to get at. The
novelist hit it into the road. When it
had been brought back he hit it into the
road again. Marriott suggested that he
had better have a man there.
The fourth ball of the over was too
wide to hit with any comfort, and the
batsman let it alone. The fifth went for
four to square leg, almost killing the
umpire on its way, and the sixth soared
in the old familiar manner into the road
again. Marriotts over had yielded
exactly twenty-two runs. Four to win
Ill never read another of that mans
books as long as I live, said Marriott to
Gosling, giving him the ball. Youre
116 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
our only hope, Sammy. Do go in and
win.
The new batsman had the bowling.
He snicked his first ball for a single,
bringing the novelist to the fore again,
and Samuel Wilberforce Gosling vowed
a vow that he would dismiss that
distinguished novelist.
But the best intentions go for nothing
when ones arm is feeling like lead. Of
all the miserable balls sent down that
afternoon that one of Goslings was the
worst. It was worse than anything of
Marriotts. It flew sluggishly down the
pitch well outside the leg stump. The
novelist watched it come, and his eye
gleamed. It was about to bounce for the
second time when, with a pleased smile,
the batsman stepped out. There was a
loud, musical report, the note of a bat
when it strikes the ball fairly on the
driving spot.
The man of letters shaded his eyes
with his hand, and watched the ball
diminish in the distance.
I rather think, said he cheerfully, as
a crash of glass told of its arrival at the
Pavilion, that that does it.
He was perfectly right. It did.
THE BISHOP FINISHES
HIS RIDE
Gethryn had started on his ride
handicapped by two things. He did not
know his way after the first two miles,
and the hedges at the roadside had just
been clipped, leaving the roads covered
with small thorns.
It was the former of these
circumstances that first made itself
apparent. For two miles the road ran
straight, but after that it was unexplored
country. The Bishop, being in both
cricket and football teams, had few
opportunities for cycling. He always
brought his machine to School, but he
very seldom used it.
At the beginning of the unexplored
country, an irresponsible person
recommended him to go straight on. He
couldnt miss the road, said he. It was
straight all the way. Gethryn thanked
him, rode on, and having gone a mile
came upon three roads, each of which
might quite well have been considered a
continuation of the road on which he
was already. One curved gently off to
the right, the other two equally gently to
the left. He dismounted and the
feelings of gratitude which he had borne
towards his informant for his lucid
directions vanished suddenly. He gazed
searchingly at the three roads, but to
single out one of them as straighter than
the other two was a task that baffled
him completely. A sign-post informed
him of three things. By following road
one he might get to Brindleham, and
ultimately, if he persevered, to Corden.
Road number two would lead him to
Old Inns, whatever they might be, with
the further inducement of Little
Benbury, while if he cast in his lot with
road three he might hope sooner or later
to arrive at Much Middlefold-on-the-
Hill, and Lesser Middlefold-in-the-
Vale. But on the subject of Anfield and
Anfield Junction the board was silent.
Two courses lay open to him.
Should he select a route at random, or
wait for somebody to come and direct
him? He waited. He went on waiting.
He waited a considerable time, and at
last, just as he was about to trust to
luck, and make for Much Middlefold-
on-the-Hill, a figure loomed in sight, a
slow-moving man, who strolled down
the Old Inns road at a pace which
seemed to argue that he had plenty of
time on his hands.
I say, can you tell me the way to
Anfield, please? said the Bishop as he
 THE BISHOP FINISHES HIS RIDE
came up.
The man stopped, apparently rooted
to the spot. He surveyed the Bishop
with a glassy but determined stare from
head to foot. Then he looked earnestly
at the bicycle, and finally, in perfect
silence, began to inspect the Bishop
again.
Eh? he said at length.
Can you tell me the way to
Anfield?
Anfield?
Yes. How do I get there?
The man perpended, and when he
replied did so after the style of the late
and great Ollendorf.
Old Inns, he said dreamily, waving
a hand down the road by which he had
come, be over there.
Yes, yes, I know, said Gethryn.
Was born at Old Inns, I was,
continued the man, warming to his
subject. Lived there fifty-five years, I
have. Yeou go straight down the road
an yeou cam t Old Inns. Yes, that be
the way t Old Inns.
Gethryn nobly refrained from
rending the speaker limb from limb.
I dont want to know the way to Old
Inns, he said desperately. Where I
want to get is Anfield. Anfield, you
know. Which way do I go?
Anfield? said the man. Then a
brilliant flash of intelligence illumined
his countenance. Whoy, Anfield be
same road as Old Inns. Yeou go
straight down the road, an
Thanks very much, said Gethryn,
and without waiting for further
revelations shot off in the direction
indicated. A quarter of a mile farther he
looked over his shoulder. The man was
still there, gazing after him in a kind of
trance.
The Bishop passed through Old Inns
with some way on his machine. He had
much lost time to make up. A signpost
117
bearing the legend Anfield four miles
told him that he was nearing his
destination. The notice had changed to
three miles and again to two, when
suddenly he felt that jarring sensation
which every cyclist knows. His back
tyre was punctured. It was impossible
to ride on. He got off and walked. He
was still in his cricket clothes, and the
fact that he had on spiked boots did not
make walking any the easier. His
progress was not rapid.
Half an hour before his one wish had
been to catch sight of a fellow-being.
Now, when he would have preferred to
have avoided his species, men seemed
to spring up from nowhere, and every
man of them had a remark to make or a
question to ask about the punctured
tyre. Reserve is not the leading
characteristic of the average yokel.
Gethryn, however, refused to be
drawn into conversation on the subject.
At last one, more determined than the
rest, brought him to bay.
Hoy, mister, stop, called a voice.
Gethryn turned. A man was running up
the road towards him.
He arrived panting.
Whats up? said the Bishop.
Youve got a puncture, said the
man, pointing an accusing finger at the
flattened tyre.
It was not worth while killing the
brute. Probably he was acting from the
best motives.
No, said Gethryn wearily, it isnt a
puncture. I always let the air out when
Im riding. It looks so much better,
dont you think so? Why did they let
you out? Good-bye.
And feeling a little more comfortable
after this outburst, he wheeled his
bicycle on into Anfield High Street.
Minds in the village of Anfield
worked with extraordinary rapidity.
The first person of whom he asked the
118 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
way to the Junction answered the riddle
almost without thinking. He left his
machine out in the road and went on to
the platform. The first thing that caught
his eye was the station clock with its
hands pointing to five past four. And
when he realized that, his uncles train
having left a clear half hour before, his
labours had all been for nothing, the full
bitterness of life came home to him.
He was turning away from the
station when he stopped. Something
else had caught his eye. On a bench at
the extreme end of the platform sat a
youth. And a further scrutiny
convinced the Bishop of the fact that
the youth was none other than Master
Reginald Farnie, late of Beckford, and
shortly, or he would know the reason
why, to be once more of Beckford.
Other people besides himself, it
appeared, could miss trains.
Farnie was reading one of those
halfpenny weeklies whichwith a
nerve which is the only creditable thing
about themcall themselves comic.
He did not see the Bishop until a
shadow falling across his paper caused
him to look up.
It was not often that he found
himself unequal to a situation. Monk in
a recent conversation had taken him
aback somewhat, but his feelings on
that occasion were not to be compared
with what he felt on seeing the one
person whom he least desired to meet
standing at his side. His jaw dropped
limply, Comic Blitherings fluttered to
the ground.
The Bishop was the first to speak.
Indeed, if he had waited for Farnie to
break the silence, he would have waited
long.
Get up, he said. Farnie got up.
Come on. Farnie came.
Go and get your machine, said
Gethryn. Hurry up. And now you will
jolly well come back to Beckford, you
little beast.
But before that could be done there
was Gethryns back wheel to be
mended. This took time. It was nearly
half past four before they started.
Oh, said Gethryn, as they were
about to mount, theres that money. I
was forgetting. Out with it.
Ten pounds had been the sum Farnie
had taken from the study. Six was all
he was able to restore. Gethryn
enquired after the deficit.
I gave it to Monk, said Farnie.
To Gethryn, in his present frame of
mind, the mere mention of Monk was
sufficient to uncork the vials of his
wrath.
What the blazes did you do that
for? Whats Monk got to do with it?
He said hed get me sacked if I
didnt pay him, whined Farnie.
This was not strictly true. Monk had
not said. He had hinted. And he had
hinted at flogging, not expulsion.
Why? pursued the Bishop. What
had you and Monk been up to?
Farnie, using his out-of-bounds
adventures as a foundation, worked up a
highly artistic narrative of doings,
which, if they had actually been
performed, would certainly have
entailed expulsion. He had judged
Gethryns character correctly. If the
matter had been simply a case for a
flogging, the Bishop would have stood
aside and let the thing go on. Against
the extreme penalty of School law he
felt bound as a matter of family duty to
shield his relative. And he saw a bad
time coming for himself in the very
near future. Either he must expose
Farnie, which he had resolved not to do,
or he must refuse to explain his absence
from the M.C.C. match, for by now
there was not the smallest chance of his
being able to get back in time for the
 THE BISHOP FINISHES HIS RIDE
visitors innings. As he rode on he tried
to imagine what would happen in
consequence of that desertion, and he
could not do it. His crime was, so far as
he knew, absolutely without precedent
in the School history.
As they passed the cricket field he
saw that it was empty. Stumps were
usually drawn early in the M.C.C.
match if the issue of the game was out
of doubt, as the Marylebone men had
trains to catch. Evidently this had
happened today. It might mean that the
School had won easilythey had
looked like making a big score when he
had left the groundin which case
public opinion would be more lenient
towards him. After a victory a school
feels that alls well that ends well. But
it might, on the other hand, mean quite
the reverse.
He put his machine up, and hurried
to the study. Several boys, as he passed
them, looked curiously at him, but none
spoke to him.
Marriott was in the study, reading a
book. He was still in flannels, and
looked as if he had begun to change but
had thought better of it. As was
actually the case.
Hullo, he cried, as Gethryn
appeared. Where the dickens have you
been all the afternoon? What on earth
did you go off like that for?
Im sorry, old chap, said the
Bishop, I cant tell you. I shant be
able to tell anyone.
But, man! Try and realize what
youve done. Do you grasp the fact that
youve gone and got the School licked
in the M.C.C. match, and that we
havent beaten the M.C.C. for about a
dozen years, and that if youd been
there to bowl we should have walked
over this time? Do try and grasp the
thing.
Did they win?
119
Rather. By a wicket. Two wickets,
I mean. We made 213. Your bowling
would just have done it.
Gethryn sat down.
Oh Lord, he said blankly, this is
awful!
But, look here, Bishop, continued
Marriott, this is all rot. You cant do a
thing like this, and then refuse to offer
any explanation, and expect things to go
on just as usual.
I dont, said Gethryn. I know
theres going to be a row, but I cant
explain. Youll have to take me on
trust.
Oh, as far as I am concerned, its all
right, said Marriott. I know you
wouldnt be ass enough to do a thing
like that without a jolly good reason.
Its the other chaps Im thinking about.
Youll find it jolly hard to put Norris
off, Im afraid. Hes most awfully sick
about the match. He fielded badly,
which always makes him shirty.
Jephson, too. Youll have a bad time
with Jephson. His one wish after the
match was to have your gore and plenty
of it. Nothing else would have pleased
him a bit. And think of the chaps in the
House, too. Just consider what a pull
this gives Monk and his mob over you.
The Housell want some looking after
now, I fancy.
And theyll get it, said Gethryn. If
Monk gives me any of his beastly
cheek, Ill knock his head off.
But in spite of the consolation which
such a prospect afforded him, he did not
look forward with pleasure to the next
day, when he would have to meet
Norris and the rest. It would have been
bad in any case. He did not care to
think what would happen when he
refused to offer the slightest
explanation.
120 A PREFECT'S UNCLE

IN WHICH A CASE IS Well, Gethryn? said Mr Jephson.

The question Well? especially
FULLY DISCUSSED when addressed by a master to a boy, is
one of the few questions to which there
Gethryn was right in thinking that
is literally no answer. You can look
the interviews would be unpleasant.
sheepish, you can look defiant, or you
They increased in unpleasantness in
can look surprised according to the state
arithmetical progression, until they
of your conscience. But anything in the
culminated finally in a terrific encounter
way of verbal response is impossible.
with the justly outraged Norris.
Gethryn attempted no verbal
Reece was the first person to
response.
institute inquiries, and if everybody had
Well, Gethryn, went on Mr
resembled him, matters would not have
Jephson, was it pleasant up the river
been so bad for Gethryn. Reece
yesterday?
possessed a perfect genius for minding
Mr Jephson always preferred the
his own business. The dialogue when
rapier of sarcasm to the bludgeon of
they met was brief.
abuse.
Hullo, said Reece.
Yes, sir, said Gethryn, very
Hullo, said the Bishop.
pleasant. He did not mean to be
Where did you get to yesterday?
massacred without a struggle.
said Reece.
What! cried Mr Jephson. You
Oh, I had to go somewhere, said
actually mean to say that you did go up
the Bishop vaguely.
the river?
Oh? Pity. Wasnt a bad match.
No, sir.
And that was all the comment Reece
Then what do you mean?
made on the situation.
It is always pleasant up the river on
Gethryn went over to the chapel that
a fine day, said Gethryn.
morning with an empty sinking feeling
His opponent, to use a metaphor
inside him. He was quite determined to
suitable to a cricket master, changed his
offer no single word of explanation, and
action. He abandoned sarcasm and
he felt that that made the prospect all
condescended to direct inquiry.
the worse. There was a vast uncertainty
Where were you yesterday
in his mind as to what was going to
afternoon? he said.
happen. Nobody could actually do
The Bishop, like Mr Hurry Bungsho
anything to him, of course. It would
Jabberjee, B.A., became at once the
have been a decided relief to him if
silent tomb.
anybody had tried that line of action, for
Did you hear what I said, Gethryn?
moments occur when the only thing that
(icily). Where were you yesterday
can adequately soothe the wounded
afternoon?
spirit, is to hit straight from the shoulder
I cant say, sir.
at someone. The punching-ball is often
These words may convey two
found useful under these
meanings. They may imply ignorance,
circumstances. As he was passing
in which case the speaker should be led
Jephsons House he nearly ran into
gently off to the nearest asylum. Or
somebody who was coming out.
they may imply obstinacy. Mr Jephson
Be firm, my moral pecker, thought
decided that in the present case
Gethryn, and braced himself up for
obstinacy lay at the root of the matter.
conflict.
 IN WHICH A CASE IS FULLY DISCUSSED
He became icier than ever.
Very well, Gethryn, he said, I
shall report this to the Headmaster.
And Gethryn, feeling that the
conference was at an end, proceeded on
his way.
After chapel there was Norris to be
handled. Norris had been rather late for
chapel that morning, and had no
opportunity of speaking to the Bishop.
But after the service was over, and the
School streamed out of the building
towards their respective houses, he
waylaid him at the door, and demanded
an explanation. The Bishop refused to
give one. Norris, whose temper never
had a chance of reaching its accustomed
tranquillity until he had consumed some
breakfasthe hated early morning
chapelraved. The Bishop was
worried, but firm.
Then you mean to sayyou dont
mean to sayI mean, you dont intend
to explain? said Norris finally, working
round for the twentieth time to his
original text.
I cant explain.
You wont, you mean.
Yes. Ill apologize if you like, but I
wont explain.
Norris felt the strain was becoming
too much for him.
Apologize! he moaned, addressing
circumambient space. Apologize! A
man cuts off in the middle of the
M.C.C. match, loses us the game, and
then comes back and offers to
apologize.
The offers withdrawn, put in
Gethryn. Apologies and explanations
are both off. It was hopeless to try and
be conciliatory under the
circumstances. They did not admit of it.
Norris glared.
I suppose, he said, you dont
expect to go on playing for the First
after this? We cant keep a place open
121
for you in the team on the off chance of
your not having a previous engagement,
you know.
Thats your affair, said the Bishop,
youre captain. Have you finished
your address? Is there anything else
youd like to say?
Norris considered, and, as he went in
at Jephsons gate, wound up with this
Parthian shaft
All I can say is that youre not fit to
be at a public school. They ought to
sack a chap for doing that sort of thing.
If youll take my advice, youll leave.
About two hours afterwards Gethryn
discovered a suitable retort, but, coming
to the conclusion that better late than
never does not apply to repartees,
refrained from speaking it.
It was Mr Jephsons usual custom to
sally out after supper on Sunday
evenings to smoke a pipe (or several
pipes) with one of the other House-
masters. On this particular evening he
made for Robertsons, which was one
of the four Houses on the opposite side
of the School grounds. He could hardly
have selected a better man to take his
grievance to. Mr Robertson was a long,
silent man with grizzled hair, and an
eye that pierced like a gimlet. He had
the enviable reputation of keeping the
best order of any master in the School.
He was also one of the most popular of
the staff. This was all the more
remarkable from the fact that he played
no games.
To him came Mr Jephson, primed to
bursting point with his grievance.
Anything wrong, Jephson? said Mr
Robertson.
Wrong? I should just think there
was. Did you happen to be looking at
the match yesterday, Robertson?
Mr Robertson nodded.
I always watch School matches.
Good match. Norris missed a bad catch
122 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
in the slips. He was asleep.
Mr Jephson conceded the point. It
was trivial.
Yes, he said, he should certainly
have held it. But thats a mere detail. I
want to talk about Gethryn. Do you
know what he did yesterday? I never
heard of such a thing in my life, never.
Went off during the luncheon interval
without a word, and never appeared
again till lock-up. And now he refuses
to offer any explanation whatever. I
shall report the whole thing to Beckett.
I told Gethryn so this morning.
I shouldnt, said Mr Robertson; I
really think I shouldnt. Beckett finds
the ordinary duties of a Headmaster
quite sufficient for his needs. This
business is not in his province at all.
Not in his province? My dear sir,
what is a headmaster for, if not to
manage affairs of this sort?
Mr Robertson smiled in a sphinx-
like manner, and answered, after the
fashion of Socrates, with a question.
Let me ask you two things,
Jephson. You must proceed gingerly.
Now, firstly, it is a headmasters
business to punish any breach of school
rules, is it not?
Well?
And school prefects do not attend
roll-call, and have no restrictions placed
upon them in the matter of bounds?
No. Well?
Then perhaps youll tell me what
School rule Gethryn has broken? said
Mr Robertson.
You see you cant, he went on. Of
course you cant. He has not broken
any School rule. He is a prefect, and
may do anything he likes with his spare
time. He chooses to play cricket. Then
he changes his mind and goes off to
some unknown locality for some reason
at present unexplained. It is all
perfectly legal. Extremely quaint
behaviour on his part, I admit, but
thoroughly legal.
Then nothing can be done,
exclaimed Mr Jephson blankly. But
its absurd. Something must be done.
The thing cant be left as it is. Its
preposterous!
I should imagine, said Mr
Robertson, from what small knowledge
I possess of the Human Boy, that
matters will be made decidedly
unpleasant for the criminal.
Well, I know one thing; he wont
play for the team again.
There is something very refreshing
about your logic, Jephson. Because a
boy does not play in one match, you
will not let him play in any of the
others, though you admit his absence
weakens the team. However, I suppose
that is unavoidable. Mind you, I think it
is a pity. Of course Gethryn has some
explanation, if he would only favour us
with it. Personally I think rather highly
of Gethryn. So does poor old
Leicester. He is the only Head-prefect
Leicester has had for the last half-dozen
years who knows even the rudiments of
his business. But its no use my
preaching his virtues to you. You
wouldnt listen. Take another cigar,
and lets talk about the weather.
Mr Jephson took the proffered weed,
and the conversation, though it did not
turn upon the suggested topic, ceased to
have anything to do with Gethryn.
The general opinion of the School
was dead against the Bishop. One or
two of his friends still clung to a hope
that explanations might come out, while
there were also a few who always made
a point of thinking differently from
everybody else. Of this class was
Pringle. On the Monday after the match
he spent the best part of an hour of his
valuable time reasoning on the subject
with Lorimer. Lorimers vote went
 IN WHICH A CASE IS FULLY DISCUSSED
with the majority. Although he had
fielded for the Bishop, he was not, of
course, being merely a substitute,
allowed to bowl, as the Bishop had had
his innings, and it had been particularly
galling to him to feel that he might have
saved the match, if it had only been
possible for him to have played a larger
part.
Its no good jawing about it, he
said, there isnt a word to say for the
man. He hasnt a leg to stand on. Why,
it would be bad enough in a House or
form match even, but when it comes to
first matches! Here words failed
Lorimer.
Not at all, said Pringle, unmoved.
There are heaps of reasons, jolly good
reasons, why he might have gone
away.
Such as? said Lorimer.
Well, he might have been called
away by a telegram, for instance.
What rot! Why should he make
such a mystery of it if that was all?
Hed have explained all right if
somebody had asked him properly.
You get a chap like Norris, who, when
he loses his hair, has got just about as
much tact as a rhinoceros, going and
ballyragging the man, and no wonder he
wont say anything. I shouldnt
myself.
Well, go and talk to him decently,
then. Lets see you do it, and Ill bet it
wont make a bit of difference. What
the chap has done is to go and get
himself mixed up in some shady
business somewhere. Thats the only
thing it can be.
Rot, said Pringle, the Bishop isnt
that sort of chap.
You cant tell. I say, he broke off
suddenly, have you done that poem
yet?
Pringle started. He had not so much
as begun that promised epic.
123
Ierhavent quite finished it yet.
Im thinking it out, you know. Getting
a sort of general grip of the thing.
Oh. Well, I wish youd buck up
with it. Its got to go in tomorrow
week.
Tomorrow week. Tuesday the
what? Twenty-second, isnt it? Right.
Ill remember. Two days after the
O.B.s match. Thatll fix it in my
mind. By the way, your people are
going to come down all right, arent
they? I mean, we shall have to be
getting in supplies and so on.
Yes. Theyll be coming. Theres
plenty of time, though, to think of that.
What youve got to do for the present is
to keep your mind glued on the death of
Dido.
Rather, said Pringle, I wont
forget.
This was at six twenty-two p.m. By
the time six-thirty boomed from the
College clock-tower, Pringle was
absorbing a thrilling work of fiction,
and Dido, her death, and everything
connected with her, had faded from his
mind like a beautiful dream.
POETRY AND STUMP-
CRICKET
The Old Beckfordians match came
off in due season, and Pringle enjoyed it
thoroughly. Though he only
contributed a dozen in the first innings,
he made up for this afterwards in the
second, when the School had a hundred
and twenty to get in just two hours. He
went in first with Marriott, and they
pulled the thing off and gave the School
a ten wickets victory with eight minutes
to spare. Pringle was in rare form. He
made fifty-three, mainly off the bowling
of a certain J.R. Smith, whose fag he
had been in the old days. When at
124 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
School, Smith had always been
singularly aggressive towards Pringle,
and the latter found that much pleasure
was to be derived from hitting fours off
his bowling. Subsequently he ate more
strawberries and cream than were,
strictly speaking, good for him, and did
the honours at the study tea-party with
the grace of a born host. And, as he had
hoped, Miss Mabel Lorimer did ask
what that silver-plate was stuck on to
that bat for.
It is not to be wondered at that in the
midst of these festivities such trivialities
as Lorimers poem found no place in
his thoughts. It was not until the
following day that he was reminded of
it.
That Sunday was a visiting Sunday.
Visiting Sundays occurred three times a
term, when everybody who had friends
and relations in the neighbourhood was
allowed to spend the day with them.
Pringle on such occasions used to ride
over to Biddlehampton, the scene of
Farnies adventures, on somebody
elses bicycle, his destination being the
residence of a certain Colonel Ashby,
no relation, but a great friend of his
fathers.
The gallant Colonel had, besides his
other meritswhich were numerous-
the pleasant characteristic of leaving his
guests to themselves. To be left to
oneself under some circumstances is apt
to be a drawback, but in this case there
was never any lack of amusements.
The only objection that Pringle ever
found was that there was too much to
do in the time. There was shooting,
riding, fishing, and also stump-cricket.
Given proper conditions, no game in
existence yields to stump-cricket in the
matter of excitement. A stable-yard
makes the best pitch, for the walls stop
all hits and you score solely by
boundaries, one for every hit, two if it
goes past the coach-room door, four to
the end wall, and out if you send it
over. It is perfect.
There were two junior Ashbys,
twins, aged sixteen. They went to
school at Charchester, returning to the
ancestral home for the weekend.
Sometimes when Pringle came they
would bring a school friend, in which
case Pringle and he would play the
twins. But as a rule the programme
consisted of a series of five test
matches, Charchester versus Beckford;
and as Pringle was almost exactly twice
as good as each of the twins taken
individually, when they combined it
made the sides very even, and the test
matches were fought out with the most
deadly keenness.
After lunch the Colonel was in the
habit of taking Pringle for a stroll in the
grounds, to watch him smoke a cigar or
two. On this Sunday the conversation
during the walk, after beginning, as was
right and proper, with cricket, turned to
work.
Let me see, said the Colonel, as
Pringle finished the description of how
point had almost got to the square cut
which had given him his century against
Charchester, youre out of the Upper
Fifth now, arent you? I always used to
think you were going to be a fixture
there. You are like your father in that
way. I remember him at Rugby
spending years on end in the same
form. Couldnt get out of it. But you
did get your remove, if I remember?
Rather, said Pringle, years ago.
Thats to say, last term. And Im jolly
glad I did, too.
His errant memory had returned to
the poetry prize once more.
Oh, said the Colonel, why is that?
Pringle explained the peculiar
disadvantages that attended
membership of the Upper Fifth during
 POETRY AND STUMP-CRICKET
the summer term.
I dont think a man ought to be
allowed to spend his money in these
special prizes, he concluded; at any
rate they ought to be Sixth Form
affairs. Its hard enough having to do
the ordinary work and keep up your
cricket at the same time.
They are compulsory then?
Yes. Swindle, I call it. The chap
who shares my study at Beckford is in
the Upper Fifth, and his hairs turning
white under the strain. The worst of it
is, too, that Ive promised to help him,
and I never seem to have any time to
give to the thing. I could turn out a
great poem if I had an hour or two to
spare now and then.
Whats the subject?
Death of Dido this year. They are
always jolly keen on deaths. Last year
it was Cato, and the year before Julius
Csar. They seem to have very morbid
minds. I think they might try something
cheerful for a change.
Dido, said the Colonel dreamily.
Death of Dido. Where have I heard
either a story or a poem or a riddle or
something in some way connected with
the death of Dido? It was years ago, but
I distinctly remember having heard
somebody mention the occurrence. Oh,
well, it will come back presently, I dare
say.
It did come back presently. The
story was this. A friend of Colonel
Ashbysthe one-time colonel of his
regiment, to be exactwas an earnest
student of everything in the literature of
the country that dealt with Sport. This
gentleman happened to read in a
publishers list one day that a limited
edition of The Dark Horse, by a Mr
Arthur James, was on sale, and might
be purchased from the publisher by all
who were willing to spend half a guinea
to that end.
125
Well, old Matthews, said the
Colonel, sent off for this book.
Thought it must be a sporting novel,
dont you know. I shall never forget his
disappointment when he opened the
parcel. It turned out to be a collection
of poems. The Dark Horse, and Other
Studies in the Tragic, was its full title.
Matthews never had a soul for
poetry, good or bad. The Dark Horse
itself was about a knight in the Middle
Ages, you know. Great nonsense it
was, too. Matthews used to read me
passages from time to time. When he
gave up the regiment he left me the
book as a farewell gift. He said I was
the only man he knew who really
sympathized with him in the affair. Ive
got it still. Its in the library
somewhere, if you care to look at it.
What recalled it to my mind was your
mention of Dido. The second poem
was about the death of Dido, as far as I
can remember. Im no judge of poetry,
but it didnt strike me as being very
good. At the same time, you might pick
up a hint or two from it. It ought to be
in one of the two lower shelves on the
right of the door as you go in. Unless it
has been taken away. That is not likely,
though. We are not very enthusiastic
poetry readers here.
Pringle thanked him for his
information, and went back to the
stable-yard, where he lost the fourth test
match by sixteen runs, owing to
preoccupation. You cant play a yorker
on the leg-stump with a thin walking-
stick if your mind is occupied
elsewhere. And the leg-stump yorkers
of James, the elder (by a minute) of the
two Ashbys, were achieving a growing
reputation in Charchester cricket circles.
One ought never, thought Pringle, to
despise the gifts which Fortune bestows
on us. And this mention of an actual
completed poem on the very subject
126 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
which was in his mind was clearly a gift
of Fortune. How much better it would
be to read thoughtfully through this
poem, and quarry out a set of verses
from it suitable to Lorimers needs, than
to waste his brain-tissues in trying to
evolve something original from his own
inner consciousness. Pringle objected
strongly to any unnecessary waste of his
brain-tissues. Besides, the best poets
borrowed. Virgil did it. Tennyson did
it. Even Homerwe have it on the
authority of Mr Kiplingwhen he
smote his blooming lyre went and stole
what he thought he might require. Why
should Pringle of the School House
refuse to follow in such illustrious
footsteps?
It was at this point that the guileful
James delivered his insidious yorker,
and the dull thud of the tennis ball on
the board which served as the wicket
told a listening world that Charchester
had won the fourth test match, and that
the scores were now two all.
But Beckfords star was to ascend
again. Pringles mind was made up.
He would read the printed poem that
very night, and before retiring to rest he
would have Lorimers verses complete
and ready to be sent in for judgement to
the examiner. But for the present he
would dismiss the matter from his
mind, and devote himself to polishing
off the Charchester champions in the
fifth and final test match. And in this
he was successful, for just as the bell
rang, summoning the players in to a
well-earned tea, a sweet forward drive
from his walking-stick crashed against
the end wall, and Beckford had won the
rubber.
As the young batsman, undefeated
to the last, reached the pavilion, said
Pringle, getting into his coat, a
prolonged and deafening salvo of
cheers greeted him. His twenty-three
not out, compiled as it was against the
finest bowling Charchester could
produce, and on a wicket that was
always treacherous (theres a brick
loose at the top end), was an effort
unique in its heroism.
Oh, come on, said the defeated
team.
If you have fluked a win, said
James, its nothing much. Wait till
next visiting Sunday.
And the teams went in to tea.
In the programme which Pringle had
mapped out for himself, he was to go to
bed with his book at the highly
respectable hour of ten, work till eleven,
and then go to sleep. But programmes
are notoriously subject to alterations.
Pringles was altered owing to a remark
made immediately after dinner by John
Ashby, who, desirous of retrieving the
fallen fortunes of Charchester, offered
to play Pringle a hundred up at billiards,
giving him thirty. Now Pringles ability
in the realm of sport did not extend to
billiards. But the human being who can
hear unmoved a fellow human being
offering him thirty start in a game of a
hundred has yet to be born. He
accepted the challenge, and permission
to play having been granted by the
powers that were, on the understanding
that the cloth was not to be cut and as
few cues broken as possible, the game
began, James acting as marker.
There are doubtless ways by which a
game of a hundred up can be got
through in less than two hours, but with
Pringle and his opponent desire outran
performance. When the highest break
on either side is six, and the average
break two, matters progress with more
stateliness than speed. At last, when the
hands of the clock both pointed to the
figure eleven, Pringle, whose score had
been at ninety-eight since half-past ten,
found himself within two inches of his
 POETRY AND STUMP-CRICKET 127

opponents ball, which was tottering on He did not mention how, and
the very edge of the pocket. He Lorimer did not ask.
administered the coup de grace with the Well, anyhow, said Lorimer,
air of a John Roberts, and retired thanks awfully. I hope youve not
triumphant; while the Charchester fagged about it too much.
representatives pointed out that as their Oh no, said Pringle airily, rather
score was at seventy-four, they had not. Its been no trouble at all.
really won a moral victory by four He thus, it will be noticed, concluded
points. To which specious and a painful and immoral scene by
unsportsmanlike piece of sophistry speaking perfect truth. A most
Pringle turned a deaf ear. gratifying reflection.
It was now too late for any serious
literary efforts. No bard can do without
his sleep. Even Homer used to nod at WE, THE
times. So Pringle contented himself
with reading through the poem, which UNDERSIGNED
consisted of some thirty lines, and
Norris kept his word with regard to
copying the same down on a sheet of
the Bishops exclusion from the
notepaper for future reference. After
Eleven. The team which had beaten the
which he went to bed.
O.B.s had not had the benefit of his
In order to arrive at Beckford in time
assistance, Lorimer appearing in his
for morning school, he had to start from
stead. Lorimer was a fast right-hand
the house at eight oclock punctually.
bowler, deadly in House matches or on
This left little time for poetical lights.
a very bad wicket. He was the mainstay
The consequence was that when
of the Second Eleven attack, and in an
Lorimer, on the following afternoon,
ordinary year would have been certain
demanded the poem as per contract, all
of his First Eleven cap. This season,
that Pringle had to show was the copy
however, with Gosling, Baynes, and the
which he had made of the poem in the
Bishop, the School had been unusually
book. There was a moments suspense
strong, and Lorimer had had to wait.
while Conscience and Sheer
The non-appearance of his name on
Wickedness fought the matter out inside
the notice-board came as no surprise to
him, and then Conscience, which had
Gethryn. He had had the advantage of
started on the encounter without
listening to Norriss views on the
enthusiasm, being obviously flabby and
subject. But when Marriott grasped the
out of condition, threw up the sponge.
facts of the case, he went to Norris and
Here you are, said Pringle, its
raved. Norris, as is right and proper in
only a rough copy, but here it is.
the captain of a School team when the
Lorimer perused it hastily.
wisdom of his actions is called into
But, I say, he observed in surprised
question, treated him with no respect
and awestruck tones, this is rather
whatever.
good.
Its no good talking, he said, when
It seemed to strike him as quite a
Marriott had finished a brisk opening
novel idea. Yes, not bad, is it?
speech, I know perfectly well what Im
But itll get the prize.
doing.
Oh, we shall have to prevent that
Then theres no excuse for you at
somehow.
all, said Marriott. If you were mad or
128 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
delirious I could understand it.
Come and have an ice, said Norris.
Ice! snorted Marriott. Whats the
good of standing there babbling about
ices! Do you know we havent beaten
the O.B.s for four years?
We shall beat them this year.
Not without Gethryn.
We certainly shant beat them with
Gethryn, because hes not going to
play. A chap who chooses the day of
the M.C.C. match to go off for the
afternoon, and then refuses to explain,
can consider himself jolly well chucked
until further notice. Feel ready for that
ice yet?
Dont be an ass.
Well, if ever you do get any ice,
take my tip and tie it carefully round
your head in a handkerchief. Then
perhaps youll be able to see why
Gethryn isnt playing against the O.B.s
on Saturday.
And Marriott went off raging, and
did not recover until late in the
afternoon, when he made eighty-three
in an hour for Leicesters House in a
scratch game.
There were only three of the eleven
Houses whose occupants seriously
expected to see the House cricket cup
on the mantelpiece of their dining-room
at the end of the season. These were the
School House, Jephsons, and
Leicesters. In view of Pringles
sensational feats throughout the term,
the knowing ones thought that the cup
would go to the School House, with
Leicesters runners-up. The various
members of the First Eleven were pretty
evenly distributed throughout the three
Houses. Leicesters had Gethryn,
Reece, and Marriott. Jephsons relied
on Norris, Bruce, and Baker. The
School House trump card was Pringle,
with Lorimer and Baynes to do the
bowling, and Hill of the First Eleven
and Kynaston and Langdale of the
second to back him up in the batting
department. Both the other First Eleven
men were day boys.
The presence of Gosling in any of
the House elevens, however weak on
paper, would have lent additional
interest to the fight for the cup; for in
House matches, where every team has
more or less of a tail, one really good
fast bowler can make a surprising
amount of difference to a side.
There was a great deal of interest in
the School about the House cup. The
keenest of all games at big schools are
generally the House matches. When
Beckford met Charchester or any of the
four schools which it played at cricket
and football, keenness reached its
highest pitch. But next to these came
the House matches.
Now that he no longer played for the
Eleven, the Bishop was able to give his
whole mind to training the House team
in the way it should go. Exclusion from
the First Eleven meant also that he
could no longer, unless possessed of an
amount of sang-froid so colossal as
almost to amount to genius, put in an
appearance at the First Eleven net.
Under these circumstances Leicesters
net summoned him. Like Mr Phil
Mays lady when she was ejected (with
perfect justice) by a barman, he went
somewhere where he would be
respected. To the House, then, he
devoted himself, and scratch games and
before-breakfast field-outs became the
order of the day.
House fielding before breakfast is
one of the things which cannot be
classed under the head of the Lighter
Side of Cricket. You get up in the small
hours, dragged from a comfortable bed
by some sportsman who, you feel,
carries enthusiasm to a point where it
ceases to be a virtue and becomes a
 WE, THE UNDERSIGNED
nuisance. You get into flannels, and,
still half asleep, stagger off to the field,
where a hired ruffian hits you up
catches which bite like serpents and
sting like adders. From time to time he
adds insult to injury by shouting get to
em!, get to em!a remark which who were too old to be fags, and too
finds but one parallel in the language,
the keep moving of the football
captain. Altogether there are many
more pleasant occupations than early
morning field-outs, and it requires a
considerable amount of keenness to
carry the victim through them without
hopelessly souring his nature and
causing him to foster uncharitable
thoughts towards his House captain.
J. Monk of Leicesters found this
increased activity decidedly
uncongenial. He had no real patriotism
in him. He played cricket well, but he
played entirely for himself.
If, for instance, he happened to make
fifty in a matchand it happened fairly
frequentlyhe vastly preferred that the
rest of the side should make ten
between them than that there should be
any more half-centuries on the score
sheet, even at the expense of losing the
match. It was not likely, therefore, that
he would take kindly to this
mortification of the flesh, the sole
object of which was to make everybody
as conspicuous as everybody else.
Besides, in the matter of fielding he
considered that he had nothing to learn,
which, as Euclid would say, was
absurd. Fielding is one of the things
which is never perfect.
Monk, moreover, had another reason
for disliking the field-outs. Gethryn, as
captain of the House team, was
naturally master of the ceremonies, and
Monk objected to Gethryn. For this
dislike he had solid reasons. About a
fortnight after the commencement of
term, the Bishop, going downstairs
129
from his study one afternoon, was
aware of what appeared to be a species
of free fight going on in the doorway of
the senior day-room. The senior day-
room was where the rowdy element of
the House collected, the individuals
low down in the School to own studies.
Under ordinary circumstances the
Bishop would probably have passed on
without investigating the matter. A
head of a house hates above all things to
get a name for not minding his own
business in unimportant matters. Such
a reputation tells against him when he
has to put his foot down over big
things. To have invaded the senior day-
room and stopped a conventional senior
day-room rag would have been
interfering with the most cherished
rights of the citizens, the freedom which
is the birthright of every Englishman, so
to speak.
But as he passed the door which had
just shut with a bang behind the free
fighters, he heard Monks voice inside,
and immediately afterwards the voice of
Danvers, and he stopped. In the first
place, he reasoned within himself, if
Monk and Danvers were doing
anything, it was probably something
wrong, and ought to be stopped.
Gethryn always had the feeling that it
was his duty to go and see what Monk
and Danvers were doing, and tell them
they mustnt. He had a profound belief
in their irreclaimable villainy. In the
second place, having studies of their
own, they had no business to be in the
senior day-room at all. It was contrary
to the etiquette of the House for a study
man to enter the senior day-room, and
as a rule the senior day-room resented
it. As to all appearances they were not
resenting it now, the obvious conclusion
was that something was going on which
ought to cease.
130 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
The Bishop opened the door.
Etiquette did not compel the head of the
House to knock, the rule being that you
knocked only at the doors of those
senior to you in the House. He was
consequently enabled to witness a
tableau which, if warning had been
received of his coming, would possibly
have broken up before he entered. In
the centre of the group was Wilson,
leaning over the study table, not so
much as if he liked so leaning as
because he was held in that position by
Danvers. In the background stood
Monk, armed with a walking-stick.
Round the walls were various
ornaments of the senior day-room in
attitudes of expectant attention, being
evidently content to play the part of
friends and retainers, leaving the
leading parts in the hands of Monk and
his colleague.
Hullo, said the Bishop, whats
going on?
Its all right, old chap, said Monk,
grinning genially, were only having an
execution.
Whats the row? said the Bishop.
Whats Wilson been doing?
Nothing, broke in that youth, who
had wriggled free from Danverss
clutches. I havent done a thing,
Gethryn. These beasts lugged me out of
the junior day-room without saying
what for or anything.
The Bishop began to look
dangerous. This had all the outward
aspect of a case of bullying. Under
Reynoldss leadership Leicesters had
gone in rather extensively for bullying,
and the Bishop had waited hungrily for
a chance of catching somebody actively
engaged in the sport, so that he might
drop heavily on that person and make
life unpleasant for him.
Well? he said, turning to Monk,
lets have it. What was it all about,
and what have you got to do with it?
Monk began to shuffle.
Oh, it was nothing much, he said.
Then what are you doing with the
stick? pursued the Bishop relentlessly.
Young Wilson cheeked Perkins,
said Monk.
Murmurs of approval from the senior
day-room. Perkins was one of the
ornaments referred to above.
How? asked Gethryn.
Wilson dashed into the conversation
again.
Perkins told me to go and get him
some grub from the shop. I was doing
some work, so I couldnt. Besides, Im
not his fag. If Perkins wants to go for
me, why doesnt he do it himself, and
not get about a hundred fellows to help
him?
Exactly, said the Bishop. A very
sensible suggestion. Perkins, fall upon
Wilson and slay him. Ill see fair play.
Go ahead.
Erno, said Perkins uneasily. He
was a small, weedy-looking youth, not
built for fighting except by proxy, and
he remembered the episode of Wilson
and Skinner.
Then the things finished, said
Gethryn. Wilson walks over. We
neednt detain you, Wilson.
Wilson departed with all the honours
of war, and the Bishop turned to Monk.
Now perhaps youll tell me, he
said, what the deuce you and Danvers
are doing here?
Well, hang it all, old chap
The Bishop begged that Monk would
not call him old chap.
Ill call you sir, if you like, said
Monk.
A gleam of hope appeared in the
Bishops eye. Monk was going to give
him the opportunity he had long sighed
for. In cold blood he could attack no
one, not even Monk, but if he was going
 WE, THE UNDERSIGNED
to be rude, that altered matters.
What business have you in the day-
room? he said. Youve got studies of
your own.
If it comes to that, said Monk, so
have you. Weve got as much business
here as you. What the deuce are you
doing here?
Taken by itself, taken neat, as it
were, this repartee might have been
insufficient to act as a casus belli, but
by a merciful dispensation of
Providence the senior day-room elected
to laugh at the remark, and to laugh
loudly. Monk also laughed. Not,
however, for long. The next moment
the Bishop had darted in, knocked his
feet from under him, and dragged him
to the door. Captain Kettle himself
could not have done it more neatly.
Now, said the Bishop, we can
discuss the point.
Monk got up, looking greener than
usual, and began to dust his clothes.
Dont talk rot, he said, I cant waited upon Reece in his study, and
fight a prefect.
This, of course, the Bishop had
known all along. What he had intended
to do if Monk had kept up his end he
had not decided when he embarked
upon the engagement. The head of a
House cannot fight by-battles with his
inferiors without the loss of a good deal
of his painfully acquired dignity. But
Gethryn knew Monk, and he had felt
justified in risking it. He improved the
shining hour with an excursus on the
subject of bullying, dispensed a few
general threats, and left the room.
Monk hadperhaps not unnaturally
not forgotten the incident, and now
that public opinion ran strongly against
Gethryn on account of his M.C.C.
match manoeuvres, he acted. A mass
meeting of the Mob was called in his
study, and it was unanimously voted
that field-outs in the morning were
131
undesirable, and that it would be
judicious if the team were to strike.
Now, as the Mob included in their
numbers eight of the House Eleven,
their opinions on the subject carried
weight.
Look here, said Waterford, struck
with a brilliant idea, I tell you what
well do. Lets sign a round-robin
refusing to play in the House matches
unless Gethryn resigns the captaincy
and the field-outs stop.
We may as well sign in alphabetical
order, said Monk prudently. Itll
make it safer.
The idea took the Mobs fancy. The
round-robin was drawn up and signed.
Now, if we could only get Reece,
suggested Danvers. Its no good
asking Marriott, but Reece might sign.
Lets have a shot at any rate, said
Monk.
And a deputation, consisting of
Danvers, Waterford, and Monk, duly
broached the project to him.
LEICESTERS HOUSE
TEAM GOES INTO A
SECOND EDITION
Reece was working when the
deputation entered. He looked up
enquiringly, but if he was pleased to see
his visitors he managed to conceal the
fact.
Oh, I say, Reece, began Monk,
who had constituted himself spokesman
to the expedition, are you busy?
Yes, said Reece simply, going on
with his writing.
This might have discouraged some
people, but Nature had equipped Monk
with a tough skin, which hints never
pierced. He dropped into a chair,
132 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
crossed his legs, and coughed. Danvers
and Waterford leaned in picturesque
attitudes against the door and
mantelpiece. There was a silence for a
minute, during which Reece continued
to write unmoved.
Take a seat, Monk, he said at last,
without looking up.
Oh, er, thanks, I have, said Monk.
I say, Reece, we wanted to speak to
you.
Go ahead then, said Reece. I can
listen and write at the same time. Im
doing this prose against time.
Its about Gethryn.
Whats Gethryn been doing?
Oh, I dont know. Nothing special.
Its about his being captain of the
House team. The chaps seem to think
he ought to resign.
Which chaps? enquired Reece,
laying down his pen and turning round
in his chair.
The rest of the team, you know.
Why dont they think he ought to be
captain? The head of the House is
always captain of the House team
unless hes too bad to be in it at all.
Dont the chaps think Gethryns good at
cricket?
Oh, hes good enough, said Monk.
Its more about this M.C.C. match
business, you know. His cutting off
like that in the middle of the match.
The chaps think the House ought to take
some notice of it. Express its
disapproval, and that sort of thing.
And what do the chaps think of
doing about it?
Monk inserted a hand in his breast-
pocket, and drew forth the round-robin.
He straightened it out, and passed it
over to Reece.
Weve drawn up this notice, he
said, and we came to see if youd sign
it. Nearly all the other chaps in the
team have.
Reece perused the document
gravely. Then he handed it back to its
owner.
What rot, said he.
I dont think so at all, said Monk.
Nor do I, broke in Danvers,
speaking for the first time. What else
can we do? We cant let a chap like
Gethryn stick to the captaincy.
Why not?
A cad like that!
Thats a matter of opinion. I dont
suppose everyone thinks him a cad. I
dont, personally.
Well, anyway, asked Waterford,
are you going to sign?
My good man, of course Im not.
Do you mean to say you seriously
intend to hand in that piffle to
Gethryn?
Rather, said Monk.
Then youll be making fools of
yourselves. Ill tell you exactly whatll
happen, if you care to know. Gethryn
will read this rot, and simply cut
everybody whose name appears on the
list out of the House team. I dont
know if youre aware of it, but there are
several other fellows besides you in the
House. And if you come to think of it,
you arent so awfully good. You three
are in the Second. The other five
havent got colours at all.
Anyhow, were all in the House
team, said Monk.
Dont let that worry you, said
Reece, you wont be long, if you show
Gethryn that interesting document.
Anything else I can do for you?
No, thanks, said Monk. And the
deputation retired.
When they had gone, Reece made
his way to the Bishops study. It was
not likely that the deputation would
deliver their ultimatum until late at
night, when the study would be empty.
From what Reece knew of Monk, he
 LEICESTERS HOUSE TEAM GOES INTO A SECOND EDITION
judged that it would be pleasanter to
him to leave the document where the
Bishop could find it in the morning,
rather than run the risks that might
attend a personal interview. There was
time, therefore, to let Gethryn know
what was going to happen, so that he
might not be surprised into doing
anything rash, such as resigning the
captaincy, for example. Not that Reece
thought it likely that he would, but it
was better to take no risks.
Both Marriott and Gethryn were in
the study when he arrived.
Hullo, Reece, said Marriott, come
in and take several seats. Have a
biscuit? Have two. Have a good
many.
Reece helped himself, and gave them
a brief description of the late interview.
Im not surprised, said Gethryn, I
thought Monk would be getting at me
somehow soon. I shall have to slay that
chap someday. What ought I to do, do
you think?
My dear chap, said Marriott,
theres only one thing you can do. Cut
the lot of them out of the team, and fill
up with substitutes.
Reece nodded approval.
Of course. Thats what you must
do. As a matter of fact, I told them you
would. Ive given you a reputation.
You must live up to it.
Besides, continued Marriott, after
all it isnt such a crusher, when you
come to think of it. Only four of them
are really certainties for their places,
Monk, Danvers, Waterford, and
Saunders. The rest are simply tail.
Reece nodded again. Great minds
think alike. Exactly what I told them,
only they wouldnt listen.
Well, whom do you suggest instead
of them? Some of the kids are jolly
keen and all that, but they wouldnt be
much good against Baynes and
133
Lorimer, for instance.
If I were you, said Marriott, I
shouldnt think about their batting at
all. I should go simply for fielding.
With a good fielding side we ought to
have quite a decent chance. Theres no
earthly reason why you and Reece
shouldnt put on enough for the first
wicket to win all the matches. Its been
done before. Dont you remember the
School House getting the cup four years
ago when Twiss was captain? They had
nobody who was any earthly good
except Twiss and Birch, and those two
used to make about a hundred and fifty
between them in every match. Besides,
some of the kids can bat rather well.
Wilson for one. He can bowl, too.
Yes, said the Bishop, all right.
Stick down Wilson. Who else?
Gregson isnt bad. He can field in the
slips, which is more than a good many
chaps can.
Gregsons good, said Reece, put
him down. That makes five. You
might have young Lee in too. Ive seen
him play like a book at his form net
once or twice.
Leesix. Five more wanted.
Wheres a House list? Here we are.
Now. Adams, Bond, Brown, Burgess.
Burgess has his points. Shall I stick
him down?
Not presume to dictate, said
Marriott, but Adams is streets better
than Burgess as a field, and just as good
a bat.
Why, when have you seen him?
In a scratch game between his form
and another. He was carting all over
the shop. Made thirty something.
Well have both of them in, then.
Plenty of room. This is the team so far.
Wilson, Gregson, Lee, Adams, and
Burgess, with Marriott, Reece, and
Gethryn. Jolly hot stuff it is, too, by
Jove. Well simply walk that tankard.
134 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
Now, for the last places. I vote we each
select a man, and nobodys allowed to
appeal against the others decision. I
lead off with Crowinshaw. Good name,
Crowinshaw. Look well on a score
sheet.
Heave us the list, said Marriott.
Thanks. My dear sir, theres only one
man in the running at all, which his
names Chamberlain. Shove down
Joseph, and dont let me hear anyone
breathe a word against him. Come on,
Reece, lets have your man. I bet Reece
selects some weird rotter.
Reece pondered.
Carstairs, he said.
Oh, my very dear sir! Carstairs!
All criticism barred, said the
Bishop.
Sorry. By the way, what House are
we drawn against in the first round?
Websters.
Ripping. We can smash Websters.
Theyve got nobody. Itll be rather a
good thing having an easy time in our
first game. We shall be able to get
some idea about the teams play. I
shouldnt think we could possibly get
beaten by Websters.
There was a knock at the door.
Wilson came in with a request that he
might fetch a book that he had left in
the study.
Oh, Wilson, just the man I wanted
to see, said the Bishop. Wilson,
youre playing against Websters next
week.
By Jove, said Wilson, am I
really?
He had spent days in working out on
little slips of paper during school his
exact chances of getting a place in the
House team. Recently, however, he had
almost ceased to hope. He had
reckoned on at least eight of the senior
study being chosen before him.
Yes, said the Bishop, you must
buck up. Practise fielding every minute
of your spare time. Anybodyll hit you
up catches if you ask them.
Right, said Wilson, I will.
All right, then. Go, and tell Lee that
I want to see him.
Lee, said the Bishop, when that
worthy appeared, I wanted to see you,
to tell you youre playing for the House
against Websters. Thought you might
like to know.
By Jove, said Lee, am I really?
Yes. Buck up with your fielding.
Right, said Lee.
Thats all. If youre going
downstairs, you might tell Adams to
come up.
For a quarter of an hour the Bishop
interviewed the junior members of his
team, and impressed on each of them
the absolute necessity of bucking up
with his fielding. And each of them
protested that the matter should receive
his best consideration.
Well, theyre keen enough anyway,
said Marriott, as the door closed behind
Carstairs, the last of the new recruits,
and thats the great thing. Hullo,
whos that? I thought you had worked
through the lot. Come in!
A small form appeared in the
doorway, carrying in its right hand a
neatly-folded note.
Monk told me to give you this,
Gethryn.
Half a second, said the Bishop, as
the youth made for the door. There
may be an answer.
Monk said there wouldnt be one.
Oh. No, its all right. There isnt
an answer.
The door closed. The Bishop
laughed, and threw the note over to
Reece.
Recognize it?
Reece examined the paper.
Its a fair copy. The one Monk
 LEICESTERS HOUSE TEAM GOES INTO A SECOND EDITION
showed me was rather smudged. I
suppose they thought you might be hurt
if you got an inky round-robin.
Considerate chap, Monk.
Lets have a look, said Marriott.
By Jove. I say, listen to this bit. Like
Macaulay, isnt it?
He read extracts from the ultimatum.
Lets have it, said Gethryn,
stretching out a hand.
Not much. Im going to keep it, and
have it framed.
All right. Im going down now to
put up the list.
When he had returned to the study,
Monk and Danvers came quietly
downstairs to look at the notice-board.
It was dark in the passage, and Monk
had to strike a light before he could see
to read.
By George, he said, as the match
flared up, Reece was right. He has.
Well, theres one consolation,
commented Danvers viciously, they
cant possibly get that cup now. Theyll
have to put us in again soon, you see if
they dont.
M, yes, said Monk doubtfully.
NORRIS TAKES A
SHORT HOLIDAY
Its all rot, observed Pringle, to
say that they havent a chance, because
they have.
He and Lorimer were passing
through the cricket-field on their way
back from an early morning visit to the
baths, and had stopped to look at
Leicesters House team (revised
version) taking its daily hour of fielding
practice. They watched the
performance keenly and critically, as
spies in an enemys camp.
Who said they hadnt a chance?
said Lorimer. I didnt.
135
Oh, everybody. The chaps call
them the Kindergarten and the Kids
Happy League, and things of that sort.
Rot, I call it. They seem to forget that
you only want two or three really good
men in a team if the rest can field.
Look at our crowd. Theyve all either
got their colours, or else are just outside
the teams, and I swear you cant rely on
one of them to hold the merest sitter
right into his hands.
On the subject of fielding in general,
and catching in particular, Pringle was
feeling rather sore. In the match which
his House had just won against
Brownings, he had put himself on to
bowl in the second innings. He was one
of those bowlers who manage to capture
from six to ten wickets in the course of
a season, and the occasions on which he
bowled really well were few. On this
occasion he had bowled excellently, and
it had annoyed him when five catches,
five soft, gentle catches, were missed
off him in the course of four overs. As
he watched the crisp, clean fielding
which was shown by the very smallest
of Leicesters small tail, he felt that he
would rather have any of that despised
eight on his side than any of the School
House lights except Baynes and
Lorimer.
Our lots all right, really, said
Lorimer, in answer to Pringles
sweeping condemnation. Everybody
has his off days. Theyll be all right
next match.
Doubt it, replied Pringle. Its all
very well for you. You bowl to hit the
sticks. I dont. Now just watch these
kids for a moment. Now! Look! No,
he couldnt have got to that. Wait a
second. Now!
Gethryn had skied one into the deep.
Wilson, Burgess, and Carstairs all
started for it.
Burgess, called the Bishop.
136 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
The other two stopped dead.
Burgess ran on and made the catch.
Now, there you are, said Pringle,
pointing his moral, see how those two
kids stopped when Gethryn called. If
that had happened in one of our
matches, youd have had half a dozen
men rotting about underneath the ball,
and getting in one anothers way, and
then probably winding up by everybody
leaving the catch to everybody else.
Oh, come on, said Lorimer, youre
getting morbid. Why the dickens didnt
you think of having our fellows out for
fielding practice, if youre so keen on
it?
They wouldnt have come. When a
chap gets colours, he seems to think
hes bought the place. You cant drag a
Second Eleven man out of his bed
before breakfast to improve his
fielding. He thinks it cant be
improved. Theyre a heart-breaking
crew.
Good, said Lorimer, I suppose that
includes me?
No. Youre a model man. I have
seen you hold a catch now and then.
Thanks. Oh, I say, I gave in the
poem yesterday. I hope the deuce it
wont get the prize. I hope they wont
spot, either, that I didnt write the
thing.
Not a chance, said Pringle
complacently, youre all right. Dont
you worry yourself.
Websters, against whom Leicesters
had been drawn in the opening round of
the House matches, had three men in
their team, and only three, who knew
how to hold a bat. It was the slackest
House in the School, and always had
been. It did not cause any
overwhelming surprise, accordingly,
when Leicesters beat them without
fatigue by an innings and a hundred and
twenty-one runs. Websters won the
toss, and made thirty-five. For
Leicesters, Reece and Gethryn scored
fifty and sixty-two respectively, and
Marriott fifty-three not out. They then,
with two wickets down, declared, and
rattled Websters out for seventy. The
public, which had had its eye on the
team, in order to see how its tail was
likely to shape, was disappointed. The
only definite fact that could be gleaned
from the match was that the junior
members of the team were not to be
despised in the field. The early
morning field-outs had had their effect.
Adams especially shone, while Wilson
at cover and Burgess in the deep
recalled Jessop and Tyldesley.
The School made a note of the fact.
So did the Bishop. He summoned the
eight juniors seriatim to his study, and
administered much praise, coupled with
the news that fielding before breakfast
would go on as usual.
Leicesters had drawn against
Jephsons in the second round. Norriss
lot had beaten Cookes by, curiously
enough, almost exactly the same margin
as that by which Leicesters had
defeated Websters. It was generally
considered that this match would decide
Leicesters chances for the cup. If they
could beat a really hot team like
Jephsons, it was reasonable to suppose
that they would do the same to the rest
of the Houses, though the School House
would have to be reckoned with. But
the School House, as Pringle had
observed, was weak in the field. It was
not a coherent team. Individually its
members were good, but they did not
play together as Leicesters did.
But the majority of the School did
not think seriously of their chances.
Except for Pringle, who, as has been
mentioned before, always made a point
of thinking differently from everyone
else, no one really believed that they
 NORRIS TAKES A SHORT HOLIDAY
would win the cup, or even appear in
the final. How could a team whose tail
began at the fall of the second wicket
defeat teams which, like the School
House, had no real tail at all?
Norris supported this view. It was
for this reason that when, at breakfast
on the day on which Jephsons were
due to play Leicesters, he received an
invitation from one of his many uncles
to spend a weekend at his house, he
decided to accept it.
This uncle was a man of wealth.
After winning two fortunes on the Stock
Exchange and losing them both, he had
at length amassed a third, with which he
retired in triumph to the country,
leaving Throgmorton Street to exist as
best it could without him. He had
bought a show-place at a village
which lay twenty miles by rail to the
east of Beckford, and it had always
been Norriss wish to see this show-
place, a house which was said to
combine the hoariest of antiquity with a
variety of modern comforts.
Merely to pay a flying visit there
would be good. But his uncle held out
an additional attraction. If Norris could
catch the one-forty from Horton, he
would arrive just in time to take part in
a cricket match, that day being the day
of the annual encounter with the
neighbouring village of Pudford. The
rector of Pudford, the opposition
captain, so wrote Norriss uncle, had by
underhand means lured down three
really decent players from Oxfordnot
Blues, but almostwho had come to
the village ostensibly to read classics
with him as their coach, but in reality
for the sole purpose of snatching from
Little Bindlebury (his own village) the
laurels they had so nobly earned the
year before. He had heard that Norris
was captaining the Beckford team this
year, and had an average of thirty-eight
137
point nought three two, so would he
come and make thirty-eight point
nought three two for Little Bindlebury?
This, thought Norris, is Fame.
This is where I spread myself. I must
be in this at any price.
He showed the letter to Baker.
What a pity, said Baker.
Whats a pity?
That you wont be able to go. It
seems rather a catch.
Cant go? said Norris; my dear sir,
youre talking through your hat. Think
Im going to refuse an invitation like
this? Not if I know it. Im going to
toddle off to Jephson, get an exeat, and
catch that one-forty. And if I dont
paralyse the Pudford bowling, Ill shoot
myself.
But the House match! Leicesters!
This afternoon! gurgled the amazed
Baker.
Oh, hang Leicesters. Surely the
rest of you can lick the Kids Happy
League without my help. If you cant,
you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
Ive chosen you a wicket with my own
hands, fit to play a test match on.
Of course we ought to lick them.
But you can never tell at cricket whats
going to happen. We oughtnt to run
any risks when weve got such a good
chance of winning the pot. Why, its
centuries since we won the pot. Dont
you go.
I must, man. Its the chance of a
lifetime.
Baker tried another method of attack.
Besides, he said, you dont
suppose Jephsonll let you off to play in
a beastly little village game when
theres a House match on?
He must never know! hissed
Norris, after the manner of the Surrey-
side villain.
Hes certain to ask why you want to
get off so early.
138 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
I shall tell him my uncle particularly
wishes me to come early.
Suppose he asks why?
I shall say I cant possibly imagine.
Oh, well, if youre going to tell lies
Not at all. Merely a diplomatic
evasion. Im not bound to go and sob
out my secrets on Jephsons waistcoat.
Baker gave up the struggle with a
sniff. Norris went to Mr Jephson and
got leave to spend the week-end at his
uncles. The interview went without a
hitch, as Norris had prophesied.
You will miss the House match,
Norris, then? said Mr Jephson.
Im afraid so, sir. But Mr
Leicesters are very weak.
Hm. Reece, Marriott, and Gethryn
are a good beginning.
Yes, sir. But theyve got nobody
else. Their tail starts after those three.
Very well. But it seems a pity.
Thank you, sir, said Norris, wisely
refraining from discussing the matter.
He had got his exeat, which was what
he had come for.
In all the annals of Pudford and
Little Bindlebury cricket there had
never been such a match as that years.
The rector of Pudford and his three
Oxford experts performed prodigies
with the bat, prodigies, that is to say,
judged from the standpoint of ordinary
Pudford scoring, where double figures
were the exception rather than the rule.
The rector, an elderly, benevolent-
looking gentleman, played with
astounding caution and still more
remarkable luck for seventeen. Finally,
after he had been in an hour and ten
minutes, mid-on accepted the eighth
easy chance offered to him, and the
ecclesiastic had to retire. The three
Varsity men knocked up a hundred
between them, and the complete total
was no less than a hundred and thirty-
four.
Then came the sensation of the day.
After three wickets had fallen for ten
runs, Norris and the Little Bindlebury
curate, an old Cantab, stayed together
and knocked off the deficit.
Norriss contribution of seventy-
eight not out was for many a day the
sole topic of conversation over the
evening pewter at the Little Bindlebury
Arms. A non-enthusiast, who tried on
one occasion to introduce the topic of
Farmer Giless grey pig, found himself
the most unpopular man in the village.
On the Monday morning Norris
returned to Jephsons, with pride in his
heart and a sovereign in his pocket, the
latter the gift of his excellent uncle.
He had had, he freely admitted to
himself, a good time. His uncle had
done him well, exceedingly well, and he
looked forward to going to the show-
place again in the near future. In the
meantime he felt a languid desire to
know how the House match was going
on. They must almost have finished the
first innings, he thoughtunless
Jephsons had run up a very big score,
and kept their opponents in the field all
the afternoon.
Hullo, Baker, he said, tramping
breezily into the study, Ive had the
time of a lifetime. Great, simply! No
other word for it. Hows the match
getting on?
Baker looked up from the book he
was reading.
What match? he enquired coldly.
House match, of course, you
lunatic. What match did you think I
meant? Hows it going on?
Its not going on, said Baker, its
stopped.
You neednt be a funny goat, said
Norris complainingly. You know what
I mean. What happened on Saturday?
They won the toss, began Baker
 NORRIS TAKES A SHORT HOLIDAY
slowly.
Yes?
And went in and made a hundred
and twenty.
Good. I told you they were no use.
A hundred and twentys rotten.
Then we went in, and made twenty-
one.
Hundred and twenty-one.
No. Just a simple twenty-one
without any trimmings of any sort.
But, man! How? Why? How on
earth did it happen?
Gethryn took eight for nine. Does
that seem to make it any clearer?
Eight for nine? Rot.
Show you the score-sheet if you
care to see it. In the second innings
Oh, you began a second innings?
Yes. We also finished it. We
scored rather freely in the second
innings. Ten was on the board before
the fifth wicket fell. In the end we
fairly collared the bowling, and ran up a
total of forty-eight.
Norris took a seat, and tried to
grapple with the situation.
Forty-eight! Look here, Baker,
swear youre not ragging.
Baker took a green scoring-book
from the shelf and passed it to him.
Look for yourself, he said.
Norris looked. He looked long and
earnestly. Then he handed the book
back.
Then theyve won! he said blankly.
How do you guess these things?
observed Baker with some bitterness.
Well, you are a crew, said Norris.
Getting out for twenty-one and forty-
eight! I see Gethryn got nine for thirty
in the second innings. He seems to
have been on the spot. I suppose the
wicket suited him.
If you can call it a wicket. Next
time you specially select a pitch for the
House to play on, I wish youd hunt up
139
something with some slight pretensions
to decency.
Why, what was wrong with the
pitch? It was a bit worn, that was all.
If, said Baker, you call having
holes three inches deep just where every
ball pitches being a bit worn, I suppose
it was. Anyhow, it would have been
almost as well, dont you think, if youd
stopped and played for the House,
instead of going off to your rotten
village match? You were sick enough
when Gethryn went off in the M.C.C.
match.
Oh, curse, said Norris.
For he had been hoping against hope
that the parallel nature of the two
incidents would be less apparent to
other people than it was to himself.
And so it came about that Leicesters
passed successfully through the first
two rounds and soared into the dizzy
heights of the semi-final.
VERSUS CHARCHESTER
(AT CHARCHESTER)
From the fact that he had left his
team so basely in the lurch on the day
of an important match, a casual
observer might have imagined that
Norris did not really care very much
whether his House won the cup or not.
But this was not the case. In reality the
success of Jephsons was a very
important matter to him. A sudden
whim had induced him to accept his
uncles invitation, but now that that
acceptance had had such disastrous
results, he felt inclined to hire a sturdy
menial by the hour to kick him till he
felt better. To a person in such a frame
of mind there are three methods of
consolation. He can commit suicide, he
can take to drink, or he can occupy his
mind with other matters, and cure
140 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
himself by fixing his attention steadily
on some object, and devoting his whole
energies to the acquisition of the same.
Norris chose the last method. On the
Saturday week following his
performance for Little Bindlebury, the
Beckford Eleven was due to journey to
Charchester, to play the return match
against that school on their opponents
ground, and Norris resolved that that
match should be won. For the next
week the team practised assiduously,
those members of it who were not
playing in House matches spending
every afternoon at the nets. The
treatment was not without its effect.
The team had been a good one before.
Now every one of the eleven seemed to
be at the very summit of his powers.
New and hitherto unsuspected strokes
began to be developed, leg glances
which recalled the Hove and
Ranjitsinhji, late cuts of Palairetical
brilliance. In short, all Nature may be
said to have smiled, and by the end of
the week Norris was beginning to be
almost cheerful once more. And then,
on the Monday before the match,
Samuel Wilberforce Gosling came to
school with his right arm in a sling.
Norris met him at the School gates,
rubbed his eyes to see whether it was
not after all some horrid optical illusion,
and finally, when the stern truth came
home to him, almost swooned with
anguish.
What? How? Why? he enquired
lucidly.
The injured Samuel smiled feebly.
Im fearfully sorry, Norris, he said.
Dont say you cant play on than a nuisance. It was a staggerer.
Saturday, moaned Norris.
Frightfully sorry. I know its a bit
of a sickener. But I dont see how I
can, really. The doctor says I shant be
able to play for a couple of weeks.
Now that the blow had definitely
fallen, Norris was sufficiently himself
again to be able to enquire into the
matter.
How on earth did you do it? How
did it happen?
Gosling looked guiltier than ever.
It was on Saturday evening, he
said. We were ragging about at home
a bit, you know, and my young sister
wanted me to send her down a few
balls. Somebody had given her a
composition bean and a bat, and shes
been awfully keen on the game ever
since she got them.
I think its simply sickening the way
girls want to do everything we do, said
Norris disgustedly.
Gosling spoke for the defence.
Well, shes only thirteen. You cant
blame the kid. Seemed to me a jolly
healthy symptom. Laudable ambition
and that sort of thing.
Well?
Well, I sent down one or two. She
played em like a book. Bit inclined to
pull. All girls are. So I put in a long
hop on the off, and she let go at it like
Jessop. Shes got a rattling stroke in
mid-ons direction. Well, the bean
came whizzing back rather wide on the
right. I doubled across to bring off a
beefy c-and-b, and the bally thing took
me right on the tips of the fingers.
Those composition balls hurt like
blazes, I can tell you. Smashed my
second finger simply into hash, and I
couldnt grip a ball now to save my
life. Much less bowl. Im awfully
sorry. Its a shocking nuisance.
Norris agreed with him. It was more
Now that Gethryn no longer figured for
the First Eleven, Gosling was the
Schools one hope. Baynes was good
on his wicket, but the wickets he liked
were the sea-of-mud variety, and this
summer fine weather had set in early
 VERSUS CHARCHESTER (AT CHARCHESTER)
and continued. Lorimer was also
useful, but not to be mentioned in the
same breath as the great Samuel. The
former was good, the latter would be
good in a year or so. His proper sphere
of action was the tail. If the first pair of
bowlers could dismiss five good
batsmen, Lorimers fast, straight
deliveries usually accounted for the
rest. But there had to be somebody to
pave the way for him. He was
essentially a change bowler. It is hardly
to be wondered at that Norris very soon
began to think wistfully of the Bishop,
who was just now doing such great
things with the ball, wasting his
sweetness on the desert air of the House
matches. Would it be consistent with
his dignity to invite him back into the
team? It was a nice point. With some
persons there might be a risk. But
Gethryn, as he knew perfectly well, was
not the sort of fellow to rub in the
undeniable fact that the School team
could not get along without him. He
had half decided to ask him to play
against Charchester, when Gosling
suggested the very same thing.
Why dont you have Gethryn in
again? he said. Youve stood him out
against the O.B.s and the Masters.
Surely thats enough. Especially as
hes miles the best bowler in the
School.
Bar yourself.
Not a bit. He can give me points.
You take my tip and put him in again.
Think hed play if I put him down?
Because, you know, Im dashed if Im
going to do any grovelling and that sort
of thing.
Certain to, I should think. Anyhow,
its worth trying.
Pringle, on being consulted, gave the
same opinion, and Norris was
convinced. The list went up that
afternoon, and for the first time since
141
the M.C.C. match Gethryns name
appeared in its usual place.
Norris is learning wisdom in his old
age, said Marriott to the Bishop, as
they walked over to the House that
evening.
Leicesters were in the middle of
their semi-final, and looked like
winning it.
I was just wondering what to do
about it, said Gethryn. What would
you do? Play, do you think?
Play! My dear man, what else did
you propose to do? You werent
thinking of refusing?
I was.
But, man! Thats rank treason. If
youre put down to play for the School
you must play. Theres no question
about it. If Norris knocked you down
with one hand and put you up on the
board with the other, youd have to play
all the same. You mustnt have any
feelings where the School is concerned.
Nobodys ever refused to play in a first
match. Its one of the things you cant
do. Norris hasnt given you much of a
time lately, I admit. Still, you must
lump that. Excuse sermon. I hope its
done you good.
Very well. Ill play. Its rather rot,
though.
No, its all right, really. Its only
that youve got into a groove. Youre
so used to doing the heavy martyr, that
the sudden change has knocked you out
rather. Come and have an ice before
the shop shuts.
So Gethryn came once more into the
team, and travelled down to Charchester
with the others. And at this point a
painful alternative faces me. I have to
choose between truth and inclination. I
should like to say that the Bishop
eclipsed himself, and broke all previous
records in the Charchester match. By
the rules of the dramatic, nothing else is
142 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
possible. But truth, though it crush me,
and truth compels me to admit that his
performance was in reality distinctly
mediocre. One of his weak points as a
bowler was that he was at sea when
opposed to a left-hander. Many
bowlers have this failing. Some strange
power seems to compel them to bowl
solely on the leg side, and nothing but
long hops and full pitches. It was so in
the case of Gethryn. Charchester won
the toss, and batted first on a perfect
wicket. The first pair of batsmen were
the captain, a great bat, who had scored
seventy-three not out against Beckford
in the previous match, and a left-handed
fiend. Bayness leg-breaks were useless
on a wicket which, from the hardness of
it, might have been constructed of
asphalt, and the rubbish the Bishop
rolled up to the left-handed artiste was
painful to witness. At four oclock-
the match had started at half-past eleven
the Charchester captain reached his
century, and was almost immediately
stumped off Baynes. The Bishop
bowled the next man first ball, the one
bright spot in his afternoons
performance. Then came another long
stand, against which the Beckford
bowling raged in vain. At five oclock,
Charchester by that time having made
two hundred and forty-one for two
wickets, the left-hander ran into three
figures, and the captain promptly
declared the innings closed. Beckfords
only chance was to play for a draw, and
in this they succeeded. When stumps
were drawn at a quarter to seven, the
score was a hundred and three, and five
wickets were down. The Bishop had
the satisfaction of being not out with
twenty-eight to his credit, but nothing
less than a century would have been
sufficient to soothe him after his
shocking bowling performance.
Pringle, who during the luncheon
interval had encountered his young
friends the Ashbys, and had been duly
taunted by them on the subject of
leather-hunting, was top scorer with
forty-one. Norris, I regret to say, only
made three, running himself out in his
second over. As the misfortune could
not, by any stretch of imagination, be
laid at anybody elses door but his own,
he was decidedly savage. The team
returned to Beckford rather footsore,
very disgusted, and abnormally silent.
Norris sulked by himself at one end of
the saloon carriage, and the Bishop
sulked by himself at the other end, and
even Marriott forbore to treat the
situation lightly. It was a mournful
home-coming. No cheering wildly as
the brake drove to the College from
Horton, no shouting of the School song
in various keys as they passed through
the big gates. Simply silence. And
except when putting him on to bowl, or
taking him off, or moving him in the
field, Norris had not spoken a word to
the Bishop the whole afternoon.
It was shortly after this disaster that
Mr Mortimer Wells came to stay with
the Headmaster. Mr Mortimer Wells
was a brilliant and superior young man,
who was at some pains to be a cynic.
He was an old pupil of the Heads in the
days before he had succeeded to the
rule of Beckford. He had the reputation
of being a ripe scholar, and to him had
been deputed the task of judging the
poetical outbursts of the bards of the
Upper Fifth, with the object of
awarding to the most deservingor,
perhaps, to the least undeservingthe
handsome prize bequeathed by his
open-handed highness, the Rajah of
Seltzerpore.
This gentleman sat with his legs
stretched beneath the Headmasters
generous table. Dinner had come to an
end, and a cup of coffee, acting in co-
 VERSUS CHARCHESTER (AT CHARCHESTER) 143

operation with several glasses of port and fetch the manuscripts.

and an excellent cigar, had inspired him He left the room, and returned with a
to hold forth on the subject of poetry pile of paper, which he deposited in
prizes. He held forth. front of him on the table.
The poetry prize system, said he- Now, he said, selecting the topmost
it is astonishing what nonsense a man, manuscript, I will take no unfair
ordinarily intelligent, will talk after advantage. I will read you the very pick
dinneris on exactly the same of the bunch. None of the otherer-
principle as those penny-in-the-slot poems come within a long way of this.
machines that you see at stations. You It is a case of Eclipse first and the rest
insert your penny. You set your prize nowhere. The author, the gifted author,
subject. In the former case you hope is a boy of the name of Lorimer, whom
for wax vestas, and you get I congratulate on taking the Rajahs
butterscotch. In the latter, you hope for prize. I drain this cup of coffee to him.
something at least readable, and you get Are you ready? Now, then.
the most complete, terrible, uninspired He cleared his throat.
twaddle that was ever written on paper.
The boy mindhere the ash of his
cigar fell off on to his waistcoatthe A DISPUTED
merely boy mind is incapable of
poetry. AUTHORSHIP
From which speech the shrewd
One moment, said Mr Lawrie,
reader will infer that Mr Mortimer
might I ask what is the subject of the
Wells was something of a prig. And
poem?
perhaps, altogether shrewd reader,
Death of Dido, said the
youre right.
Headmaster. Good, hackneyed,
Mr Lawrie, the master of the Sixth,
evergreen subject, mellow with years.
who had been asked to dinner to meet
Go on, Wells.
the great man, disagreed as a matter of
Mr Wells began.
principle. He was one of those men
Queen of Tyre, ancient Tyre,
who will take up a cause from pure love
Whilom mistress of the wave.
of argument.
Mr Lawrie, who had sunk back into
I think youre wrong, sir. Im
the recesses of his chair in an attitude of
perfectly convinced youre wrong.
attentive repose, sat up suddenly with a
Mr Wells smiled in his superior way,
start.
as if to say that it was a pity that Mr
What! he cried.
Lawrie was so foolish, but that perhaps
Hullo, said Mr Wells, has the
he could not help it.
beauty of the work come home to you
Ah, he said, but you have not had
already?
to wade through over thirty of these
You notice, he said, as he repeated
gems in a single week. I have. I can
the couplet, that flaws begin to appear
assure you your views would undergo a
in the gem right from the start. It was
change if you could go through what I
rash of Master Lorimer to attempt such
have. Let me read you a selection. If
a difficult metre. Plucky, but rash. He
that does not convert you, nothing will.
should have stuck to blank verse. Tyre,
If you will excuse me for a moment,
you notice, two syllables to rhyme with
Beckett, I will leave the groaning board,
deny her in line three. What did
144 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
fortune eer deny her? Were not all her
warriors brave? That last line seems to
me distinctly weak. I dont know how
it strikes you.
Youre hypercritical, Wells, said
the Head. Now, for a boy I consider
that a very good beginning. What do
you say, Lawrie?
Ier. Oh, I think I am hardly a
judge.
To resume, said Mr Mortimer
Wells. He resumed, and ran through
the remaining verses of the poem with
comments. When he had finished, he
remarked that, in his opinion a whiff of
fresh air would not hurt him. If the
Headmaster would excuse him, he
would select another of those excellent
cigars, and smoke it out of doors.
By all means, said the Head; I
think I wont join you myself, but
perhaps Lawrie will.
No, thank you. I think I will
remain. Yes, I think I will remain.
Mr Wells walked jauntily out of the
room. When the door had shut, Mr
Lawrie coughed nervously.
Another cigar, Lawrie?
Ierno, thank you. I want to ask
you a question. What is your candid
opinion of those verses Mr Wells was
reading just now?
The Headmaster laughed.
I dont think Wells treated them
quite fairly. In my opinion they were
distinctly promising. For a boy in the
Upper Fifth, you understand. Yes, on
the whole they showed distinct
promise.
They were mine, said Mr Lawrie.
Yours! I dont understand. How
were they yours?
I wrote them. Every word of them.
You wrote them! But, my dear
Lawrie
I dont wonder that you are
surprised. For my own part I am
amazed, simply amazed. How the boy
I dont even remember his name-
contrived to get hold of them, I have not
the slightest conception. But that he did
so contrive is certain. The poem is
word for word, literally word for word,
the same as one which I wrote when I
was at Cambridge.
You
dont say so!
Yes. It can hardly be a
coincidence.
Hardly, said the Head. Are you
certain of this?
Perfectly certain. I am not eager to
claim the authorship, I can assure you,
especially after Mr Wellss very
outspoken criticisms, but there is
nothing else to be done. The poem
appeared more than a dozen years ago,
in a small book called The Dark Horse.
Ah! Something in the Whyte
Melville style, I suppose?
No, said Mr Lawrie sharply. No.
Certainly not. They were serious
poems, tragical most of them. I had
them collected, and published them at
my own expense. Very much at my
own expense. I used a pseudonym, I
am thankful to say. As far as I could
ascertain, the total sale amounted to
eight copies. I have never felt the very
slightest inclination to repeat the
performance. But how this boy
managed to see the book is more than I
can explain. He can hardly have bought
it. The price was half-a-guinea. And
there is certainly no copy in the School
library. The thing is a mystery.
A mystery that must be solved,
said the Headmaster. The fact remains
that he did see the book, and it is very
serious. Wholesale plagiarism of this
description should be kept for the
School magazine. It should not be
allowed to spread to poetry prizes. I
must see Lorimer about this tomorrow.
 A DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP
Perhaps he can throw some light upon
the matter.
When, in the course of morning
school next day, the School porter
entered the Upper Fifth form-room and
informed Mr Sims, who was engaged in
trying to drive the beauties of Plautus
colloquial style into the Upper Fifth
brain, that the Headmaster wished to
see Lorimer, Lorimers conscience was
so abnormally good that for the life of
him he could not think why he had been
sent for. As far as he could remember,
there was no possible way in which the
authorities could get at him. If he had
been in the habit of smoking out of
bounds in lonely fields and deserted
barns, he might have felt uneasy. But
whatever his failings, that was not one
of them. It could not be anything about
bounds, because he had been so busy
with cricket that he had had no time to
break them this term. He walked into
the presence, glowing with conscious
rectitude. And no sooner was he inside
than the Headmaster, with three simple
words, took every particle of starch out
of his anatomy.
Sit down, Lorimer, he said.
There are many ways of inviting a
person to seat himself. The genial take
a pew of ones equal inspires
confidence. The raucous sit down in
front of the frenzied pit, when you
stand up to get a better view of the
stage, is not so pleasant. But worst of
all is the icy sit down of the annoyed
headmaster. In his mouth the words
take to themselves new and sinister
meanings. They seem to accuse you of
nameless crimes, and to warn you that
anything you may say will be used
against you as evidence.
Why have I sent for you, Lorimer?
A nasty question that, and a very
favourite one of the Rev. Mr Beckett,
Headmaster of Beckford. In nine cases
145
out of ten, the person addressed,
paralysed with nervousness, would give
himself away upon the instant, and
confess everything. Lorimer, however,
was saved by the fact that he had
nothing to confess. He stifled an
inclination to reply because the
woodpecker would peck her, or words
to that effect, and maintained a pallid
silence.
Have you ever heard of a book
called The Dark Horse, Lorimer?
Lorimer began to feel that the
conversation was too deep for him.
After opening in the conventional
judge-then-placed-the-black-cap-on-
his-head manner, his assailant had
suddenly begun to babble lightly of
sporting literature. He began to
entertain doubts of the Headmasters
sanity. It would not have added greatly
to his mystification if the Head had
gone on to insist that he was the
Emperor of Peru, and worked solely by
electricity.
The Headmaster, for his part, was
also surprised. He had worked for
dismay, conscious guilt, confessions,
and the like, instead of blank
amazement. He, too, began to have his
doubts. Had Mr Lawrie been
mistaken? It was not likely, but it was
barely possible. In which case the
interview had better be brought to an
abrupt stop until he had made inquiries.
The situation was at a deadlock.
Fortunately at this point half-past
twelve struck, and the bell rang for the
end of morning school. The situation
was saved, and the tension relaxed.
You may go, Lorimer, said the
Head, I will send for you later.
He swept out of the room, and
Lorimer raced over to the House to
inform Pringle that the Headmaster had
run suddenly mad, and should by rights
be equipped with a strait-waistcoat.
146 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
You never saw such a man, he
said, hauled me out of school in the
middle of a Plautus lesson, dumps me
down in a chair, and then asks me if
Ive read some weird sporting novel or
other.
Sporting novel! My dear man!
Well, it sounded like it from the
title.
The title. Oh!
Whats up?
Pringle had leaped to his feet as if he
had suddenly discovered that he was
sitting on something red-hot. His
normal air of superior calm had
vanished. He was breathless with
excitement. A sudden idea had struck
him with the force of a bullet.
What was the title he asked you if
youd read the book of? he demanded
incoherently.
The Derby Winner.
Pringle sat down again, relieved.
Oh. Are you certain?
No, of course it wasnt that. I was
only ragging. The real title was The
Dark Horse. Hullo, whats up now?
Have you got em too?
Whats up? Ill tell you. Were
done for. Absolutely pipped. Thats
whats the matter.
Hang it, man, do give us a chance.
Why cant you explain, instead of
sitting there talking like that? Why are
we done? What have we done,
anyway?
The poem, of course, the prize
poem. I forgot, I never told you. I
hadnt time to write anything of my
own, so I cribbed it straight out of a
book called The Dark Horse. Now do
you see?
Lorimer saw. He grasped the whole
unpainted beauty of the situation in a
flash, and for some moments it rendered
him totally unfit for intellectual
conversation. When he did speak his
observation was brief, but it teemed
with condensed meaning. It was the
conversational parallel to the ox in the
tea-cup.
My aunt! he said.
Therell be a row about this, said
Pringle.
What am I to say when he has me in
this afternoon? He said he would.
Let the whole thing out. No good
trying to hush it up. He may let us
down easy if youre honest about it.
It relieved Lorimer to hear Pringle
talk about us. It meant that he was not
to be left to bear the assault alone.
Which, considering that the whole
trouble was, strictly speaking, Pringles
fault, was only just.
But how am I to explain? I cant
reel off a long yarn all about how you
did it all, and so on. It would be too
low.
I know, said Pringle, Ive got it.
Look here, on your way to the Old
Mans room you pass the Remove
door. Well, when you pass, drop some
money. Ill be certain to hear it, as I sit
next the door. And then Ill ask to leave
the room, and well go up together.
Good man, Pringle, youre a
genius. Thanks, awfully.
But as it happened, this crafty
scheme was not found necessary. The
blow did not fall till after lock-up.
Lorimer being in the Headmasters
House, it was possible to interview him
without the fuss and advertisement
inseparable from a sending for during
school. Just as he was beginning his
night-work, the butler came with a
message that he was wanted in the
Headmasters part of the House.
It was only Mr Lorimer as the
master wished to see, said the butler, as
Pringle rose to accompany his
companion in crime.
Thats all right, said Pringle, the
 A DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP
Headmasters always glad to see me.
Ive got a standing invitation. Hell
understand.
At first, when he saw two where he
had only sent for one, the Headmaster
did not understand at all, and said so.
He had prepared to annihilate Lorimer
hip and thigh, for he was now
convinced that his blank astonishment
at the mention of The Dark Horse
during their previous interview had
been, in the words of the bard, a mere
veneer, a wile of guile. Since the
morning he had seen Mr Lawrie again,
and had with his own eyes compared
the two poems, the printed and the
written, the author by special request
having hunted up a copy of that
valuable work, The Dark Horse, from
the depths of a cupboard in his rooms.
His astonishment melted before
Pringles explanation, which was brief
and clear, and gave way to righteous
wrath. In well-chosen terms he
harangued the two criminals. Finally he
perorated.
There is only one point which tells
in your favour. You have not attempted
concealment. (Pringle nudged Lorimer
surreptitiously at this.) And I may add
that I believe that, as you say, you did
not desire actually to win the prize by
underhand means. But I cannot
overlook such an offence. It is serious.
Most serious. You will, both of you, go
into extra lesson for the remaining
Saturdays of the term.
Extra lesson meant that instead of
taking a half-holiday on Saturday like
an ordinary law-abiding individual, you
treated the day as if it were a full-school
day, and worked from two till four
under the eye of the Headmaster.
Taking into consideration everything,
the punishment was not an
extraordinarily severe one, for there
were only two more Saturdays to the
147
end of term, and the sentence made no
mention of the Wednesday half-
holidays.
But in effect it was serious indeed.
It meant that neither Pringle nor
Lorimer would be able to play in the
final House match against Leicesters,
which was fixed to begin on the next
Saturday at two oclock. Among the
rules governing the House matches was
one to the effect that no House might
start a match with less than eleven men,
nor might the Eleven be changed during
the progress of the matcha rule
framed by the Headmaster, not wholly
without an eye to emergencies like the
present.
Thank goodness, said Pringle, that
there arent any more First matches.
Its bad enough, though, by Jove, as it
is. I suppose its occurred to you that
this cuts us out of playing in the final?
Lorimer said the point had not
escaped his notice.
I wish, he observed, with simple
pathos, that Id got the Rajah of
Seltzerpore here now. Id strangle him.
I wonder if the Old Man realizes that
hes done his own House out of the
cup?
Wouldnt care if he did. Still, its a
sickening nuisance. Leicesters are a
cert now.
Absolute cert, said Lorimer;
Baynes cant do all the bowling,
especially on a hard wicket, and theres
nobody else. As for our batting and
fielding
Dont, said-Pringle gloomily, its
too awful.
On the following Saturday,
Leicesters ran up a total in their first
innings which put the issue out of
doubt, and finished off the game on the
Monday by beating the School House
by six wickets.
148 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
THE WINTER TERM
It was the first day of the winter
term.
The Bishop, as he came back by
express, could not help feeling that,
after all, life considered as an institution
had its points. Things had mended
steadily during the last weeks of the
term. He had kept up his end as head of
the House perfectly. The internal
affairs of Leicesters were going as
smoothly as oil. And there was the
cricket cup to live up to. Nothing pulls
a House together more than beating all
comers in the field, especially against
odds, as Leicesters had done. And
then Monk and Danvers had left. That
had set the finishing touch to a good
terms work. The Mob were no longer
a power in the land. Waterford
remained, but a subdued, benevolent
Waterford, with a wonderful respect for
law and order. Yes, as far as the House
was concerned, Gethryn felt no
apprehensions. As regarded the School
at large, things were bound to come
right in time. A school has very little
memory. And in the present case the
Bishop, being second man in the
Fifteen, had unusual opportunities of
righting himself in the eyes of the
multitude. In the winter term cricket is
forgotten. Football is the only game
that counts.
And to round off the whole thing,
when he entered his study he found a
letter on the table. It was from Farnie,
and revealed two curious and
interesting facts. Firstly he had left, and
Beckford was to know him no more.
Secondlythis was even more
remarkablehe possessed a following evening.
conscience.
Dear Gethryn, ran the letter, I am
writing to tell you my father is sending
me to a school in France, so I shall not
come back to Beckford. I am sorry
about the M.C.C. match, and I enclose
the four pounds you lent me. I utterly
bar the idea of going to France. Its
beastly, yours truly, R. Farnie.
The money mentioned was in the
shape of a cheque, signed by Farnie
senior.
Gethryn was distinctly surprised.
That all this time remorse like a worm i
the bud should have been feeding upon
his uncles damask cheek, as it were, he
had never suspected. His relatives
demeanour since the M.C.C. match had,
it is true, been considerably toned
down, but this he had attributed to
natural causes, not unnatural ones like
conscience. As for the four pounds, he
had set it down as a bad debt. To get it
back was like coming suddenly into an
unexpected fortune. He began to think
that there must have been some good in
Farnie after all, though he was fain to
admit that without the aid of a
microscope the human eye might well
have been excused for failing to detect
it.
His next thought was that there was
nothing now to prevent him telling the
whole story to Reece and Marriott.
Reece, if anybody, deserved to have his
curiosity satisfied. The way in which
he had abstained from questions at the
time of the episode had been nothing
short of magnificent. Reece must
certainly be told.
Neither Reece nor Marriott had
arrived at the moment. Both were in
the habit of returning at the latest
possible hour, except at the beginning
of the summer term. The Bishop
determined to reserve his story until the
Accordingly, when the study kettle
was hissing on the Etna, and Wilson
was crouching in front of the fire,
making toast in his own inimitable
 THE WINTER TERM
style, he embarked upon his narrative.
I say, Marriott.
Hullo.
Do you notice a subtle change in me
this term? Does my expressive purple
eye gleam more brightly than of yore?
It does. Exactly so. I feel awfully
bucked up. You know that kid Farnie
has left?
I thought I missed his merry prattle.
Whats happened to him?
Gone to a school in France
somewhere.
Jolly for France.
Awfully. But the point is that now
hes gone I can tell you about that
M.C.C. match affair. I know you want
to hear what really did happen that
afternoon.
Marriott pointed significantly at
Wilson, whose back was turned.
Oh, thats all right, said Gethryn.
Wilson.
Yes?
You mustnt listen. Try and think
youre a piece of furniture. See? And
if you do happen to overhear anything,
you neednt go gassing about it.
Follow?
All right, said Wilson, and Gethryn
told his tale.
Jove, he said, as he finished, thats
a relief. Its something to have got that
off my chest. I do bar keeping a secret.
But, I say, said Marriott.
Well?
Well, it was beastly good of you to
do it, and that sort of thing, I suppose. I
see that all right. But, my dear man,
what a rotten thing to do. A kid like
that. A little beast who simply cried out
for sacking.
Well, at any rate, its over now.
You neednt jump on me. I acted from
the best motives. Thats what my
grandfather, Farnies pater, you know,
always used to say when he got at me
149
for anything in the happy days of my
childhood. Dont sit there looking like
a beastly churchwarden, you ass. Buck
up, and take an intelligent interest in
things.
No, but really, Bishop, said
Marriott, you must treat this seriously.
Youll have to let the other chaps know
about it.
How? Put it up on the notice-
board? This is to certify that Mr Allan
Gethryn, of Leicesters House,
Beckford, is dismissed without a stain
on his character. You ass, how can I let
them know? I seem to see myself doing
the boy-hero style of things. My
friends, you wronged me, you wronged
me very grievously. But I forgive you.
I put up with your cruel scorn. I
endured it. I steeled myself against it.
And now I forgive you profusely, every
one of you. Let us embrace. It
wouldnt do. You must see that much.
Dont be a goat. Is that toast done yet,
Wilson?
Wilson exhibited several pounds of
the article in question.
Good, said the Bishop. Youre a
great man, Wilson. You can make a
small selection of those biscuits, and if
you bag all the sugar ones Ill slay you,
and then you can go quietly downstairs,
and rejoin your sorrowing friends. And
dont you go telling them what Ive
been saying.
Rather not, said Wilson.
He made his small selection, and
retired. The Bishop turned to Marriott
again.
I shall tell Reece, because he
deserves it, and I rather think I shall tell
Gosling and Pringle. Nobody else,
though. Whats the good of it?
Everybodyll forget the whole thing by
next season.
How about Norris? asked Marriott.
Now there you have touched the
150 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
spot. I cant possibly tell Norris
myself. My natural pride is too
enormous. Descended from
primordial atomic globule, you know,
like Pooh Bah. And I shook hands with
a duke once. The man Norris and I, I
regret to say, had something of a row on
the subject last term. We parted with
mutual expressions of hate, and havent
spoken since. What I should like would
be for somebody else to tell him all
about it. Not you. It would look too
much like a put-up job. So dont you
go saying anything. Swear.
Why not?
Because you mustnt. Swear. Let
me hear you swear by the bones of your
ancestors.
All right. I call it awful rot,
though.
Cant be helped. Painful but
necessary. Now Im going to tell
Reece, though I dont expect hell
remember anything about it. Reece
never remembers anything beyond his
last meal.
Idiot, said Marriott after him as the
door closed. I dont know, though, he
added to himself.
And, pouring himself out another
cup of tea, he pondered deeply over the
matter.
Reece heard the news without
emotion.
Youre a good sort, Bishop, he
said, I knew something of the kind
must have happened. It reminds me of
a thing that happened to
Yes, it is rather like it, isnt it? said
the Bishop. By the way, talking about
stories, a chap I met in the holidays told
me a ripper. You see, this chap and his
brother
He discoursed fluently for some
twenty minutes. Reece sighed softly,
but made no attempt to resume his
broken narrative. He was used to this
sort of thing.
It was a fortnight later, and Marriott
a and the Bishop were once more seated
in their study waiting for Wilson to get
tea ready. Wilson made toast in the
foreground. Marriott was in football
clothes, rubbing his shin gently where
somebody had kicked it in the scratch
game that afternoon. After rubbing for
a few moments in silence, he spoke
suddenly.
You must tell Norris, he said. Its
all rot.
I cant.
Then I shall.
No, dont. You swore you
wouldnt.
Well, but look here. I just want to
ask you one question. What sort of a
time did you have in that scratch game
tonight?
Beastly. I touched the ball exactly
four times. If I wasnt so awfully
ornamental, I dont see what would be
the use of my turning out at all. Im no
practical good to the team.
Exactly. Thats just what I wanted
to get at. I dont mean your remark
about your being ornamental, but about
your never touching the ball. Until you
explain matters to Norris, you never
will get a decent pass. Norris and you
are a rattling good pair of centre threes,
but if he never gives you a pass, I dont
see how we can expect to have any
combination in the First. Its no good
my slinging out the ball if the centres
stick to it like glue directly they get it,
and refuse to give it up. Its simply
sickening.
Marriott played half for the First
Fifteen, and his soul was in the
business.
But, my dear chap, said Gethryn,
you dont mean to tell me that a man
like Norris would purposely rot up the
Firsts combination because he
 THE WINTER TERM
happened to have had a row with the
other centre. Hes much too decent a
fellow.
No. I dont mean that exactly.
What he does is this. Ive watched
him. He gets the ball. He runs with it
till his man is on him, and then he
thinks of passing. Youre backing him
up. He sees you, and says to himself, I
cant pass to that cad
Meaning me?
Meaning you.
Thanks awfully.
Dont mention it. Im merely
quoting his thoughts, as deduced by
me. He says, I cant pass to that-
well, individual, if you prefer it.
Wheres somebody else? So he
hesitates, and gets tackled, or else slings
the ball wildly out to somebody who
cant possibly get to it. Its simply
infernal. And we play the Nomads
tomorrow, too. Something must be
done.
Somebody ought to tell him. Why
doesnt our genial skipper assert his
authority?
Hills a forward, you see, and
doesnt get an opportunity of noticing
it. I cant tell him, of course. Ive not
got my colours
Youre a cert. for them.
Hope so. Anyway, Ive not got
them yet, and Norris has, so I cant very
well go slanging him to Hill. Sort of
thing rude people would call side.
Well, Ill look out tomorrow, and if
its as bad as you think, Ill speak to
Hill. Its a beastly thing to have to do.
Beastly, agreed Marriott. Its got
to be done, though. We cant go
through the season without any
combination in the three-quarter line,
just to spare Norriss feelings.
Its a pity, though, said the Bishop,
because Norris is a ripping good sort of
chap, really. I wish we hadnt had that
151
bust-up last term.
THE BISHOP SCORES
At this point Wilson finished the
toast, and went out. As he went he
thought over what he had just heard.
Marriott and Gethryn frequently talked
the most important School politics
before him, for they had discovered at
an early date that he was a youth of
discretion, who could be trusted not to
reveal state secrets. But matters now
seemed to demand such a revelation. It
was a serious thing to do, but there was
nobody else to do it, and it obviously
must be done, so, by a simple process of
reasoning, he ought to do it. Half an
hour had to elapse before the bell rang
for lock-up. There was plenty of time
to do the whole thing and get back to
the House before the door was closed.
He took his cap, and trotted off to
Jephsons.
Norris was alone in his study when
Wilson knocked at the door. He
seemed surprised to see his visitor. He
knew Wilson well by sight, he being
captain of the First Eleven and Wilson a
distinctly promising junior bat, but this
was the first time he had ever
exchanged a word of conversation with
him.
Hullo, he said, putting down his
book.
Oh, I say, Norris, began Wilson
nervously, can I speak to you for a
minute?
All right. Go ahead.
After two false starts, Wilson at last
managed to get the thread of his story.
He did not mention Marriotts remarks
on football subjects, but confined
himself to the story of Farnie and the
bicycle ride, as he had heard it from
Gethryn on the second evening of the
152 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
term.
So thats how it was, you see, he
concluded.
There was a long silence. Wilson sat
nervously on the edge of his chair, and
Norris stared thoughtfully into the fire.
So shall I tell him its all right?
asked Wilson at last.
Tell who whats all right? asked
Norris politely.
Oh, er, Gethryn, you know, replied
Wilson, slightly disconcerted. He had
had a sort of idea that Norris would
have rushed out of the room, sprinted
over to Leicesters, and flung himself
on the Bishops bosom in an agony of
remorse. He appeared to be taking
things altogether too coolly.
No, said Norris, dont tell him pushed the School pack towards their
anything. I shall have lots of chances of
speaking to him myself if I want to. It
isnt as if we were never going to meet
again. Youd better cut now. Theres
the bell just going. Good night.
Good night, Norris.
Oh, and, I say, said Norris, as
Wilson opened the door, I meant to tell
you some time ago. If you buck up next
cricket season, its quite possible that
youll get colours of some sort. You
might bear that in mind.
I will, said Wilson fervently.
Good night, Norris. Thanks awfully.
The Nomads brought down a
reasonably hot team against Beckford
as a general rule, for the School had a
reputation in the football world. They
were a big lot this year. Their forwards
looked capable, and when, after the
School full-back had returned the ball
into touch on the half-way line, the line-
out had resulted in a hand-ball and a
scrum, they proved that appearances
were not deceptive. They broke
through in a solid massthe Beckford
forwards never somehow seemed to get
together properly in the first scrum of a
big matchand rushed the ball down
the field. Norris fell on it. Another
hastily-formed scrum, and the Nomads
front rank was off again. Ten yards
nearer the School line there was another
halt. Grainger, the Beckford full-back,
whose speciality was the stopping of
rushes, had curled himself neatly round
the ball. Then the School forwards
awoke to a sense of their
responsibilities. It was time they did,
for Beckford was now penned up well
within its own twenty-five line, and the
Nomad halves were appealing
pathetically to their forwards to let that
ball out, for goodness sake. But the
forwards fancied a combined rush was
the thing to play. For a full minute they
line, and then some rash enthusiast
kicked a shade too hard. The ball
dribbled out of the scrum on the School
side, and Marriott punted into touch.
You must let it out, you men, said
the aggrieved half-backs.
Marriotts kick had not brought
much relief. The visitors were still
inside the Beckford twenty-five line,
and now that their forwards had realized
the sin and folly of trying to rush the
ball through, matters became decidedly
warm for the School outsides. Norris
and Gethryn in the centre and Grainger
at back performed prodigies of
tackling. The wing three-quarter
hovered nervously about, feeling that
their time might come at any moment.
The Nomad attack was concentrated
on the extreme right.
Philips, the International, was
officiating for them as wing-three-
quarters on that side, and they played to
him. If he once got the ball he would
take a considerable amount of stopping.
But the ball never managed to arrive.
Norris and Gethryn stuck to their men
closer than brothers.
 THE BISHOP SCORES
A prolonged struggle on the goal-
line is a great spectacle. That is why
(purely in the opinion of the present
scribe) Rugby is such a much better
game than Association. You dont get
that sort of thing in Soccer. But such
struggles generally end in the same
way. The Nomads were now within a
couple of yards of the School line. It
was a question of time. In three
minutes the whistle would blow for
half-time, and the School would be
saved.
But in those three minutes the thing
happened. For the first time in the
match the Nomad forwards heeled
absolutely cleanly. Hitherto, the ball
had always remained long enough in the
scrum to give Marriott and Wogan, the
School halves, time to get round and on
to their men before they could become
dangerous. But this time the ball was in
and out again in a moment. The Nomad
half who was taking the scrum picked it
up, and was over the line before
Marriott realized that the ball was out at
all. The school lining the ropes along
the touch-line applauded politely but
feebly, as was their custom when the
enemy scored.
The kick was a difficult onethe
man had got over in the cornerand
failed. The referee blew his whistle for
half-time. The teams sucked lemons,
and the Beckford forwards tried to
explain to Hill, the captain, why they
never got that ball in the scrums. Hill
having observed bitterly, as he did in
every match when the School did not
get thirty points in the first half, that he
would chuck the whole lot of them out
next Saturday, the game recommenced.
Beckford started on the second half
with three points against them, but with
both wind, what there was of it, and
slope in their favour. Three points,
especially in a club match, where ones
153
opponents may reasonably be expected
to suffer from lack of training and
combination, is not an overwhelming
score.
Beckford was hopeful and
determined.
To record all the fluctuations of the
game for the next thirty-five minutes is
unnecessary. Copies of The
Beckfordian containing a full report,
crammed with details, and written in the
most polished English, may still be had
from the editor at the modest price of
sixpence. Suffice it to say that two
minutes from the kick-off the Nomads
increased their score with a goal from a
mark, and almost immediately
afterwards Marriott gave the School
their first score with a neat drop-kick.
It was about five minutes from the end
of the game, and the Nomads still led,
when the event of the afternoon took
place. The Nomad forwards had
brought the ball down the ground with
one of their combined dribbles, and a
scrum had been formed on the Beckford
twenty-five line. The visitors heeled as
usual. The half who was taking the
scrum whipped the ball out in the
direction of his colleague. But before it
could reach him, Wogan had
intercepted the pass, and was off down
the field, through the enemys three-
quarter line, with only the back in front
of him, and with Norris in close
attendance, followed by Gethryn.
There is nothing like an intercepted
pass for adding a dramatic touch to a
close game. A second before it had
seemed as though the School must be
beaten, for though they would probably
have kept the enemy out for the few
minutes that remained, they could never
have worked the ball down the field by
ordinary give-and-take play. And now,
unless Wogan shamefully bungled what
he had begun so well, victory was
154 A PREFECT'S UNCLE
certain.
There was a danger, though. Wogan
might in the excitement of the moment
try to get past the back and score
himself, instead of waiting until the
back was on him and then passing to
Norris. The School on the touch-line
shrieked their applause, but there was a
note of anxiety as well. A slight
reputation which Wogan had earned for
playing a selfish game sprang up before
their eyes. Would he pass? Or would
he run himself? If the latter, the odds
were anything against his succeeding.
But everything went right. Wogan
arrived at the back, drew that
gentlemans undivided attention to
himself, and then slung the ball out to
Norris, the model of what a pass ought
to be. Norris made no mistake about it.
Then the remarkable thing
happened. The Bishop, having backed
Norris up for fifty yards at full speed,
could not stop himself at once. His
impetus carried him on when all need
for expenditure of energy had come to
an end. He was just slowing down,
leaving Norris to complete the thing
alone, when to his utter amazement he
found the ball in his hands. Norris had
passed to him. With a clear run in, and
the nearest foeman yards to the rear,
Norris had passed. It was certainly
weird, but his first duty was to score.
There must be no mistake about the
scoring. Afterwards he could do any
thinking that might be required. He
shot at express speed over the line, and
placed the ball in the exact centre of the
white line which joined the posts. Then
he walked back to where Norris was
waiting for him.
Good man, said Norris, that was fit. But then a study brew loses half its
awfully good.
His tone was friendly. He spoke as
he had been accustomed to speak before
the M.C.C. match. Gethryn took his
cue from him. It was evident that, for
reasons at present unexplained, Norris
wished for peace, and such being the
case, the Bishop was only too glad to
oblige him.
No, he said, it was jolly good of
you to let me in like that. Why, youd
only got to walk over.
Oh, I dont know. I might have
slipped or something. Anyhow I
thought Id better pass. What price
Beckford combination? The home-
made article, eh?
Rather, said the Bishop.
Oh, by the way, said Norris, I was
talking to young Wilson yesterday
evening. Or rather he was talking to
me. Decent kid, isnt he? He was
telling me about Farnie. The M.C.C.
match, you know, and so on.
Oh! said the Bishop. He began to
see how things had happened.
Yes, said Norris. Hullo, that gives
us the game.
A roar of applause from the touch-
line greeted the successful attempt of
Hill to convert Gethryns try into the
necessary goal. The referee performed
a solo on the whistle, and immediately
afterwards another, as if as an encore.
No side, he said pensively. The
School had won by two points.
Thats all right, said Norris. I say,
can you come and have tea in my study
when youve changed? Some of the
fellows are coming. Ive asked Reece
and Marriott, and Pringle said hed turn
up too. Itll be rather a tight fit, but
well manage somehow.
Right, said the Bishop. Thanks
very much.
Norris was correct. It was a tight
charm if there is room to breathe. It
was a most enjoyable ceremony in
every way. After the serious part of the
meal was over, and the time had arrived
 THE BISHOP SCORES 155

when it was found pleasanter to eat
wafer biscuits than muffins, the Bishop
obliged once more with a recital of his
adventures on that distant day in the
summer term.
There were several comments when
he had finished. The only one worth
recording is Reeces.
Reece said it distinctly reminded him
of a thing which had happened to a
friend of a chap his brother had known
at Sandhurst.
156 THE GOLD BAT

THE GOLD BAT

by P. G. Wodehouse
1904
 THE GOLD BAT 157

[Dedication]
To
THAT PRINCE OF SLACKERS,
HERBERT WESTBROOK
158 THE GOLD BAT

CONTENTS
I THE FIFTEENTH PLACE
II THE GOLD BAT
III THE MAYORS STATUE
IV THE LEAGUES WARNING
V MILL RECEIVES VISITORS
VI TREVOR REMAINS FIRM
VII WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE LEAGUE
VIII OHARA ON THE TRACK
IX MAINLY ABOUT FERRETS
X BEING A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
XI THE HOUSE-MATCHES
XII NEWS OF THE GOLD BAT
XIII VICTIM NUMBER THREE
XIV THE WHITE FIGURE
XV A SPRAIN AND A VACANT PLACE
XVI THE RIPTON MATCH
XVII THE WATCHERS IN THE VAULT
XVIII OHARA EXCELS HIMSELF
XIX THE MAYORS VISIT
XX THE FINDING OF THE BAT
XXI THE LEAGUE REVEALED
XXII A DRESS REHEARSAL
XXIII WHAT RENFORD SAW
XXIV CONCLUSION
 THE FIFTEENTH PLACE
THE FIFTEENTH PLACE
Outside!
Dont be an idiot, man. I bagged it
first.
My dear chap, Ive been waiting
here a month.
When you fellows have quite
finished rotting about in front of that
bath dont let me detain you.
Anybody seen that sponge?
Well, look herethis in a tone of
compromiselets toss for it.
All right. Odd man out.
All of which, being interpreted,
meant that the first match of the Easter
term had just come to an end, and that
those of the team who, being day boys,
changed over at the pavilion, instead of
performing the operation at leisure and
in comfort, as did the members of
houses, were discussing the vital
questionwho was to have first bath?
The Field Sports Committee at
Wrykynthat is, at the school which
stood some half-mile outside that town
and took its name from itwere not
lavish in their expenditure as regarded
the changing accommodation in the
pavilion. Letters appeared in every
second number of the Wrykinian, some
short, others long, some from members
of the school, others from Old Boys, all
protesting against the condition of the
first, second, and third fifteen dressing-
rooms. Indignant would inquire
acidly, in half a page of small type, if
the editor happened to be aware that
there was no hair-brush in the second
room, and only half a comb.
Disgusted O. W. would remark that
when he came down with the
Wandering Zphyrs to play against the
third fifteen, the water supply had
suddenly and mysteriously failed, and
the W.Z.s had been obliged to go home
as they were, in a state of primeval
159
grime, and he thought that this was a
very bad thing in a school of over six
hundred boys, though what the number
of boys had to do with the fact that
there was no water he omitted to
explain. The editor would express his
regret in brackets, and things would go
on as before.
There was only one bath in the first
fifteen room, and there were on the
present occasion six claimants to it.
And each claimant was of the fixed
opinion that, whatever happened
subsequently, he was going to have it
first. Finally, on the suggestion of
Otway, who had reduced tossing to a
fine art, a mystic game of Tommy Dodd
was played. Otway having
triumphantly obtained first innings, the
conversation reverted to the subject of
the match.
The Easter term always opened with
a scratch game against a mixed team of
masters and old boys, and the school
usually won without any great exertion.
On this occasion the match had been
rather more even than the average, and
the team had only just pulled the thing
off by a couple of tries to a goal.
Otway expressed an opinion that the
school had played badly.
Why on earth dont you forwards
let the ball out occasionally? he asked.
Otway was one of the first fifteen
halves.
They were so jolly heavy in the
scrum, said Maurice, one of the
forwards. And when we did let it out,
the outsides nearly always mucked it.
Well, it wasnt the halves fault.
We always got it out to the centres.
It wasnt the centres, put in
Robinson. They played awfully well.
Trevor was ripping.
Trevor always is, said Otway; I
should think hes about the best captain
weve had here for a long time. Hes
160 THE GOLD BAT
certainly one of the best centres.
Best theres been since Rivers-
Jones, said Clephane.
Rivers-Jones was one of those
players who mark an epoch. He had
been in the team fifteen years ago, and
had left Wrykyn to captain Cambridge
and play three years in succession for
Wales. The school regarded the
standard set by him as one that did not
admit of comparison. However good a
Wrykyn centre three-quarter might be,
the most he could hope to be considered
was the best since Rivers-Jones.
Since Rivers-Jones, however, covered
fifteen years, and to be looked on as the
best centre the school could boast of
during that time, meant something. For
Wrykyn knew how to play football.
Since it had been decided thus that
the faults in the school attack did not lie
with the halves, forwards, or centres, it
was more or less evident that they must
be attributable to the wings. And the
search for the weak spot was even
further narrowed down by the general
verdict that Clowes, on the left wing,
had played well. With a beautiful
unanimity the six occupants of the first
fifteen room came to the conclusion that
the man who had let the team down that
day had been the man on the right-
Rand-Brown, to wit, of Seymours.
Ill bet he doesnt stay in the first
long, said Clephane, who was now in
the bath, vice Otway, retired. I
suppose they had to try him, as he was
the senior wing three-quarter of the
second, but hes no earthly good.
He only got into the second because
hes big, was Robinsons opinion. A
man whos big and strong can always
get his second colours.
Even if hes a funk, like Rand-
Brown, said Clephane. Did any of
you chaps notice the way he let Paget
through that time he scored for them?
He simply didnt attempt to tackle him.
He could have brought him down like a
shot if hed only gone for him. Paget
was running straight along the touch-
line, and hadnt any room to dodge. I
know Trevor was jolly sick about it.
And then he let him through once
before in just the same way in the first
half, only Trevor got round and stopped
him. He was rank.
Missed every other pass, too, said
Otway.
Clephane summed up.
He was rank, he said again.
Trevor wont keep him in the team
long.
I wish Paget hadnt left, said
Otway, referring to the wing three-
quarter who, by leaving unexpectedly at
the end of the Christmas term, had let
Rand-Brown into the team. His loss
was likely to be felt. Up till Christmas
Wrykyn had done well, and Paget had
been their scoring man. Rand-Brown
had occupied a similar position in the
second fifteen. He was big and speedy,
and in second fifteen matches these
qualities make up for a great deal. If a
man scores one or two tries in nearly
every match, people are inclined to
overlook in him such failings as
timidity and clumsiness. It is only
when he comes to be tried in football of
a higher class that he is seen through.
In the second fifteen the fact that Rand-
Brown was afraid to tackle his man had
almost escaped notice. But the habit
would not do in first fifteen circles.
All the same, said Clephane,
pursuing his subject, if they dont play
him, I dont see who theyre going to
get. Hes the best of the second three-
quarters, as far as I can see.
It was this very problem that was
puzzling Trevor, as he walked off the
field with Paget and Clowes, when they
had got into their blazers after the
 THE FIFTEENTH PLACE
match. Clowes was in the same house
as TrevorDonaldsonsand Paget
was staying there, too. He had been
head of Donaldsons up to Christmas.
It strikes me, said Paget, the
school havent got over the holidays
yet. I never saw such a lot of slackers.
You ought to have taken thirty points
off the sort of team you had against you
today.
Have you ever known the school
play well on the second day of term?
asked Clowes. The forwards always
play as if the whole thing bored them to
death.
It wasnt the forwards that mattered
so much, said Trevor. Theyll shake
down all right after a few matches. A
little running and passing will put them
right.
Lets hope so, Paget observed, or
we might as well scratch to Ripton at
once. Theres a jolly sight too much of
the mince-pie and Christmas pudding
about their play at present. There was
a pause. Then Paget brought out the
question towards which he had been
moving all the time.
What do you think of Rand-
Brown? he asked.
It was pretty clear by the way he
spoke what he thought of that player
himself, but in discussing with a
football captain the capabilities of the
various members of his team, it is best
to avoid a too positive statement one
way or the other before one has heard
his views on the subject. And Paget
was one of those people who like to
know the opinions of others before
committing themselves.
Clowes, on the other hand, was in
the habit of forming his views on his
own account, and expressing them. If
people agreed with them, well and
good: it afforded strong presumptive
evidence of their sanity. If they
161
disagreed, it was unfortunate, but he
was not going to alter his opinions for
that, unless convinced at great length
that they were unsound. He summed
things up, and gave you the result. You
could take it or leave it, as you
preferred.
I thought he was bad, said Clowes.
Bad! exclaimed Trevor, he was a
disgrace. One can understand a chap
having his off-days at any game, but
one doesnt expect a man in the
Wrykyn first to funk. He mucked five
out of every six passes I gave him, too,
and the ball wasnt a bit slippery. Still,
I shouldnt mind that so much if he had
only gone for his man properly. It isnt
being out of practice that makes you
funk. And even when he did have a try
at you, Paget, he always went high.
That, said Clowes thoughtfully,
would seem to show that he was
game.
Nobody so much as smiled. Nobody
ever did smile at Clowes essays in wit,
perhaps because of the solemn, almost
sad, tone of voice in which he delivered
them. He was tall and dark and thin,
and had a pensive eye, which
encouraged the more soulful of his
female relatives to entertain hopes that
he would some day take orders.
Well, said Paget, relieved at
finding that he did not stand alone in his
views on Rand-Browns performance,
I must say I thought he was awfully
bad myself.
I shall try somebody else next
match, said Trevor. Itll be rather
hard, though. The man one would
naturally put in, Bryce, left at
Christmas, worse luck.
Bryce was the other wing three-
quarter of the second fifteen.
Isnt there anybody in the third?
asked Paget.
Barry, said Clowes briefly.
162 THE GOLD BAT
Clowes thinks Barrys good,
explained Trevor.
He is good, said Clowes. I admit
hes small, but he can tackle.
The question is, would he be any
good in the first? A chap might do jolly
well for the third, and still not be worth
trying for the first.
I dont remember much about
Barry, said Paget, except being
collared by him when we played
Seymours last year in the final. I
certainly came away with a sort of
impression that he could tackle. I
thought he marked me jolly well.
There you are, then, said Clowes.
A year ago Barry could tackle Paget.
Theres no reason for supposing that
hes fallen off since then. Weve seen
that Rand-Brown cant tackle Paget.
Ergo, Barry is better worth playing for
the team than Rand-Brown. Q.E.D.
All right, then, replied Trevor.
There cant be any harm in trying him.
Well have another scratch game on
Thursday. Will you be here then,
Paget?
Oh, yes. Im stopping till
Saturday.
Good man. Then we shall be able
to see how he does against you. I wish
you hadnt left, though, by Jove. We
should have had Ripton on toast, the
same as last term.
Wrykyn played five schools, but six
school matches. The school that they
played twice in the season was Ripton.
To win one Ripton match meant that,
however many losses it might have
sustained in the other matches, the
school had had, at any rate, a passable
season. To win two Ripton matches in
the same year was almost unheard of.
This year there had seemed every
likelihood of it. The match before
Christmas on the Ripton ground had
resulted in a win for Wrykyn by two
goals and a try to a try. But the
calculations of the school had been
upset by the sudden departure of Paget
at the end of term, and also of Bryce,
who had hitherto been regarded as his
understudy. And in the first Ripton
match the two goals had both been
scored by Paget, and both had been
brilliant bits of individual play, which a
lesser man could not have carried
through.
The conclusion, therefore, at which
the school reluctantly arrived, was that
their chances of winning the second
match could not be judged by their
previous success. They would have to
approach the Easter term fixture from
anothera non-Pagetstandpoint. In
these circumstances it became a serious
problem: who was to get the fifteenth
place? Whoever played in Pagets stead
against Ripton would be certain, if the
match were won, to receive his colours.
Who, then, would fill the vacancy?
Rand-Brown, of course, said the
crowd.
But the experts, as we have shown,
were of a different opinion.
THE GOLD BAT
Trevor did not take long to resume a
garb of civilisation. He never wasted
much time over anything. He was
gifted with a boundless energy, which
might possibly have made him
unpopular had he not justified it by
results. The football of the school had
never been in such a flourishing
condition as it had attained to on his
succeeding to the captaincy. It was not
only that the first fifteen was good. The
excellence of a first fifteen does not
always depend on the captain. But the
games, even down to the very humblest
junior game, had woken up one
 THE GOLD BAT
morningat the beginning of the
previous termto find themselves,
much to their surprise, organised going
concerns. Like the immortal Captain
Pott, Trevor was a terror to the shirker
and the lubber. And the resemblance
was further increased by the fact that he
was a toughish lot, who was little,
but steel and india-rubber. At first
sight his appearance was not imposing.
Paterfamilias, who had heard his sons
eulogies on Trevors performances
during the holidays, and came down to
watch the school play a match, was
generally rather disappointed on seeing
five feet six where he had looked for at
least six foot one, and ten stone where
he had expected thirteen. But then,
what there was of Trevor was, as
previously remarked, steel and india-
rubber, and he certainly played football
like a miniature Stoddart. It was
characteristic of him that, though this
was the first match of the term, his
condition seemed to be as good as
possible. He had done all his own work
on the field and most of Rand-Browns,
and apparently had not turned a hair.
He was one of those conscientious
people who train in the holidays.
When he had changed, he went
down the passage to Clowes study.
Clowes was in the position he
frequently took up when the weather
was goodwedged into his window in
a sitting position, one leg in the study,
the other hanging outside over space.
The indoor leg lacked a boot, so that it
was evident that its owner had at least
had the energy to begin to change. That
he had given the thing up after that,
exhausted with the effort, was what one
naturally expected from Clowes. He
would have made a splendid actor: he
was so good at resting.
Hurry up and dress, said Trevor; I
want you to come over to the baths.
163
What on earth do you want over at
the baths?
I want to see OHara.
Oh, yes, I remember. Dexters are
camping out there, arent they? I heard
they were. Why is it?
One of the Dexter kids got measles
in the last week of the holidays, so they
shunted all the beds and things across,
and the chaps went back there instead
of to the house.
In the winter term the baths were
always boarded over and converted into
a sort of extra gymnasium where you
could go and box or fence when there
was no room to do it in the real
gymnasium. Socker and stump-cricket
were also largely played there, the floor
being admirably suited to such games,
though the light was always rather
tricky, and prevented heavy scoring.
I should think, said Clowes, from
what Ive seen of Dexters beauties, that
Dexter would like them to camp out at
the bottom of the baths all the year
round. It would be a happy release for
him if they were all drowned. And I
suppose if he had to choose any one of
them for a violent death, hed pick
OHara. OHara must be a boon to a
house-master. Ive known chaps break
rules when the spirit moved them, but
hes the only one Ive met who breaks
them all day long and well into the
night simply for amusement. Ive often
thought of writing to the S.P.C.A. about
it. I suppose you could call Dexter an
animal all right?
OHaras right enough, really. A
man like Dexter would make any fellow
run amuck. And then OHaras an
Irishman to start with, which makes a
difference.
There is usually one house in every
school of the black sheep sort, and, if
you go to the root of the matter, you
will generally find that the fault is with
164 THE GOLD BAT
the master of that house. A house-
master who enters into the life of his
house, coaches them in gamesif an
athleteor, if not an athlete, watches
the games, umpiring at cricket and
refereeing at football, never finds much
difficulty in keeping order. It may be
accepted as fact that the juniors of a
house will never be orderly of their own
free will, but disturbances in the junior
day-room do not make the house
undisciplined. The prefects are the
criterion. If you find them joining in
the general rags, and even starting
private ones on their own account, then
you may safely say that it is time the
master of that house retired from the
business, and took to chicken-farming.
And that was the state of things in
Dexters. It was the most lawless of the
houses. Mr Dexter belonged to a type
of master almost unknown at a public
schoolthe usher type. In a private
school he might have passed. At
Wrykyn he was out of place. To him
the whole duty of a house-master
appeared to be to wage war against his
house.
When Dexters won the final for the
cricket cup in the summer term of two
years back, the match lasted four
afternoonsfour solid afternoons of
glorious, up-and-down cricket. Mr
Dexter did not see a single ball of that
match bowled. He was prowling in
sequestered lanes and broken-down
barns out of bounds on the off-chance
that he might catch some member of his
house smoking there. As if the whole
of the house, from the head to the
smallest fag, were not on the field
watching Days best bats collapse
before Hendersons bowling, and
Moriarty hit up that marvellous and
unexpected fifty-three at the end of the
second innings!
That sort of thing definitely stamps a
master.
What do you want to see OHara
about? asked Clowes.
Hes got my little gold bat. I lent it
him in the holidays.
A remark which needs a footnote.
The bat referred to was made of gold,
and was about an inch long by an eighth
broad. It had come into existence some
ten years previously, in the following
manner. The inter-house cricket cup at
Wrykyn had originally been a rather
tarnished and unimpressive vessel,
whose only merit consisted in the fact
that it was of silver. Ten years ago an
Old Wrykinian, suddenly reflecting that
it would not be a bad idea to do
something for the school in a small
way, hied him to the nearest jewellers
and purchased another silver cup, vast
withal and cunningly decorated with
filigree work, and standing on a
massive ebony plinth, round which
were little silver lozenges just big
enough to hold the name of the winning
house and the year of grace. This he
presented with his blessing to be
competed for by the dozen houses that
made up the school of Wrykyn, and it
was formally established as the house
cricket cup. The question now arose:
what was to be done with the other
cup? The School House, who happened
to be the holders at the time, suggested
disinterestedly that it should become the
property of the house which had won it
last. Not so, replied the Field Sports
Committee, but far otherwise. We will
have it melted down in a fiery furnace,
and thereafter fashioned into eleven
little silver bats. And these little silver
bats shall be the guerdon of the eleven
members of the winning team, to have
and to hold for the space of one year,
unless, by winning the cup twice in
succession, they gain the right of
keeping the bat for yet another year.
 THE GOLD BAT
How is that, umpire? And the
authorities replied, O men of infinite
resource and sagacity, verily is it a cold
day when you get left behind. Forge
ahead. But, when they had forged
ahead, behold! it would not run to
eleven little silver bats, but only to ten
little silver bats. Thereupon the
headmaster, a man liberal with his cash,
caused an eleventh little bat to be
fashionedfor the captain of the
winning team to have and to hold in the
manner aforesaid. And, to single it out
from the others, it was wrought, not of
silver, but of gold. And so it came to
pass that at the time of our story Trevor
was in possession of the little gold bat,
because Donaldsons had won the cup
in the previous summer, and he had
captained themand, incidentally, had
scored seventy-five without a mistake.
Well, Im hanged if I would trust
OHara with my bat, said Clowes,
referring to the silver ornament on his
own watch-chain; hes probably
pawned yours in the holidays. Why did
you lend it to him?
His people wanted to see it. I know
him at home, you know. They asked
me to lunch the last day but one of the
holidays, and we got talking about the
bat, because, of course, if we hadnt
beaten Dexters in the final, OHara
would have had it himself. So I sent it
over next day with a note asking
OHara to bring it back with him here.
Oh, well, theres a chance, then,
seeing hes only had it so little time,
that he hasnt pawned it yet. Youd
better rush off and get it back as soon as
possible. Its no good waiting for me. I
shant be ready for weeks.
Wheres Paget? in silence. OHara, they were informed
Teaing with Donaldson. At least,
he said he was going to.
Then I suppose I shall have to go
alone. I hate walking alone.
165
If you hurry, said Clowes,
scanning the road from his post of
vantage, youll be able to go with your
fascinating pal Ruthven. Hes just gone
out.
Trevor dashed downstairs in his
energetic way, and overtook the youth
referred to.
Clowes brooded over them from
above like a sorrowful and rather
disgusted Providence. Trevors liking
for Ruthven, who was a Donaldsonite
like himself, was one of the few points
on which the two had any real
disagreement. Clowes could not
understand how any person in his
senses could of his own free will make
an intimate friend of Ruthven.
Hullo, Trevor, said Ruthven.
Come over to the baths, said
Trevor, I want to see OHara about
something. Or were you going
somewhere else.
I wasnt going anywhere in
particular. I never know what to do in
term-time. Its deadly dull.
Trevor could never understand how
any one could find term-time dull. For
his own part, there always seemed too
much to do in the time.
You arent allowed to play games?
he said, remembering something about
a doctors certificate in the past.
No, said Ruthven. Thank
goodness, he added.
Which remark silenced Trevor. To a
person who thanked goodness that he
was not allowed to play games he could
find nothing to say. But he ceased to
wonder how it was that Ruthven was
dull.
They proceeded to the baths together
by a Dexters fag who met them outside
the door, was not about.
When he comes back, said Trevor,
tell him I want him to come to tea
166 THE GOLD BAT
tomorrow directly after school, and
bring my bat. Dont forget.
The fag promised to make a point of
it.
THE MAYORS STATUE
One of the rules that governed the
life of Donough OHara, the light-
hearted descendant of the OHaras of
Castle Taterfields, Co. Clare, Ireland,
was Never refuse the offer of a free
tea. So, on receiptper the Dexters
fag referred toof Trevors invitation,
he scratched one engagement (with his
mathematical masternot wholly
unconnected with the working-out of
Examples 200 to 206 in Hall and
Knights Algebra), postponed another
(with his friend and ally Moriarty, of
Dexters, who wished to box with him
in the gymnasium), and made his way at
a leisurely pace towards Donaldsons.
He was feeling particularly pleased with
himself today, for several reasons. He
had begun the day well by scoring
brilliantly off Mr Dexter across the
matutinal rasher and coffee. In morning
school he had been put on to translate
the one passage which he happened to
have preparedthe first ten lines, in
fact, of the hundred which formed the
mornings lesson. And in the final hour
of afternoon school, which was devoted
to French, he had discovered and
exploited with great success an entirely
new and original form of ragging. This,
he felt, was the strenuous life; this was
living ones life as ones life should be
lived.
He met Trevor at the gate. As they
were going in, a carriage and pair
dashed past. Its cargo consisted of two
people, the headmaster, looking bored,
and a small, dapper man, with a very
red face, who looked excited, and was
talking volubly. Trevor and OHara
raised their caps as the chariot swept by,
but the salute passed unnoticed. The
Head appeared to be wrapped in
thought.
Whats the Old Man doing in a
carriage, I wonder, said Trevor,
looking after them. Whos that with
him?
That, said OHara, is Sir Eustace
Briggs.
Whos Sir Eustace Briggs?
OHara explained, in a rich brogue,
that Sir Eustace was Mayor of Wrykyn,
a keen politician, and a hater of the Irish
nation, judging by his letters and
speeches.
They went into Trevors study.
Clowes was occupying the window in
his usual manner.
Hullo, OHara, he said, there is
an air of quiet satisfaction about you
that seems to show that youve been
ragging Dexter. Have you?
Oh, that was only this morning at
breakfast. The best rag was in French,
replied OHara, who then proceeded to
explain in detail the methods he had
employed to embitter the existence of
the hapless Gallic exile with whom he
had come in contact. It was that
gentlemans custom to sit on a certain
desk while conducting the lesson. This
desk chanced to be OHaras. On the
principle that a man may do what he
likes with his own, he had entered the
room privily in the dinner-hour, and
removed the screws from his desk, with
the result that for the first half-hour of
the lesson the class had been occupied
in excavating M. Gandinois from the
ruins. That gentlemans first act on
regaining his equilibrium had been to
send OHara out of the room, and
OHara, who had foreseen this
emergency, had spent a very pleasant
half-hour in the passage with some
 THE MAYORS STATUE
mixed chocolates and a copy of Mr
Hornungs Amateur Cracksman. It was
his notion of a cheerful and instructive
French lesson.
What were you talking about when
you came in? asked Clowes. Whos
been slanging Ireland, OHara?
The man Briggs.
What are you going to do about it?
Arent you going to take any steps?
Is it steps? said OHara, warmly,
and havent we the man, he said. We cant do that, I
He stopped.
Well?
Ye know, he said, seriously, ye
mustnt let it go any further. I shall get
sacked if its found out. An so will
Moriarty, too.
Why? asked Trevor, looking up
from the tea-pot he was filling, what
on earth have you been doing?
Wouldnt it be rather a cheery
idea, suggested Clowes, if you began
at the beginning.
Well, ye see, OHara began, it Dexters house into them? The beds are
was this way. The first I heard of it was
from Dexter. He was trying to score off
me as usual, an he said, Have ye seen
the paper this morning, OHara? I said,
no, I had not. Then he said, Ah, he
said, ye should look at it. Theres
something there that yell find
interesting. I said, Yes, sir? in me
respectful way. Yes, said he, the
Irish members have been making their
customary disturbances in the House.
Why is it, OHara, he said, that
Irishmen are always thrusting
themselves forward and making
disturbances for purposes of self-
advertisement? Why, indeed, sir?
said I, not knowing what else to say,
and after that the conversation ceased.
Go on, said Clowes.
After breakfast Moriarty came to
me with a paper, and showed me what
they had been saying about the Irish.
167
There was a letter from the man Briggs
on the subject. A very sensible and
temperate letter from Sir Eustace
Briggs, they called it, but bedad! if that
was a temperate letter, I should like to
know what an intemperate one is. Well,
we read it through, and Moriarty said to
me, Can we let this stay as it is? And I
said, No. We cant. Well, said
Moriarty to me, what are we to do
about it? I should like to tar and feather
said, but why not tar and feather his
statue? I said. So we thought we
would. Ye know where the statue is, I
suppose? Its in the recreation ground
just across the river.
I know the place, said Clowes.
Go on. This is ripping. I always knew
you were pretty mad, but this sounds as
if it were going to beat all previous
records.
Have ye seen the baths this term,
continued OHara, since they shifted
in two long rows along each wall.
Moriartys and mine are the last two at
the end farthest from the door.
Just under the gallery, said
Trevor. I see.
Thats it. Well, at half-past ten
sharp every night Dexter sees that were
all in, locks the door, and goes off to
sleep at the Old Mans, and we dont
see him again till breakfast. He turns
the gas off from outside. At half-past
seven the next morning, SmithSmith
was one of the school porters-
unlocks the door and calls us, and we
go over to the Hall to breakfast.
Well?
Well, directly everybody was
asleep last nightit wasnt till after
one, as there was a rag onMoriarty
and I got up, dressed, and climbed up
into the gallery. Ye know the gallery
windows? They open at the top, an its
168 THE GOLD BAT
rather hard to get out of them. But we
managed it, and dropped on to the
gravel outside.
Long drop, said Clowes.
Yes. I hurt myself rather. But it
was in a good cause. I dropped first,
and while I was on the ground, Moriarty
came on top of me. Thats how I got
hurt. But it wasnt much, and we cut
across the grounds, and over the fence,
and down to the river. It was a fine
night, and not very dark, and everything
smelt ripping down by the river.
Dont get poetical, said Clowes. him for his gold bat.
Stick to the point.
We got into the boat-house said.
How? asked the practical Trevor,
for the boat-house was wont to be
locked at one in the morning.
Moriarty had a key that fitted,
explained OHara, briefly. We got in,
and launched a boata big tubput in
the tar and a couple of brushestheres
always tar in the boat-houseand
rowed across.
Wait a bit, interrupted Trevor,
you said tar and feathers. Where did
you get the feathers?
We used leaves. They do just as
well, and there were heaps on the bank.
Well, when we landed, we tied up the
boat, and bucked across to the
Recreation Ground. We got over the
railingsbeastly, spiky railingsand
went over to the statue. Ye know where
the statue stands? Its right in the
middle of the place, where everybody
can see it. Moriarty got up first, and I
handed him the tar and a brush. Then I
went up with the other brush, and we
began. We did his face first. It was too
dark to see really well, but I think we
made a good job of it. When we had
put about as much tar on as we thought
would do, we took out the leaves-
which we were carrying in our pockets
and spread them on. Then we did the
rest of him, and after about half an hour,
when we thought wed done about
enough, we got into our boat again, and
came back.
And what did you do till half-past
seven?
We couldnt get back the way wed
come, so we slept in the boat-house.
WellImhanged, was Trevors
comment on the story.
Clowes roared with laughter.
OHara was a perpetual joy to him.
As OHara was going, Trevor asked
You havent lost it, I hope? he
OHara felt in his pocket, but
brought his hand out at once and
transferred it to another pocket. A look
of anxiety came over his face, and was
reflected in Trevors.
I could have sworn it was in that
pocket, he said.
You havent lost it? queried
Trevor again.
He has, said Clowes, confidently.
If you want to know where that bat is,
I should say youd find it somewhere
between the baths and the statue. At the
foot of the statue, for choice. It seems
to mecorrect me if I am wrongthat
you have been and gone and done it, me
broth av a bhoy.
OHara gave up the search.
Its gone, he said. Man, Im most
awfully sorry. Id sooner have lost a
ten-pound note.
I dont see why you should lose
either, snapped Trevor. Why the
blazes cant you be more careful.
OHara was too penitent for words.
Clowes took it on himself to point out
the bright side.
Theres nothing to get sick about,
really, he said. If the thing doesnt
turn up, though it probably will, youll
simply have to tell the Old Man that its
 THE MAYORS STATUE
lost. Hell have another made. You
wont be asked for it till just before
Sports Day either, so you will have
plenty of time to find it.
The challenge cups, and also the
bats, had to be given to the authorities
before the sports, to be formally
presented on Sports Day.
Oh, I suppose itll be all right, said
Trevor, but I hope it wont be found
anywhere near the statue.
OHara said he hoped so too.
THE LEAGUES
WARNING
The team to play in any match was
always put upon the notice-board at the
foot of the stairs in the senior block a
day before the date of the fixture. Both
first and second fifteens had matches on
the Thursday of this week. The second
were playing a team brought down by
an old Wrykinian. The first had a
scratch game.
When Barry, accompanied by
MTodd, who shared his study at
Seymours and rarely left him for two
minutes on end, passed by the notice-
board at the quarter to eleven interval, it
was to the second fifteen list that he
turned his attention. Now that Bryce
had left, he thought he might have a
chance of getting into the second. His
only real rival, he considered, was
Crawford, of the School House, who
was the other wing three-quarter of the
third fifteen. The first name he saw on
the list was Crawfords. It seemed to be
written twice as large as any of the
others, and his own was nowhere to be
seen. The fact that he had half expected
the calamity made things no better. He
had set his heart on playing for the
second this term.
Then suddenly he noticed a
169
remarkable phenomenon. The other
wing three-quarter was Rand-Brown. If
Rand-Brown was playing for the
second, who was playing for the first?
He looked at the list.
Come on, he said hastily to
MTodd. He wanted to get away
somewhere where his agitated condition
would not be noticed. He felt quite
faint at the shock of seeing his name on
the list of the first fifteen. There it was,
however, as large as life. M. Barry.
Separated from the rest by a thin red
line, but still there. In his most
optimistic moments he had never
dreamed of this. MTodd was reading
slowly through the list of the second.
He did everything slowly, except
eating.
Come on, said Barry again.
MTodd had, after much
deliberation, arrived at a profound
truth. He turned to Barry, and imparted
his discovery to him in the weighty
manner of one who realises the
importance of his words.
Look here, he said, your names
not down here.
I know. Come on.
But that means youre not playing
for the second.
Of course it does. Well, if you
arent coming, Im off.
But, look here
Barry disappeared through the door.
After a moments pause, MTodd
followed him. He came up with him on
the senior gravel.
Whats up? he inquired.
Nothing, said Barry.
Are you sick about not playing for
the second?
No.
You are, really. Come and have a
bun.
In the philosophy of MTodd it was
indeed a deep-rooted sorrow that could
170 THE GOLD BAT
not be cured by the internal application
of a new, hot bun. It had never failed in
his own case.
Bun! Barry was quite shocked at
the suggestion. I cant afford to get
myself out of condition with beastly
buns.
But if you arent playing
You ass. Im playing for the first.
Now, do you see?
MTodd gaped. His mind never
worked very rapidly. What about
Rand-Brown, then? he said.
Rand-Browns been chucked out.
Cant you understand? You are an
idiot. Rand-Browns playing for the
second, and Im playing for the first.
But youre kicking. It was a painful alternative that
He stopped. He had been going to
point out that Barrys tender yearshe
was only sixteenand smallness would
make it impossible for him to play with
success for the first fifteen. He
refrained owing to a conviction that the
remark would not be wholly judicious.
Barry was touchy on the subject of his
size, and MTodd had suffered before
now for commenting on it in a
disparaging spirit.
I tell you what well do after
school, said Barry, well have some
running and passing. Itll do you a lot
of good, and I want to practise taking
passes at full speed. You can trot along
at your ordinary pace, and Ill sprint up
from behind.
MTodd saw no objection to that.
Trotting along at his ordinary pace-
five miles an hourwould just suit
him.
Then after that, continued Barry,
with a look of enthusiasm, I want to
practise passing back to my centre.
Paget used to do it awfully well last
term, and I know Trevor expects his
wing to. So Ill buck along, and you
race up to take my pass. See?
This was not in MTodds line at all.
He proposed a slight alteration in the
scheme.
Hadnt you better get somebody
else? he began.
Dont be a slack beast, said Barry.
You want exercise awfully badly.
And, as MTodd always did exactly
as Barry wished, he gave in, and spent
from four-thirty to five that afternoon in
the prescribed manner. A suggestion on
his part at five sharp that it wouldnt be
a bad idea to go and have some tea was
not favourably received by the
enthusiastic three-quarter, who
proposed to devote what time remained
before lock-up to practising drop-
faced MTodd. His allegiance to Barry
demanded that he should consent to the
scheme. On the other hand, his
allegiance to afternoon teaequally
strongcalled him back to the house,
where there was cake, and also
muffins. In the end the question was
solved by the appearance of
Drummond, of Seymours, garbed in
football things, and also anxious to
practise drop-kicking. So MTodd was
dismissed to his tea with opprobrious
epithets, and Barry and Drummond
settled down to a little serious and
scientific work.
Making allowances for the inevitable
attack of nerves that attends a first
appearance in higher football circles
than one is accustomed to, Barry did
well against the scratch teamcertainly
far better than Rand-Brown had done.
His smallness was, of course, against
him, and, on the only occasion on
which he really got away, Paget
overtook him and brought him down.
But then Paget was exceptionally fast.
In the two most important branches of
the game, the taking of passes and
tackling, Barry did well. As far as
 THE LEAGUES WARNING
pluck went he had enough for two, and
when the whistle blew for no-side he
had not let Paget through once, and
Trevor felt that his inclusion in the team
had been justified. There was another
scratch game on the Saturday. Barry
played in it, and did much better. Paget
had gone away by an early train, and
the man he had to mark now was one of
the masters, who had been good in his
time, but was getting a trifle old for
football. Barry scored twice, and on
one occasion, by passing back to Trevor
after the manner of Paget, enabled the
captain to run in. And Trevor, like the
captain in Billy Taylor, werry much
approved of what hed done. Barry
began to be regarded in the school as a
regular member of the fifteen. The first
of the fixture-card matches, versus the
Town, was due on the following
Saturday, and it was generally expected
that he would play. MTodds devotion
increased every day. He even went to
the length of taking long runs with him.
And if there was one thing in the world
that MTodd loathed, it was a long run.
On the Thursday before the match
against the Town, Clowes came
chuckling to Trevors study after
preparation, and asked him if he had
heard the latest.
Have you ever heard of the
League? he said.
Trevor pondered.
I dont think so, he replied.
How long have you been at the
school?
Lets see. Itll be five years at the
end of the summer term.
Ah, then you wouldnt remember.
Ive been here a couple of terms longer
than you, and the row about the League
was in my first term.
What was the row?
Oh, only some chaps formed a sort
of secret society in the place. Kind of
171
Vehmgericht, you know. If they got
their knife into any one, he usually got
beans, and could never find out where
they came from. At first, as a matter of
fact, the thing was quite a
philanthropical concern. There used to
be a good deal of bullying in the place
thenat least, in some of the houses-
and, as the prefects couldnt or
wouldnt stop it, some fellows started
this League.
Did it work?
Work! By Jove, I should think it
did. Chaps who previously couldnt get
through the day without making some
wretched kids life not worth living
used to go about as nervous as cats,
looking over their shoulders every other
second. There was one man in
particular, a chap called Leigh. He was
hauled out of bed one night,
blindfolded, and ducked in a cold bath.
He was in the School House.
Why did the League bust up?
Well, partly because the fellows
left, but chiefly because they didnt
stick to the philanthropist idea. If
anybody did anything they didnt like,
they used to go for him. At last they
put their foot into it badly. A chap
called Robinsonin this house by the
wayoffended them in some way, and
one morning he was found tied up in the
bath, up to his neck in cold water.
Apparently hed been there about an
hour. He got pneumonia, and almost
died, and then the authorities began to
get going. Robinson thought he had
recognised the voice of one of the chaps
I forget his name. The chap was had
up by the Old Man, and gave the show
away entirely. About a dozen fellows
were sacked, clean off the reel. Since
then the thing has been dropped.
But what about it? What were you
going to say when you came in?
Why, its been revived!
172 THE GOLD BAT

Rot! MILL RECEIVES

Its a fact. Do you know Mill, a
prefect, in Seymours? VISITORS
Only by sight.
Trevors first idea was that
I met him just now. Hes in a
somebody had sent the letter for a joke,
raving condition. His studys been
Clowes for choice.
wrecked. You never saw such a sight.
He sounded him on the subject after
Everything upside down or smashed.
breakfast.
He has been showing me the ruins.
Did you send me that letter? he
I believe Mill is awfully barred in
inquired, when Clowes came into his
Seymours, said Trevor. Anybody
study to borrow a Sportsman.
might have ragged his study.
What letter? Did you send the team
Thats just what I thought. Hes
for tomorrow up to the sporter? I
just the sort of man the League used to
wonder what sort of a lot the Town are
go for.
bringing.
That doesnt prove that its been
About not giving Barry his footer
revived, all the same, objected Trevor.
colours?
No, friend; but this does. Mill
Clowes was reading the paper.
found it tied to a chair.
Giving whom? he asked.
It was a small card. It looked like an
Barry. Cant you listen?
ordinary visiting card. On it, in neat
Giving him what?
print, were the words, With the
Footer colours.
compliments of the League.
What about them?
Thats exactly the same sort of card
Trevor sprang at the paper, and tore
as they used to use, said Clowes. Ive
it away from him. After which he sat
seen some of them. What do you think
on the fragments.
of that?
Did you send me a letter about not
I think whoever has started the
giving Barry his footer colours?
thing is a pretty average-sized idiot.
Clowes surveyed him with the air of
Hes bound to get caught some time or
a nurse to whom the family baby has
other, and then out he goes. The Old
just said some more than usually good
Man wouldnt think twice about
thing.
sacking a chap of that sort.
Dont stop, he said, I could listen
A chap of that sort, said Clowes,
all day.
will take jolly good care he isnt
Trevor felt in his pocket for the note,
caught. But its rather sport, isnt it?
and flung it at him. Clowes picked it
And he went off to his study.
up, and read it gravely.
Next day there was further evidence
What are footer colours? he asked.
that the League was an actual going
Well, said Trevor, its a pretty
concern. When Trevor came down to
rotten sort of joke, whoever sent it.
breakfast, he found a letter by his plate.
You havent said yet whether you did or
It was printed, as the card had been. It
not.
was signed The President of the
What earthly reason should I have
League. And the purport of it was that
for sending it? And I think youre
the League did not wish Barry to
making a mistake if you think this is
continue to play for the first fifteen.
meant as a joke.
You dont really believe this
 MILL RECEIVES VISITORS
League rot?
You didnt see Mills study after
treatment. I did. Anyhow, how do you
account for the card I showed you?
But that sort of thing doesnt
happen at school.
Well, it has happened, you see.
Who do you think did send the
letter, then?
The President of the League.
And who the dickens is the
President of the League when hes at
home?
If I knew that, I should tell Mill,
and earn his blessing. Not that I want
it.
Then, I suppose, snorted Trevor,
youd suggest that on the strength of
this letter Id better leave Barry out of
the team?
Satirically in brackets, commented
Clowes.
Its no good your jumping on me,
he added. Ive done nothing. All I
suggest is that youd better keep more
or less of a look-out. If this Leagues
anything like the old one, youll find
theyve all sorts of ways of getting at
people they dont love. I shouldnt like
to come down for a bath some morning,
and find you already in possession, tied
up like Robinson. When they found
Robinson, he was quite blue both as to
the face and speech. He didnt speak
very clearly, but what one could catch
was well worth hearing. I should advise
you to sleep with a loaded revolver
under your pillow.
The first thing I shall do is find out
who wrote this letter.
I should, said Clowes,
encouragingly. Keep moving.
In Seymours house the Mills study
incident formed the only theme of
conversation that morning. Previously
the sudden elevation to the first fifteen
of Barry, who was popular in the house,
173
at the expense of Rand-Brown, who
was unpopular, had given Seymours
something to talk about. But the
ragging of the study put this topic
entirely in the shade. The study was
still on view in almost its original
condition of disorder, and all day
comparative strangers flocked to see
Mill in his den, in order to inspect
things. Mill was a youth with few
friends, and it is probable that more of
his fellow-Seymourites crossed the
threshold of his study on the day after
the occurrence than had visited him in
the entire course of his school career.
Brown would come in to borrow a
knife, would sweep the room with one
comprehensive glance, and depart, to be
followed at brief intervals by Smith,
Robinson, and Jones, who came
respectively to learn the right time, to
borrow a book, and to ask him if he had
seen a pencil anywhere. Towards the
end of the day, Mill would seem to have
wearied somewhat of the proceedings,
as was proved when Master Thomas
Renford, aged fourteen (who fagged for
Milton, the head of the house), burst in
on the thin pretence that he had
mistaken the study for that of his
rightful master, and gave vent to a
prolonged whistle of surprise and
satisfaction at the sight of the ruins. On
that occasion, the incensed owner of the
dismantled study, taking a mean
advantage of the fact that he was a
prefect, and so entitled to wield the rod,
produced a handy swagger-stick from
an adjacent corner, and, inviting Master
Renford to bend over, gave him six of
the best to remember him by. Which
ceremony being concluded, he kicked
him out into the passage, and Renford
went down to the junior day-room to
tell his friend Harvey about it.
Gave me six, the cad, said he, just
because I had a look at his beastly
174 THE GOLD BAT
study. Why shouldnt I look at his
study if I like? Ive a jolly good mind
to go up and have another squint.
Harvey warmly approved the
scheme.
No, I dont think I will, said
Renford with a yawn. Its such a fag
going upstairs.
Yes, isnt it? said Harvey.
And hes such a beast, too.
Yes, isnt he? said Harvey.
Im jolly glad his study has been
ragged, continued the vindictive
Renford.
Its jolly exciting, isnt it? added
Harvey. And I thought this term was
going to be slow. The Easter term
generally is.
This remark seemed to suggest a
train of thought to Renford, who made
the following cryptic observation.
Have you seen them today?
To the ordinary person the words
would have conveyed little meaning.
To Harvey they appeared to teem with
import.
Yes, he said, I saw them early
this morning.
Were they all right?
Yes. Splendid.
Good, said Renford.
Barrys friend Drummond was one
of those who had visited the scene of
the disaster early, before Mills
energetic hand had repaired the damage
done, and his narrative
consequently in some demand.
The place was in a frightful muck,
he said. Everything smashed except
the table; and ink all over the place.
Whoever did it must have been fairly
sick with him, or hed never have taken
the trouble to do it so thoroughly.
Made a fair old hash of things, didnt
he, Bertie?
Bertie was the form in which the
school elected to serve up the name of
De Bertini. Raoul de Bertini was a
French boy who had come to Wrykyn
in the previous term. Drummonds
father had met his father in Paris, and
Drummond was supposed to be looking
after Bertie. They shared a study
together. Bertie could not speak much
English, and what he did speak was,
like Mills furniture, badly broken.
Pardon? he said.
Doesnt matter, said Drummond,
it wasnt anything important. I was
only appealing to you for corroborative
detail to give artistic verisimilitude to a
bald and unconvincing narrative.
Bertie grinned politely. He always
grinned when he was not quite equal to
the intellectual pressure of the
conversation. As a consequence of
which, he was generally, like Mrs
Fezziwig, one vast, substantial smile.
I never liked Mill much, said
Barry, but I think its rather bad luck
on the man.
Once, announced MTodd,
solemnly, he kicked mefor making a
row in the passage. It was plain that
the recollection rankled.
Barry would probably have pointed
out what an excellent and praiseworthy
act on Mills part that had been, when
Rand-Brown came in.
Prefects meeting? he inquired.
Or havent they made you a prefect
yet, MTodd?
was MTodd said they had not.
Nobody present liked Rand-Brown,
and they looked at him rather
inquiringly, as if to ask what he had
come for. A friend may drop in for a
chat. An acquaintance must justify his
intrusion.
Rand-Brown ignored the silent
inquiry. He seated himself on the table,
and dragged up a chair to rest his legs
on.
Talking about Mill, of course? he
 MILL RECEIVES VISITORS
said.
Yes, said Drummond. Have you
seen his study since it happened?
Yes.
Rand-Brown smiled, as if the
recollection amused him. He was one
of those people who do not look their
best when they smile.
Playing for the first tomorrow,
Barry?
I dont know, said Barry, shortly.
I havent seen the list.
He objected to the introduction of
the topic. It is never pleasant to have to
discuss games with the very man one
has ousted from the team.
Drummond, too, seemed to feel that
the situation was an embarrassing one,
for a few minutes later he got up to go
over to the gymnasium.
Any of you chaps coming? he
asked.
Barry and MTodd thought they
would, and the three left the room.
Nothing like showing a man you
dont want him, eh, Bertie? What do
you think? said Rand-Brown.
Bertie grinned politely.
TREVOR REMAINS
FIRM
The most immediate effect of telling
anybody not to do a thing is to make
him do it, in order to assert his
independence. Trevors first act on
receipt of the letter was to include Barry
in the team against the Town. It was
what he would have done in any case,
but, under the circumstances, he felt a
peculiar pleasure in doing it. The
incident also had the effect of recalling
to his mind the fact that he had tried
Barry in the first instance on his own
responsibility, without consulting the
committee. The committee of the first
175
fifteen consisted of the two old colours
who came immediately after the captain
on the list. The powers of a committee
varied according to the determination
and truculence of the members of it.
On any definite and important step,
affecting the welfare of the fifteen, the
captain theoretically could not move
without their approval. But if the
captain happened to be strong-minded
and the committee weak, they were apt
to be slightly out of it, and the captain
would develop a habit of consulting
them a day or so after he had done a
thing. He would give a man his
colours, and inform the committee of it
on the following afternoon, when the
thing was done and could not be
repealed.
Trevor was accustomed to ask the
advice of his lieutenants fairly
frequently. He never gave colours, for
instance, off his own bat. It seemed to
him that it might be as well to learn
what views Milton and Allardyce had
on the subject of Barry, and, after the
Town team had gone back across the
river, defeated by a goal and a try to nil,
he changed and went over to Seymours
to interview Milton.
Milton was in an arm-chair,
watching Renford brew tea. His was
one of the few studies in the school in
which there was an arm-chair. With the
majority of his contemporaries, it would
only run to the portable kind that fold
up.
Come and have some tea, Trevor,
said Milton.
Thanks. If theres any going.
Heaps. Is there anything to eat,
Renford?
The fag, appealed to on this
important point, pondered darkly for a
moment.
There was some cake, he said.
Thats all right, interrupted Milton,
176 THE GOLD BAT
cheerfully. Scratch the cake. I ate it
before the match. Isnt there anything
else?
Milton had a healthy appetite.
Then there used to be some
biscuits.
Biscuits are off. I finished em
yesterday. Look here, young Renford,
what youd better do is cut across to the
shop and get some more cake and some
more biscuits, and tell em to put it
down to me. And dont be long.
A miles better idea would be to
send him over to Donaldsons to fetch
something from my study, suggested
Trevor. It isnt nearly so far, and Ive
got heaps of stuff.
Ripping. Cut over to Donaldsons,
young Renford. As a matter of fact, he
added, confidentially, when the
emissary had vanished, Im not half
sure that the other dodge would have
worked. They seem to think at the shop
that Ive had about enough things on
tick lately. I havent settled up for last
term yet. Ive spent all Ive got on this
study. What do you think of those
photographs?
Trevor got up and inspected them.
They filled the mantelpiece and most of
the wall above it. They were
exclusively theatrical photographs, and
of a variety to suit all tastes. For the
earnest student of the drama there was
Sir Henry Irving in The Bells, and Mr
Martin Harvey in The Only Way. For
the admirers of the merely beautiful
there were Messrs Dan Leno and
Herbert Campbell.
Not bad, said Trevor. Beastly
waste of money.
Waste of money! Milton was
surprised and pained at the criticism.
Why, you must spend your money on
something."
Rot, I call it, said Trevor. If you
want to collect something, why dont
you collect something worth having?
Just then Renford came back with
the supplies.
Thanks, said Milton, put em
down. Does the billy boil, young
Renford?
Renford asked for explanatory notes.
Youre a bit of an ass at times,
arent you? said Milton, kindly.
What I meant was, is the tea ready? If
it is, you can scoot. If it isnt, buck up
with it.
A sound of bubbling and a rush of
steam from the spout of the kettle
proclaimed that the billy did boil.
Renford extinguished the Etna, and left
the room, while Milton, murmuring
vague formulae about one spoonful for
each person and one for the pot, got
out of his chair with a groanfor the
Town match had been an energetic one
and began to prepare tea.
What I really came round about
began Trevor.
Half a second. I cant find the
milk.
He went to the door, and shouted for
Renford. On that overworked youths
appearance, the following dialogue took
place.
Wheres the milk?
What milk?
My milk.
There isnt any. This in a tone not
untinged with triumph, as if the speaker
realised that here was a distinct score to
him.
No milk?
No.
Why not?
You never had any.
Well, just cut acrossno, half a
second. What are you doing
downstairs?
Having tea.
Then youve got milk.
Only a little. This apprehensively.
 TREVOR REMAINS FIRM
Bring it up. You can have what we
leave.
Disgusted retirement of Master
Renford.
What I really came about, said
Trevor again, was business.
Colours? inquired Milton,
rummaging in the tin for biscuits with
sugar on them. Good brand of biscuit
you keep, Trevor.
Yes. I think we might give
Alexander and Parker their third.
All right. Any others?
Barry his second, do you think?
Rather. He played a good game
today. Hes an improvement on Rand-
Brown.
Glad you think so. I was
wondering whether it was the right
thing to do, chucking Rand-Brown out
after one trial like that. But still, if you
think Barrys better
Streets better. Ive had heaps of
chances of watching them and
comparing them, when theyve been
playing for the house. It isnt only that
Rand-Brown cant tackle, and Barry
can. Barry takes his passes much
better, and doesnt lose his head when
hes pressed.
Just what I thought, said Trevor.
Then youd go on playing him for the
first?
Rather. Hell get better every
game, youll see, as he gets more used
to playing in the first three-quarter line.
And hes as keen as anything on getting
into the team. Practises taking passes
and that sort of thing every day.
Well, hell get his colours if we lick
Ripton.
We ought to lick them. Theyve
lost one of their forwards, Clifford, a
red-haired chap, who was good out of
touch. I dont know if you remember
him.
I suppose I ought to go and see
177
Allardyce about these colours, now.
Good-bye.
There was running and passing on
the Monday for every one in the three
teams. Trevor and Clowes met Mr
Seymour as they were returning. Mr
Seymour was the football master at
Wrykyn.
I see youve given Barry his
second, Trevor.
Yes, sir.
I think youre wise to play him for
the first. He knows the game, which is
the great thing, and he will improve
with practice, said Mr Seymour, thus
corroborating Miltons words of the
previous Saturday.
Im glad Seymour thinks Barry
good, said Trevor, as they walked on.
I shall go on playing him now.
Found out who wrote that letter
yet?
Trevor laughed.
Not yet, he said.
Probably Rand-Brown, suggested
Clowes. Hes the man who would
gain most by Barrys not playing. I
hear he had a row with Mill just before
his study was ragged.
Everybody in Seymours has had
rows with Mill some time or other,
said Trevor.
Clowes stopped at the door of the
junior day-room to find his fag. Trevor
went on upstairs. In the passage he met
Ruthven.
Ruthven seemed excited.
I say. Trevor, he exclaimed, have
you seen your study?
Why, whats the matter with it?
Youd better go and look.
178 THE GOLD BAT
WITH THE
COMPLIMENTS OF THE
LEAGUE
Trevor went and looked.
It was rather an interesting sight. An
earthquake or a cyclone might have
made it a little more picturesque, but
not much more. The general effect was
not unlike that of an American saloon,
after a visit from Mrs Carrie Nation
(with hatchet). As in the case of Mills
study, the only thing that did not seem
to have suffered any great damage was
the table. Everything else looked rather
off colour. The mantelpiece had been
swept as bare as a bone, and its contents
littered the floor. Trevor dived among
the debris and retrieved the latest
addition to his art gallery, the
photograph of this years first fifteen. It
was a wreck. The glass was broken and
the photograph itself slashed with a
knife till most of the faces were
unrecognisable. He picked up another
treasure, last years first eleven.
Smashed glass again. Faces cut about
with knife as before. His collection of
snapshots was torn into a thousand
fragments, though, as Mr Jerome said of
the papier-mche trout, there may only
have been nine hundred. He did not
count them. His bookshelf was empty.
The books had gone to swell the
contents of the floor. There was a
Shakespeare with its cover off. Pages
twenty-two to thirty-one of Vice Versa
had parted from the parent
establishment, and were lying by
themselves near the door. The Rogues
March lay just beyond them, and the
look of the cover suggested that
somebody had either been biting it or
jumping on it with heavy boots.
There was other damage. Over the
mantelpiece in happier days had hung a
dozen sea gulls eggs, threaded on a
string. The string was still there, as
good as new, but of the eggs nothing
was to be seen, save a fine parti-
coloured powderon the floor, like
everything else in the study. And a
good deal of ink had been upset in one
place and another.
Trevor had been staring at the ruins
for some time, when he looked up to
see Clowes standing in the doorway.
Hullo, said Clowes, been tidying
up?
Trevor made a few hasty comments
on the situation. Clowes listened
approvingly.
Dont you think, he went on,
eyeing the study with a critical air, that
youve got too many things on the floor,
and too few anywhere else? And I
should move some of those books on to
the shelf, if I were you.
Trevor breathed very hard.
I should like to find the chap who
did this, he said softly.
Clowes advanced into the room and
proceeded to pick up various misplaced
articles of furniture in a helpful way.
I thought so, he said presently,
come and look here.
Tied to a chair, exactly as it had been
in the case of Mill, was a neat white
card, and on it were the words, "With
the Compliments of the League".
What are you going to do about
this? asked Clowes. Come into my
room and talk it over.
Ill tidy this place up first, said
Trevor. He felt that the work would be
a relief. I dont want people to see
this. It mustnt get about. Im not
going to have my study turned into a
sort of side-show, like Mills. You go
and change. I shant be long.
I will never desert Mr Micawber,
said Clowes. Friend, my place is by
your side. Shut the door and lets get to
 WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE LEAGUE
work.
Ten minutes later the room had
resumed a more or lessthough
principally lessnormal appearance.
The books and chairs were back in their
places. The ink was sopped up. The
broken photographs were stacked in a
neat pile in one corner, with a rug over
them. The mantelpiece was still empty,
but, as Clowes pointed out, it now
merely looked as if Trevor had been
pawning some of his household gods.
There was no sign that a devastating
secret society had raged through the
study.
Then they adjourned to Clowes
study, where Trevor sank into Clowes
second-best chairClowes, by an
adroit movement, having appropriated
the best onewith a sigh of
enjoyment. Running and passing,
followed by the toil of furniture-
shifting, had made him feel quite tired.
It doesnt look so bad now, he
said, thinking of the room they had left.
By the way, what did you do with that
card?
Here it is. Want it?
You can keep it. I dont want it.
Thanks. If this sort of things goes
on, I shall get quite a nice collection of
these cards. Start an album some day.
You know, said Trevor, this is
getting serious.
It always does get serious when
anything bad happens to ones self. It
always strikes one as rather funny when
things happen to other people. When
Mills study was wrecked, I bet you
regarded it as an amusing and original
turn. What do you think of the
present effort?
Who on earth can have done it?
The Prs
Oh, dry up. Of course it was. But
who the blazes is he?
Nay, children, you have me there,
179
quoted Clowes. Ill tell you one thing,
though. You remember what I said
about its probably being Rand-Brown.
He cant have done this, thats certain,
because he was out in the fields the
whole time. Though I dont see who
else could have anything to gain by
Barry not getting his colours.
Theres no reason to suspect him at
all, as far as I can see. I dont know
much about him, bar the fact that he
cant play footer for nuts, but Ive never
heard anything against him. Have
you?
I scarcely know him myself. He
isnt liked in Seymours, I believe.
Well, anyhow, this cant be his
work.
Thats what I said.
For all we know, the League may
have got their knife into Barry for some
reason. You said they used to get their
knife into fellows in that way.
Anyhow, I mean to find out who ragged
my room.
It wouldnt be a bad idea, said
Clowes.
*****
OHara came round to Donaldsons
before morning school next day to tell
Trevor that he had not yet succeeded in
finding the lost bat. He found Trevor
and Clowes in the formers den, trying
to put a few finishing touches to the
same.
Hullo, an whats up with your
study? he inquired. He was quick at
noticing things. Trevor looked
annoyed. Clowes asked the visitor if he
did not think the study presented a neat
and gentlemanly appearance.
Where are all your photographs,
Trevor? persisted the descendant of
Irish kings.
Its no good trying to conceal
anything from the bhoy, said Clowes.
Sit down, OHaramind that chair;
180 THE GOLD BAT
its rather wobblyand I will tell ye the
story.
Can you keep a thing dark?
inquired Trevor.
OHara protested that tombs were
not in it.
Well, then, do you remember what
happened to Mills study? Thats
whats been going on here.
OHara nearly fell off his chair with
surprise. That some philanthropist
should rag Mills study was only to be
expected. Mill was one of the worst. A
worm without a saving grace. But
Trevor! Captain of football! In the first
eleven! The thing was unthinkable.
But who? he began.
Thats just what I want to know,
said Trevor, shortly. He did not enjoy
discussing the affair.
How long have you been at
Wrykyn, OHara? said Clowes.
OHara made a rapid calculation.
His fingers twiddled in the air as he
worked out the problem.
Six years, he said at last, leaning
back exhausted with brain work.
Then you must remember the
League?
Remember the League? Rather.
Well, its been revived.
OHara whistled.
Thisll liven the old place up, he
said. Ive often thought of reviving it
meself. An so has Moriarty. If its
anything like the Old League, theres
going to be a sort of Donnybrook before
its done with. I wonder whos running
it this time.
We should like to know that. If you
find out, you might tell us.
I will.
And dont tell anybody else, said
Trevor. This business has got to be
kept quiet. Keep it dark about my study
having been ragged.
I wont tell a soul.
Not even Moriarty.
Oh, hang it, man, put in Clowes,
you dont want to kill the poor bhoy,
surely? You must let him tell one
person.
All right, said Trevor, you can
tell Moriarty. But nobody else, mind.
OHara promised that Moriarty
should receive the news exclusively.
But why did the League go for ye?
They happen to be down on me. It
doesnt matter why. They are.
I see, said OHara. Oh, he
added, about that bat. The search is
being vigorously prosecutedthats a
newspaper quotation
Times? inquired Clowes.
Wrykyn Patriot, said OHara,
pulling out a bundle of letters. He
inspected each envelope in turn, and
from the fifth extracted a newspaper
cutting.
Read that, he said.
It was from the local paper, and ran
as follows:
Hooligan OutrageA painful
sensation has been caused in the town
by a deplorable ebullition of local
Hooliganism, which has resulted in the
wanton disfigurement of the splendid
statue of Sir Eustace Briggs which
stands in the New Recreation Grounds.
Our readers will recollect that the statue
was erected to commemorate the return
of Sir Eustace as member for the
borough of Wrykyn, by an
overwhelming majority, at the last
election. Last Tuesday some youths of
the town, passing through the
Recreation Grounds early in the
morning, noticed that the face and body
of the statue were completely covered
with leaves and some black substance,
which on examination proved to be tar.
They speedily lodged information at the
police station. Everything seems to
point to party spite as the motive for the
 WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE LEAGUE
outrage. In view of the forth-coming
election, such an act is highly
significant, and will serve sufficiently to
indicate the tactics employed by our
opponents. The search for the
perpetrator (or perpetrators) of the
dastardly act is being vigorously
prosecuted, and we learn with
satisfaction that the police have already
several clues.
Clues! said Clowes, handing back
the paper, that means the bat. That gas
about our opponents is all a blind to
put you off your guard. You wait.
Therell be more painful sensations
before youve finished with this
business.
They cant have found the bat, or
why did they not say so? observed
OHara.
Guile, said Clowes, pure guile. If
I were you, I should escape while I
could. Try Callao. Theres no
extradition there.
On no petition
Is extradition
Allowed in Callao.
Either of you chaps coming over to
school?
OHARA ON THE
TRACK
Tuesday mornings at Wrykyn were
devotedup to the quarter to eleven
intervalto the study of mathematics.
That is to say, instead of going to their
form-rooms, the various forms visited
the out-of-the-way nooks and dens at
the top of the buildings where the
mathematical masters were wont to
lurk, and spent a pleasant two hours
there playing round games or reading
fiction under the desk. Mathematics
being one of the few branches of school
learning which are of any use in after
181
life, nobody ever dreamed of doing any
work in that direction, least of all
OHara. It was a theory of OHaras
that he came to school to enjoy himself.
To have done any work during a
mathematics lesson would have struck
him as a positive waste of time,
especially as he was in Mr Banks
class. Mr Banks was a master who
simply cried out to be ragged.
Everything he did and said seemed to
invite the members of his class to
amuse themselves, and they amused
themselves accordingly. One of the
advantages of being under him was that
it was possible to predict to a nicety the
moment when one would be sent out of
the room. This was found very
convenient.
OHaras ally, Moriarty, was
accustomed to take his mathematics
with Mr Morgan, whose room was
directly opposite Mr Banks. With Mr
Morgan it was not quite so easy to date
ones expulsion from the room under
ordinary circumstances, and in the
normal wear and tear of the mornings
work, but there was one particular
action which could always be relied
upon to produce the desired result.
In one corner of the room stood a
gigantic globe. The problemhow did
it get into the room?was one that had
exercised the minds of many
generations of Wrykinians. It was
much too big to have come through the
door. Some thought that the block had
been built round it, others that it had
been placed in the room in infancy, and
had since grown. To refer the question
to Mr Morgan would, in six cases out of
ten, mean instant departure from the
room. But to make the event certain, it
was necessary to grasp the globe firmly
and spin it round on its axis. That
always proved successful. Mr Morgan
would dash down from his dais, address
182 THE GOLD BAT
the offender in spirited terms, and give
him his marching orders at once and
without further trouble.
Moriarty had arranged with OHara
to set the globe rolling at ten sharp on
this particular morning. OHara would
then so arrange matters with Mr Banks
that they could meet in the passage at
that hour, when OHara wished to
impart to his friend his information
concerning the League.
OHara promised to be at the
trysting-place at the hour mentioned.
He did not think there would be any
difficulty about it. The news that the
League had been revived meant that
there would be trouble in the very near
future, and the prospect of trouble was
meat and drink to the Irishman in
OHara. Consequently he felt in
particularly good form for mathematics
(as he interpreted the word). He
thought that he would have no difficulty
whatever in keeping Mr Banks bright
and amused. The first step had to be to
arouse in him an interest in life, to bring
him into a frame of mind which would
induce him to look severely rather than
leniently on the next offender. This was
effected as follows:
It was Mr Banks practice to set his
class sums to work out, and, after some
three-quarters of an hour had elapsed, to
pass round the form what he called
solutions. These were large sheets of
paper, on which he had worked out each
sum in his neat handwriting to a happy
ending. When the head of the form, to
whom they were passed first, had
finished with them, he would make a
slight tear in one corner, and, having
done so, hand them on to his
neighbour. The neighbour, before
giving them to his neighbour, would
also tear them slightly. In time they
would return to their patentee and
proprietor, and it was then that things
became exciting.
Who tore these solutions like this?
asked Mr Banks, in the repressed voice
of one who is determined that he will be
calm.
No answer. The tattered solutions
waved in the air.
He turned to Harringay, the head of
the form.
Harringay, did you tear these
solutions like this?
Indignant negative from Harringay.
What he had done had been to make the
small tear in the top left-hand corner. If
Mr Banks had asked, Did you make
this small tear in the top left-hand
corner of these solutions? Harringay
would have scorned to deny the
impeachment. But to claim the credit
for the whole work would, he felt, be an
act of flat dishonesty, and an injustice to
his gifted collaborateurs.
No, sir, said Harringay.
Browne!
Yes, sir?
Did you tear these solutions in this
manner?
No, sir.
And so on through the form.
Then Harringay rose after the
manner of the debater who is conscious
that he is going to say the popular thing.
Sir he began.
Sit down, Harringay.
Harringay gracefully waved aside
the absurd command.
Sir, he said, I think I am
expressing the general consensus of
opinion among myahemfellow-
students, when I say that this class
sincerely regrets the unfortunate state
the solutions have managed to get
themselves into.
Hear, hear! from a back bench.
It is with
Sit down, Harringay.
It is with heartfelt
 OHARA ON THE TRACK
Harringay, if you do not sit down
As your ludship pleases. This
sotto voce.
And Harringay resumed his seat
amidst applause. OHara got up.
As me frind who has just sat down
was about to observe
Sit down, OHara. The whole form
will remain after the class.
the unfortunate state the solutions
have managed to get thimsilves into is
sincerely regretted by this class. Sir, I
think I am ixprissing the general
consensus of opinion among my fellow-
students whin I say that it is with heart-
felt sorrow
OHara!
Yes, sir?
Leave the room instantly.
Yes, sir.
From the tower across the gravel
came the melodious sound of chimes.
The college clock was beginning to
strike ten. He had scarcely got into the
passage, and closed the door after him,
when a roar as of a bereaved spirit rang
through the room opposite, followed by
a string of words, the only intelligible
one being the noun-substantive globe,
and the next moment the door opened
and Moriarty came out. The last stroke
of ten was just booming from the clock.
There was a large cupboard in the
passage, the top of which made a very
comfortable seat. They climbed on to
this, and began to talk business.
An what was it ye wanted to tell
me? inquired Moriarty.
OHara related what he had learned
from Trevor that morning.
An do ye know, said Moriarty,
when he had finished, I half suspected,
when I heard that Mills study had been
ragged, that it might be the League that
had done it. If ye remember, it was
what they enjoyed doing, breaking up a
183
mans happy home. They did it
frequently.
But I cant understand them doing it
to Trevor at all.
Theyll do it to anybody they
choose till theyre caught at it.
If they are caught, therell be a
row.
We must catch em, said
Moriarty. Like OHara, he revelled in
the prospect of a disturbance. OHara
and he were going up to Aldershot at
the end of the term, to try and bring
back the light and middle-weight
medals respectively. Moriarty had won
the light-weight in the previous year,
but, by reason of putting on a stone
since the competition, was now no
longer eligible for that class. OHara
had not been up before, but the Wrykyn
instructor, a good judge of pugilistic
form, was of opinion that he ought to
stand an excellent chance. As the prize-
fighter in Rodney Stone says, When
you get a good Irishman, you cant
better em, but theyre dreadful asty.
OHara was attending the gymnasium
every night, in order to learn to curb his
dreadful astiness, and acquire skill in
its place.
I wonder if Trevor would be any
good in a row, said Moriarty.
He cant box, said OHara, but
hed go on till he was killed entirely. I
say, Im getting rather tired of sitting
here, arent you? Lets go to the other
end of the passage and have some
cricket.
So, having unearthed a piece of
wood from the debris at the top of the
cupboard, and rolled a handkerchief
into a ball, they adjourned.
Recalling the stirring events of six
years back, when the League had first
been started, OHara remembered that
the members of that enterprising society
had been wont to hold meetings in a
184 THE GOLD BAT
secluded spot, where it was unlikely
that they would be disturbed. It seemed
to him that the first thing he ought to
do, if he wanted to make their nearer
acquaintance now, was to find their
present rendezvous. They must have
one. They would never run the risk
involved in holding mass-meetings in
one anothers studies. On the last
occasion, it had been an old quarry
away out on the downs. This had been
proved by the not-to-be-shaken
testimony of three school-house fags,
who had wandered out one half-holiday
with the unconcealed intention of
finding the Leagues place of meeting.
Unfortunately for them, they had found
it. They were going down the path that
led to the quarry before-mentioned,
when they were unexpectedly seized,
blindfolded, and carried off. An
impromptu court-martial was heldin
whispersand the three explorers
forthwith received the most spirited
touching-up they had ever
experienced. Afterwards they were
released, and returned to their house
with their zeal for detection quite
quenched. The episode had created a
good deal of excitement in the school at
the time.
On three successive afternoons,
OHara and Moriarty scoured the
downs, and on each occasion they drew
blank. On the fourth day, just before
lock-up, OHara, who had been to tea
with Gregson, of Days, was going over
to the gymnasium to keep a pugilistic
appointment with Moriarty, when
somebody ran swiftly past him in the
direction of the boarding-houses. It was
almost dark, for the days were still
short, and he did not recognise the
runner. But it puzzled him a little to
think where he had sprung from.
OHara was walking quite close to the
wall of the College buildings, and the
runner had passed between it and him.
And he had not heard his footsteps.
Then he understood, and his pulse
quickened as he felt that he was on the
track. Beneath the block was a large
sort of cellar-basement. It was used as
a store-room for chairs, and was never
opened except when prize-day or some
similar event occurred, when the chairs
were needed. It was supposed to be
locked at other times, but never was.
The door was just by the spot where he
was standing. As he stood there, half-a-
dozen other vague forms dashed past
him in a knot. One of them almost
brushed against him. For a moment he
thought of stopping him, but decided
not to. He could wait.
On the following afternoon he
slipped down into the basement soon
after school. It was as black as pitch in
the cellar. He took up a position near
the door.
It seemed hours before anything
happened. He was, indeed, almost
giving up the thing as a bad job, when a
ray of light cut through the blackness in
front of him, and somebody slipped
through the door. The next moment, a
second form appeared dimly, and then
the light was shut off again.
OHara could hear them groping
their way past him. He waited no
longer. It is difficult to tell where
sound comes from in the dark. He
plunged forward at a venture. His hand,
swinging round in a semicircle, met
something which felt like a shoulder.
He slipped his grasp down to the arm,
and clutched it with all the force at his
disposal.
MAINLY ABOUT
FERRETS
Ow! exclaimed the captive, with
 MAINLY ABOUT FERRETS
no uncertain voice. Let go, you ass,
youre hurting.
The voice was a treble voice. This
surprised OHara. It looked very much
as if he had put up the wrong bird.
From the dimensions of the arm which
he was holding, his prisoner seemed to
be of tender years.
Let go, Harvey, you idiot. I shall
kick.
Before the threat could be put into
execution, OHara, who had been
fumbling all this while in his pocket for
a match, found one loose, and struck a
light. The features of the owner of the
armhe was still holding itwere lit
up for a moment.
Why, its young Renford! he
exclaimed. What are you doing down
here?
Renford, however, continued to
pursue the topic of his arm, and the
effect that the vice-like grip of the
Irishman had had upon it.
Youve nearly broken it, he said,
complainingly.
Im sorry. I mistook you for
somebody else. Whos that with you?
Its me, said an ungrammatical
voice.
Whos me?
Harvey.
At this point a soft yellow light lit up
the more immediate neighbourhood.
Harvey had brought a bicycle lamp into
action.
Thats more like it, said Renford.
Look here, OHara, you wont split,
will you?
Im not an informer by profession,
thanks, said OHara.
Oh, I know its all right, really, but
you cant be too careful, because one
isnt allowed down here, and thered be
a beastly row if it got out about our
being down here.
And they would be cobbed, put in
185
Harvey.
Who are they? asked OHara.
Ferrets. Like to have a look at
them?
Ferrets!
Yes. Harvey brought back a couple
at the beginning of term. Ripping little
beasts. We couldnt keep them in the
house, as theyd have got dropped on in
a second, so we had to think of
somewhere else, and thought why not
keep them down here?
Why, indeed? said OHara. Do
ye find they like it?
Oh, they dont mind, said Harvey.
We feed em twice a day. Once before
breakfastwe take it in turns to get up
earlyand once directly after school.
And on half-holidays and Sundays we
take them out on to the downs.
What for?
Why, rabbits, of course. Renford
brought back a saloon-pistol with him.
We keep it locked up in a boxdont
tell any one.
And what do ye do with the
rabbits?
We pot at them as they come out of
the holes.
Yes, but when ye hit em?
Oh, said Renford, with some
reluctance, we havent exactly hit any
yet.
Weve got jolly near, though, lots
of times, said Harvey. Last Saturday
I swear I wasnt more than a quarter of
an inch off one of them. If it had been a
decent-sized rabbit, I should have
plugged it middle stump; only it was a
small one, so I missed. But come and
see them. We keep em right at the
other end of the place, in case anybody
comes in.
Have you ever seen anybody down
here? asked OHara.
Once, said Renford. Half-a-
dozen chaps came down here once
186 THE GOLD BAT
while we were feeding the ferrets. We
waited till theyd got well in, then we
nipped out quietly. They didnt see us.
Did you see who they were?
No. It was too dark. Here they
are. Rummy old crib this, isnt it?
Look out for your shins on the chairs.
Switch on the light, Harvey. There,
arent they rippers? Quite tame, too.
They know us quite well. They know
theyre going to be fed, too. Hullo, Sir
Nigel! This is Sir Nigel. Out of the
White Company, you know. Dont let
him nip your fingers. This other ones
Sherlock Holmes.
Cats-s-ss!! said OHara. He had
a sort of idea that that was the right
thing to say to any animal that could
chase and bite.
Renford was delighted to be able to
show his ferrets off to so distinguished
a visitor.
What were you down here about?
inquired Harvey, when the little animals
had had their meal, and had retired once
more into private life.
OHara had expected this question,
but he did not quite know what answer
to give. Perhaps, on the whole, he
thought, it would be best to tell them
the real reason. If he refused to explain,
their curiosity would be roused, which
would be fatal. And to give any reason
except the true one called for a display
of impromptu invention of which he
was not capable. Besides, they would
not be likely to give away his secret
while he held this one of theirs
connected with the ferrets. He
explained the situation briefly, and
swore them to silence on the subject.
Renfords comment was brief.
By Jove! he observed.
Harvey went more deeply into the
question.
What makes you think they meet
down here? he asked.
I saw some fellows cutting out of
here last night. And you say yeve seen
them here, too. I dont see what object
they could have down here if they
werent the League holding a meeting.
I dont see what else a chap would be
after.
He might be keeping ferrets,
hazarded Renford.
The whole school doesnt keep
ferrets, said OHara. Youre unique
in that way. No, it must be the League,
an I mean to wait here till they come.
Not all night? asked Harvey. He
had a great respect for OHara, whose
reputation in the school for out-of-the-
way doings was considerable. In the
bright lexicon of OHara he believed
there to be no such word as
impossible.
No, said OHara, but till lock-up.
You two had better cut now.
Yes, I think wed better, said
Harvey.
And dont ye breathe a word about
this to a soula warning which
extracted fervent promises of silence
from both youths.
This, said Harvey, as they
emerged on to the gravel, is something
like. Im jolly glad were in it.
Rather. Do you think OHara will
catch them?
He must if he waits down there
long enough. Theyre certain to come
again. Dont you wish youd been here
when the League was on before?
I should think I did. Race you over
to the shop. I want to get something
before it shuts.
Right ho! And they disappeared.
OHara waited where he was till six
struck from the clock-tower, followed
by the sound of the bell as it rang for
lock-up. Then he picked his way
carefully through the groves of chairs,
barking his shins now and then on their
 MAINLY ABOUT FERRETS
out-turned legs, and, pushing open the
door, went out into the open air. It felt
very fresh and pleasant after the brand
of atmosphere supplied in the vault. He
then ran over to the gymnasium to meet
Moriarty, feeling a little disgusted at the
lack of success that had attended his
detective efforts up to the present. So
far he had nothing to show for his
trouble except a good deal of dust on
his clothes, and a dirty collar, but he
was full of determination. He could
play a waiting game.
It was a pity, as it happened, that
OHara left the vault when he did. Five
minutes after he had gone, six shadowy
forms made their way silently and in
single file through the doorway of the
vault, which they closed carefully
behind them. The fact that it was after
lock-up was of small consequence. A
good deal of latitude in that way was
allowed at Wrykyn. It was the custom
to go out, after the bell had sounded, to
visit the gymnasium. In the winter and
Easter terms, the gymnasium became a
sort of social club. People went there
with a very small intention of doing
gymnastics. They went to lounge
about, talking to cronies, in front of the
two huge stoves which warmed the
place. Occasionally, as a concession to
the look of the thing, they would do an
easy exercise or two on the horse or
parallels, but, for the most part, they
preferred the rle of spectator. There
was plenty to see. In one corner
OHara and Moriarty would be sparring
their nightly six rounds (in two batches
of three rounds each). In another,
Drummond, who was going up to
Aldershot as a feather-weight, would be
putting in a little practice with the
instructor. On the apparatus, the
members of the gymnastic six,
including the two experts who were to
carry the school colours to Aldershot in
187
the spring, would be performing their
usual marvels. It was worth dropping
into the gymnasium of an evening. In
no other place in the school were so
many sights to be seen.
When you were surfeited with
sightseeing, you went off to your
house. And this was where the peculiar
beauty of the gymnasium system came
in. You went up to any master who
happened to be therethere was always
one at leastand observed in suave
accents, Please, sir, can I have a
paper? Whereupon, he, taking a scrap
of paper, would write upon it, J. O.
Jones (or A. B. Smith or C. D.
Robinson) left gymnasium at such-and-
such a time. And, by presenting this to
the menial who opened the door to you
at your house, you went in rejoicing,
and all was peace.
Now, there was no mention on the
paper of the hour at which you came to
the gymnasiumonly of the hour at
which you left. Consequently, certain
lawless spirits would range the
neighbourhood after lock-up, and, by
putting in a quarter of an hour at the
gymnasium before returning to their
houses, escape comment. To this class
belonged the shadowy forms previously
mentioned.
OHara had forgotten this custom,
with the result that he was not at the
vault when they arrived. Moriarty, to
whom he confided between the rounds
the substance of his evenings
discoveries, reminded him of it. Its
no good watching before lock-up, he
said. After six is the time theyll
come, if they come at all.
Bedad, yere right, said OHara.
One of these nights well take a night
off from boxing, and go and watch.
Right, said Moriarty. Are ye
ready to go on?
Yes. Im going to practise that left
188 THE GOLD BAT

swing at the body this round. The one could rely on with any certainty was
Fitzsimmons does. And they put em that it would be something which would
up once more. have been better left undone.
It was just five oclock when Barry
and MTodd started to get things ready.
BEING A CHAPTER OF They were not high enough up in the
school to have fags, so that they had to
ACCIDENTS do this for themselves.
Barry was still in football clothes.
On the evening following OHaras
He had been out running and passing
adventure in the vaults, Barry and
with the first fifteen. MTodd, whose
MTodd were in their study, getting out
idea of exercise was winding up a
the tea-things. Most Wrykinians
watch, had been spending his time since
brewed in the winter and Easter terms,
school ceased in the study with a book.
when the days were short and lock-up
He was in his ordinary clothes. It was
early. In the summer term there were
therefore fortunate that, when he upset
other things to donets, which lasted
the kettle (he nearly always did at some
till a quarter to seven (when lock-up
period of the evenings business), the
was), and the bathsand brewing
contents spread themselves over Barry,
practically ceased. But just now it was
and not over himself. Football clothes
at its height, and every evening, at a
will stand any amount of water,
quarter past five, there might be heard
whereas MTodds Youths winter
in the houses the sizzling of the
suiting at forty-two shillings and
succulent sausage and other rare
sixpence might have been injured.
delicacies. As a rule, one or two studies
Barry, however, did not look upon the
would club together to brew, instead of
episode in this philosophical light. He
preparing solitary banquets. This was
spoke to him eloquently for a while, and
found both more convivial and more
then sent him downstairs to fetch more
economical. At Seymours, studies
water. While he was away, Drummond
numbers five, six, and seven had always
and De Bertini came in.
combined from time immemorial, and
Hullo, said Drummond, tea
Barry, on obtaining study six, had
ready?
carried on the tradition. In study five
Not much, replied Barry, bitterly,
were Drummond and his friend De
not likely to be, either, at this rate.
Bertini. In study seven, which was a
Wed just got the kettle going when that
smaller room and only capable of
ass MTodd plunged against the table
holding one person with any comfort,
and upset the lot over my bags. Lucky
one James Rupert Leather-Twigg (that
the beastly stuff wasnt boiling. Im
was his singular name, as Mr Gilbert
soaked.
has it) had taken up his abode. The
While we waitthe sausages-
name of Leather-Twigg having proved,
Yes?a good ideaMTodd, he is
at an early date in his career, too great a
downstairsbut to wait? No, no. Let
mouthful for Wrykyn, he was known to
us. Shall we? Is it not so? Yes?
his friends and acquaintances by the
observed Bertie, lucidly.
euphonious title of Shoeblossom. The
Now construe, said Barry, looking
charm about the genial Shoeblossom
at the linguist with a bewildered
was that you could never tell what he
expression. It was a source of no little
was going to do next. All that you
 BEING A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
inconvenience to his friends that De
Bertini was so very fixed in his
determination to speak English. He was
a trier all the way, was De Bertini. You
rarely caught him helping out his
remarks with the language of his native
land. It was English or nothing with
him. To most of his circle it might as
well have been Zulu.
Drummond, either through natural
genius or because he spent more time
with him, was generally able to act as
interpreter. Occasionally there would
come a linguistic effort by which even
he freely confessed himself baffled, and
then they would pass on unsatisfied.
But, as a rule, he was equal to the
emergency. He was so now.
What Bertie means, he explained,
is that its no good us waiting for
MTodd to come back. He never could
fill a kettle in less than ten minutes, and
even then hes certain to spill it coming
upstairs and have to go back again.
Lets get on with the sausages.
The pan had just been placed on the
fire when MTodd returned with the
water. He tripped over the mat as he
entered, and spilt about half a pint into
one of his football boots, which stood
inside the door, but the accident was
comparatively trivial, and excited no
remark.
I wonder where that slacker
Shoeblossom has got to, said Barry.
He never turns up in time to do any
work. He seems to regard himself as a
beastly guest. I wish we could finish
the sausages before he comes. It would
be a sell for him.
Not much chance of that, said
Drummond, who was kneeling before
the fire and keeping an excited eye on
the spluttering pan, you see. Hell
come just as weve finished cooking
them. I believe the man waits outside
with his ear to the keyhole. Hullo!
189
Stand by with the plate. Theyll be
done in half a jiffy.
Just as the last sausage was
deposited in safety on the plate, the
door opened, and Shoeblossom, looking
as if he had not brushed his hair since
early childhood, sidled in with an
attempt at an easy nonchalance which
was rendered quite impossible by the
hopeless state of his conscience.
Ah, he said, brewing, I see. Can I
be of any use?
Weve finished years ago, said
Barry.
Ages ago, said MTodd.
A look of intense alarm appeared on
Shoeblossoms classical features.
Youve not finished, really?
Weve finished cooking
everything, said Drummond. We
havent begun tea yet. Now, are you
happy?
Shoeblossom was. So happy that he
felt he must do something to celebrate
the occasion. He felt like a successful
general. There must be something he
could do to show that he regarded the
situation with approval. He looked
round the study. Ha! Happy thought
the frying-pan. That useful culinary
instrument was lying in the fender, still
bearing its cargo of fat, and beside ita
sight to stir the blood and make the
heart beat fasterwere the sausages,
piled up on their plate.
Shoeblossom stooped. He seized the
frying-pan. He gave it one twirl in the
air. Then, before any one could stop
him, he had turned it upside down over
the fire. As has been already remarked,
you could never predict exactly what
James Rupert Leather-Twigg would be
up to next.
When anything goes out of the
frying-pan into the fire, it is usually
productive of interesting by-products.
The maxim applies to fat. The fat was
190 THE GOLD BAT
in the fire with a vengeance. A great
sheet of flame rushed out and up.
Shoeblossom leaped back with a
readiness highly creditable in one who
was not a professional acrobat. The
covering of the mantelpiece caught fire.
The flames went roaring up the
chimney.
Drummond, cool while everything
else was so hot, without a word moved
to the mantelpiece to beat out the fire
with a football shirt. Bertie was talking
rapidly to himself in French. Nobody
could understand what he was saying,
which was possibly fortunate.
By the time Drummond had
extinguished the mantelpiece, Barry had
also done good work by knocking the
fire into the grate with the poker.
MTodd, who had been standing up till
now in the far corner of the room,
gaping vaguely at things in general,
now came into action. Probably it was
force of habit that suggested to him that
the time had come to upset the kettle.
At any rate, upset it he didmost of it
over the glowing, blazing mass in the
grate, the rest over Barry. One of the
largest and most detestable smells the
study had ever had to endure instantly
assailed their nostrils. The fire in the
study was out now, but in the chimney
it still blazed merrily.
Go up on to the roof and heave
water down, said Drummond, the
strategist. You can get out from
Miltons dormitory window. And take
care not to chuck it down the wrong
chimney.
Barry was starting for the door to
carry out these excellent instructions,
when it flew open.
Pah! What have you boys been
doing? What an abominable smell.
Pah! said a muffled voice. It was Mr
Seymour. Most of his face was
concealed in a large handkerchief, but
by the look of his eyes, which appeared
above, he did not seem pleased. He
took in the situation at a glance. Fires
in the house were not rarities. One
facetious sportsman had once made a
rule of setting the senior day-room
chimney on fire every term. He had
since left (by request), but fires still
occurred.
Is the chimney on fire?
Yes, sir, said Drummond.
Go and find Herbert, and tell him to
take some water on to the roof and
throw it down. Herbert was the boot
and knife cleaner at Seymours.
Barry went. Soon afterwards a
splash of water in the grate announced
that the intrepid Herbert was hard at it.
Another followed, and another. Then
there was a pause. Mr Seymour thought
he would look up to see if the fire was
out. He stooped and peered into the
darkness, and, even as he gazed, splash
came the contents of the fourth pail,
together with some soot with which
they had formed a travelling
acquaintance on the way down. Mr
Seymour staggered back, grimy and
dripping. There was dead silence in the
study. Shoeblossoms face might have
been seen working convulsively.
The silence was broken by a hollow,
sepulchral voice with a strong Cockney
accent.
Did yer see any water come down
then, sir? said the voice.
Shoeblossom collapsed into a chair,
and began to sob feebly.
*****
disgraceful ... scandalous ... get
up, Leather-Twigg ... not to be
trusted ... babies ... three hundred lines,
Leather-Twigg ... abominable ...
surprised ... ought to be ashamed of
yourselves ... double, Leather-Twigg ...
not fit to have studies ... atrocious ...
Such were the main heads of Mr
 BEING A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
Seymours speech on the situation as he
dabbed desperately at the soot on his
face with his handkerchief.
Shoeblossom stood and gurgled
throughout. Not even the thought of six
hundred lines could quench that
dauntless spirit.
Finally, perorated Mr Seymour, as
he was leaving the room, as you are
evidently not to be trusted with rooms
of your own, I forbid you to enter them
till further notice. It is disgraceful that
such a thing should happen. Do you
hear, Barry? And you, Drummond?
You are not to enter your studies again
till I give you leave. Move your books
down to the senior day-room tonight.
And Mr Seymour stalked off to clean
himself.
Anyhow, said Shoeblossom, as his
footsteps died away, we saved the
sausages.
It is this indomitable gift of looking
on the bright side that makes us
Englishmen what we are.
THE HOUSE-MATCHES
It was something of a consolation to
Barry and his friendsat any rate, to
Barry and Drummondthat directly
after they had been evicted from their
study, the house-matches began.
Except for the Ripton match, the house-
matches were the most important event
of the Easter term. Even the sports at
the beginning of April were productive
of less excitement. There were twelve
houses at Wrykyn, and they played on
the knocking-out system. To be
beaten once meant that a house was no
longer eligible for the competition. It
could play friendlies as much as it
liked, but, play it never so wisely, it
could not lift the cup. Thus it often
happened that a weak house, by fluking
191
a victory over a strong rival, found
itself, much to its surprise, in the semi-
final, or sometimes even in the final.
This was rarer at football than at
cricket, for at football the better team
generally wins.
The favourites this year were
Donaldsons, though some fancied
Seymours. Donaldsons had Trevor,
whose leadership was worth almost
more than his play. In no other house
was training so rigid. You could tell a
Donaldsons man, if he was in his
house-team, at a glance. If you saw a
man eating oatmeal biscuits in the shop,
and eyeing wistfully the while the
stacks of buns and pastry, you could put
him down as a Donaldsonite without
further evidence. The captains of the
other houses used to prescribe a certain
amount of self-abnegation in the matter
of food, but Trevor left his men barely
enough to support lifeenough, that is,
of the things that are really worth
eating. The consequence was that
Donaldsons would turn out for an
important match all muscle and bone,
and on such occasions it was bad for
those of their opponents who had been
taking life more easily. Besides Trevor
they had Clowes, and had had bad luck
in not having Paget. Had Paget
stopped, no other house could have
looked at them. But by his departure,
the strength of the team had become
more nearly on a level with that of
Seymours.
Some even thought that Seymours
were the stronger. Milton was as good
a forward as the school possessed.
Besides him there were Barry and
Rand-Brown on the wings. Drummond
was a useful half, and five of the pack
had either first or second fifteen
colours. It was a team that would take
some beating.
Trevor came to that conclusion
192 THE GOLD BAT
early. If we can beat Seymours, well
lift the cup, he said to Clowes.
Well have to do all we know, was
Clowes reply.
They were watching Seymours pile
up an immense score against a scratch
team got up by one of the masters. The
first round of the competition was over.
Donaldsons had beaten Templars,
Seymours the School House.
Templars were rather stronger than the
School House, and Donaldsons had
beaten them by a rather larger score
than that which Seymours had run up
in their match. But neither Trevor nor
Clowes was inclined to draw any
augury from this. Seymours had taken
things easily after half-time;
Donaldsons had kept going hard all
through.
That makes Rand-Browns fourth
try, said Clowes, as the wing three-
quarter of the second fifteen raced
round and scored in the corner.
Yes. This is the sort of game hes
all right in. The man whos marking
him is no good. Barrys scored twice,
and both good tries, too.
Oh, theres no doubt which is the
best man, said Clowes. I only
mentioned that it was Rand-Browns
fourth as an item of interest.
The game continued. Barry scored a
third try.
Were drawn against Applebys
next round, said Trevor. We can
manage them all right.
When is it?
Next Thursday. Nomads match on
Saturday. Then Ripton, Saturday
week.
Whove Seymours drawn?
Days. Itll be a good game, too.
Seymours ought to win, but theyll
have to play their best. Days have got
some good men.
Fine scrum, said Clowes. Yes.
Quick in the open, too, which is always
good business. I wish theyd beat
Seymours.
Oh, we ought to be all right,
whichever wins.
Applebys did not offer any very
serious resistance to the Donaldson
attack. They were outplayed at every
point of the game, and, before half-
time, Donaldsons had scored their
thirty points. It was a rule in all in-
school matchesand a good rule, too
that, when one side led by thirty
points, the match stopped. This
prevented those massacres which do so
much towards crushing all the football
out of the members of the beaten team;
and it kept the winning team from
getting slack, by urging them on to
score their thirty points before half-
time. There were some houses-
notoriously slackwhich would go for
a couple of seasons without ever
playing the second half of a match.
Having polished off the men of
Appleby, the Donaldson team trooped
off to the other game to see how
Seymours were getting on with Days.
It was evidently an exciting match. The
first half had been played to the
accompaniment of much shouting from
the ropes. Though coming so early in
the competition, it was really the semi-
final, for whichever team won would be
almost certain to get into the final. The
school had turned up in large numbers
to watch.
Seymours looking tired of life,
said Clowes. That would seem as if
his fellows werent doing well.
Whats been happening here?
asked Trevor of an enthusiast in a
Seymours house cap whose face was
crimson with yelling.
One goal all, replied the enthusiast
huskily. Did you beat Applebys?
Yes. Thirty points before half-
 THE HOUSE-MATCHES
time. Whos been doing the scoring
here?
Milton got in for us. He barged
through out of touch. Weve been
pressing the whole time. Barry got over
once, but he was held up. Hullo,
theyre beginning again. Buck up, Sey-
mours.
His voice cracking on the high note,
he took an immense slab of vanilla
chocolate as a remedy for hoarseness.
Who scored for Days? asked
Clowes.
Strachan. Rand-Brown let him
through from their twenty-five. You
never saw anything so rotten as Rand-
Brown. He doesnt take his passes, and
Strachan gets past him every time.
Is Strachan playing on the wing?
Strachan was the first fifteen full-
back.
Yes. Theyve put young Bassett
back instead of him. Sey-mours. Buck
up, Seymours. We-ell played! There,
did you ever see anything like it? he
broke off disgustedly.
The Seymourite playing centre next
to Rand-Brown had run through to the
back and passed out to his wing, as a
good centre should. It was a perfect
pass, except that it came at his head
instead of his chest. Nobody with any
pretensions to decent play should have
missed it. Rand-Brown, however,
achieved that feat. The ball struck his
hands and bounded forward. The
referee blew his whistle for a scrum,
and a certain try was lost.
From the scrum the Seymours
forwards broke away to the goal-line,
where they were pulled up by Bassett.
The next minute the defence had been
pierced, and Drummond was lying on
the ball a yard across the line. The
enthusiast standing by Clowes
expended the last relics of his voice in
commemorating the fact that his side
193
had the lead.
Drummondll be good next year,
said Trevor. And he made a mental
note to tell Allardyce, who would
succeed him in the command of the
school football, to keep an eye on the
player in question.
The triumph of the Seymourites was
not long lived. Milton failed to convert
Drummonds try. From the drop-out
from the twenty-five line Barry got the
ball, and punted into touch. The throw-
out was not straight, and a scrum was
formed. The ball came out to the Days
halves, and went across to Strachan.
Rand-Brown hesitated, and then made a
futile spring at the first fifteen mans
neck. Strachan handed him off easily,
and ran. The Seymours full-back, who
was a poor player, failed to get across in
time. Strachan ran round behind the
posts, the kick succeeded, and Days
now led by two points.
After this the game continued in
Days half. Five minutes before time
was up, Drummond got the ball from a
scrum nearly on the line, passed it to
Barry on the wing instead of opening up
the game by passing to his centres, and
Barry slipped through in the corner.
This put Seymours just one point
ahead, and there they stayed till the
whistle blew for no-side.
Milton walked over to the boarding-
houses with Clowes and Trevor. He
was full of the match, particularly of the
iniquity of Rand-Brown. I slanged
him on the field, he said. Its a thing
I dont often do, but what else can you
do when a man plays like that? He lost
us three certain tries.
When did you administer your
rebuke? inquired Clowes.
When he had let Strachan through
that second time, in the second half. I
asked him why on earth he tried to play
footer at all. I told him a good kiss-in-
194 THE GOLD BAT
the-ring club was about his form. It
was rather cheap, but I felt so frightfully
sick about it. Its sickening to be let
down like that when youve been
pressing the whole time, and ought to
be scoring every other minute.
What had he to say on the subject?
asked Clowes.
Oh, he gassed a bit until I told him
Id kick him if he said another word.
That shut him up.
You ought to have kicked him.
You want all the kicking practice you
can get. I never saw anything feebler
than that shot of yours after
Drummonds try.
Id like to see you take a kick like
that. It was nearly on the touch-line.
Still, when we play you, we shant need
to convert any of our tries. Well get
our thirty points without that. Perhaps
youd like to scratch?
As a matter of fact, said Clowes
confidentially, I am going to score
seven tries against you off my own bat.
Youll be sorry you ever turned out
when weve finished with you.
NEWS OF THE GOLD
BAT
Shoeblossom sat disconsolately on
the table in the senior day-room. He
was not happy in exile. Brewing in the
senior day-room was a mere vulgar
brawl, lacking all the refining
influences of the study. You had to
fight for a place at the fire, and when
you had got it twas not always easy to
keep it, and there was no privacy, and
the fellows were always bear-fighting,
so that it was impossible to read a book
quietly for ten consecutive minutes
without some ass heaving a cushion at
you or turning out the gas. Altogether
Shoeblossom yearned for the peace of
his study, and wished earnestly that Mr
Seymour would withdraw the order of
banishment. It was the not being able
to read that he objected to chiefly. In
place of brewing, the ex-proprietors of
studies five, six, and seven now made a
practice of going to the school shop. It
was more expensive and not nearly so
comfortablethere is a romance about
a study brew which you can never get
anywhere elsebut it served, and it
was not on this score that he grumbled
most. What he hated was having to live
in a bear-garden. For Shoeblossom was
a man of moods. Give him two or three
congenial spirits to back him up, and he
would lead the revels with the abandon
of a Mr Bultitude (after his return to his
original form). But he liked to choose
his accomplices, and the gay sparks of
the senior day-room did not appeal to
him. They were not intellectual
enough. In his lucid intervals, he was
accustomed to be almost abnormally
solemn and respectable. When not
promoting some unholy rag,
Shoeblossom resembled an elderly
gentleman of studious habits. He liked
to sit in a comfortable chair and read a
book. It was the impossibility of doing
this in the senior day-room that led him
to try and think of some other haven
where he might rest. Had it been
summer, he would have taken some
literature out on to the cricket-field or
the downs, and put in a little steady
reading there, with the aid of a bag of
cherries. But with the thermometer
low, that was impossible.
He felt very lonely and dismal. He
was not a man with many friends. In
fact, Barry and the other three were
almost the only members of the house
with whom he was on speaking-terms.
And of these four he saw very little.
Drummond and Barry were always out
of doors or over at the gymnasium, and
 NEWS OF THE GOLD BAT
as for MTodd and De Bertini, it was
not worth while talking to the one, and
impossible to talk to the other. No
wonder Shoeblossom felt dull. Once
Barry and Drummond had taken him
over to the gymnasium with them, but
this had bored him worse than ever.
They had been hard at it all the time-
for, unlike a good many of the school,
they went to the gymnasium for
business, not to loungeand he had
had to sit about watching them. And
watching gymnastics was one of the
things he most loathed. Since then he
had refused to go.
That night matters came to a head.
Just as he had settled down to read,
somebody, in flinging a cushion across
the room, brought down the gas
apparatus with a run, and before light
was once more restored it was tea-time.
After that there was preparation, which
lasted for two hours, and by the time he
had to go to bed he had not been able to
read a single page of the enthralling
work with which he was at present
occupied.
He had just got into bed when he
was struck with a brilliant idea. Why
waste the precious hours in sleep?
What was that saying of somebodys,
Five hours for a wise man, six for
somebody elsehe forgot whom-
eight for a fool, nine for an idiot, or
words to that effect? Five hours sleep
would mean that he need not go to bed
till half past two. In the meanwhile he
could be finding out exactly what the
hero did do when he found out (to his
horror) that it was his cousin Jasper
who had really killed the old gentleman
in the wood. The only question was-
how was he to do his reading? Prefects
were allowed to work on after lights out
in their dormitories by the aid of a
candle, but to the ordinary mortal this
was forbidden.
195
Then he was struck with another
brilliant idea. It is a curious thing about
ideas. You do not get one for over a
month, and then there comes a rush of
them, all brilliant. Why, he thought,
should he not go and read in his study
with a dark lantern? He had a dark
lantern. It was one of the things he had
found lying about at home on the last
day of the holidays, and had brought
with him to school. It was his custom
to go about the house just before the
holidays ended, snapping up
unconsidered trifles, which might or
might not come in useful. This term he
had brought back a curious metal vase
(which looked Indian, but which had
probably been made in Birmingham the
year before last), two old coins (of no
mortal use to anybody in the world,
including himself), and the dark
lantern. It was reposing now in the
cupboard in his study nearest the
window.
He had brought his book up with
him on coming to bed, on the chance
that he might have time to read a page
or two if he woke up early. (He had
always been doubtful about that man
Jasper. For one thing, he had been seen
pawning the old gentlemans watch on
the afternoon of the murder, which was
a suspicious circumstance, and then he
was not a nice character at all, and just
the sort of man who would be likely to
murder old gentlemen in woods.) He
waited till Mr Seymour had paid his
nightly visithe went the round of the
dormitories at about elevenand then
he chuckled gently. If Mill, the
dormitory prefect, was awake, the
chuckle would make him speak, for
Mill was of a suspicious nature, and
believed that it was only his
unintermitted vigilance which prevented
the dormitory ragging all night.
Mill was awake.
196 THE GOLD BAT
Be quiet, there, he growled. Shut
up that noise.
Shoeblossom felt that the time was
not yet ripe for his departure. Half an
hour later he tried again. There was no
rebuke. To make certain he emitted a
second chuckle, replete with sinister
meaning. A slight snore came from the
direction of Mills bed. Shoeblossom
crept out of the room, and hurried to his
study. The door was not locked, for Mr
Seymour had relied on his commands
being sufficient to keep the owner out
of it. He slipped in, found and lit the
dark lantern, and settled down to read.
He read with feverish excitement. The
thing was, you see, that though Claud
Trevelyan (that was the hero) knew
jolly well that it was Jasper who had
done the murder, the police didnt, and,
as he (Claud) was too noble to tell
them, he had himself been arrested on
suspicion. Shoeblossom was skimming
through the pages with starting eyes,
when suddenly his attention was taken
from his book by a sound. It was a
footstep. Somebody was coming down
the passage, and under the door filtered
a thin stream of light. To snap the dark
slide over the lantern and dart to the
door, so that if it opened he would be
behind it, was with him, as Mr Claud
Trevelyan might have remarked, the
work of a moment. He heard the door
of study number five flung open, and
then the footsteps passed on, and
stopped opposite his own den. The
handle turned, and the light of a candle
flashed into the room, to be
extinguished instantly as the draught of
the moving door caught it.
Shoeblossom heard his visitor utter
an exclamation of annoyance, and
fumble in his pocket for matches. He
recognised the voice. It was Mr
Seymours. The fact was that Mr
Seymour had had the same experience
as General Stanley in The Pirates of
Penzance:
The man who finds his conscience
ache,
No peace at all enjoys;
And, as I lay in bed awake,
I thought I heard a noise.
Whether Mr Seymours conscience
ached or not, cannot, of course, be
discovered. But he had certainly
thought he heard a noise, and he had
come to investigate.
The search for matches had so far
proved fruitless. Shoeblossom stood
and quaked behind the door. The reek
of hot tin from the dark lantern grew
worse momentarily. Mr Seymour
sniffed several times, until
Shoeblossom thought that he must be
discovered. Then, to his immense
relief, the master walked away.
Shoeblossoms chance had come. Mr
Seymour had probably gone to get some
matches to relight his candle. It was far
from likely that the episode was closed.
He would be back again presently. If
Shoeblossom was going to escape, he
must do it now, so he waited till the
footsteps had passed away, and then
darted out in the direction of his
dormitory.
As he was passing Miltons study, a
white figure glided out of it. All that he
had ever read or heard of spectres
rushed into Shoeblossoms petrified
brain. He wished he was safely in bed.
He wished he had never come out of it.
He wished he had led a better and
nobler life. He wished he had never
been born.
The figure passed quite close to him
as he stood glued against the wall, and
he saw it disappear into the dormitory
opposite his own, of which Rigby was
prefect. He blushed hotly at the thought
of the fright he had been in. It was only
somebody playing the same game as
 NEWS OF THE GOLD BAT 197

himself. VICTIM NUMBER

He jumped into bed and lay down,
having first plunged the lantern bodily THREE
into his jug to extinguish it. Its
With reference to our last
indignant hiss had scarcely died away
communication, ran the letterthe
when Mr Seymour appeared at the
writer evidently believed in the
door. It had occurred to Mr Seymour
commercial styleit may interest you
that he had smelt something very much
to know that the bat you lost by the
out of the ordinary in Shoeblossoms
statue on the night of the 26th of
study, a smell uncommonly like that of
January has come into our possession.
hot tin. And a suspicion dawned on
We observe that Barry is still playing
him that Shoeblossom had been in there
for the first fifteen.
with a dark lantern. He had come to the
And will jolly well continue to,
dormitory to confirm his suspicions.
muttered Trevor, crumpling the paper
But a glance showed him how unjust
viciously into a ball.
they had been. There was Shoeblossom
He went on writing the names for the
fast asleep. Mr Seymour therefore
Ripton match. The last name on the list
followed the excellent example of my
was Barrys.
Lord Tomnoddy on a celebrated
Then he sat back in his chair, and
occasion, and went off to bed.
began to wrestle with this new
*****
development. Barry must play. That
It was the custom for the captain of
was certain. All the bluff in the world
football at Wrykyn to select and publish
was not going to keep him from playing
the team for the Ripton match a week
the best man at his disposal in the
before the day on which it was to be
Ripton match. He himself did not
played. On the evening after the
count. It was the school he had to think
Nomads match, Trevor was sitting in
of. This being so, what was likely to
his study writing out the names, when
happen? Though nothing was said on
there came a knock at the door, and his
the point, he felt certain that if he
fag entered with a letter.
persisted in ignoring the League, that
This has just come, Trevor, he
bat would find its way somehowby
said.
devious routes, possiblyto the
All right. Put it down.
headmaster or some one else in
The fag left the room. Trevor picked
authority. And then there would be
up the letter. The handwriting was
questionsawkward questionsand
strange to him. The words had been
things would begin to come out. Then a
printed. Then it flashed upon him that
fresh point struck him, which was, that
he had received a letter once before
whatever might happen would affect,
addressed in the same waythe letter
not himself, but OHara. This made it
from the League about Barry. Was this,
rather more of a problem how to act.
too, from that address? He opened it.
Personally, he was one of those dogged
It was.
characters who can put up with almost
He read it, and gasped. The worst
anything themselves. If this had been
had happened. The gold bat was in the
his affair, he would have gone on his
hands of the enemy.
way without hesitating. Evidently the
writer of the letter was under the
impression that he had been the hero (or
198 THE GOLD BAT
villain) of the statue escapade.
If everything came out it did not
require any great effort of prophecy to
predict what the result would be.
OHara would go. Promptly. He would
receive his marching orders within ten
minutes of the discovery of what he had
done. He would be expelled twice over,
so to speak, once for breaking out at
nightone of the most heinous
offences in the school codeand once
for tarring the statue. Anything that
gave the school a bad name in the town
was a crime in the eyes of the powers,
and this was such a particularly flagrant
case. Yes, there was no doubt of that.
OHara would take the first train home
without waiting to pack up. Trevor
knew his people well, and he could
imagine their feelings when the
prodigal strolled into their midstan
old Wrykinian malgr lui. As the
philosopher said of falling off a ladder,
it is not the falling that matters: it is the
sudden stopping at the other end. It is
not the being expelled that is so
peculiarly objectionable: it is the
sudden homecoming. With this gloomy
vision before him, Trevor almost
wavered. But the thought that the
selection of the team had nothing
whatever to do with his personal
feelings strengthened him. He was
simply a machine, devised to select the
fifteen best men in the school to meet
Ripton. In his official capacity of
football captain he was not supposed to
have any feelings. However, he yielded
in so far that he went to Clowes to ask
his opinion.
Clowes, having heard everything and
seen the letter, unhesitatingly voted for
the right course. If fifty mad Irishmen
were to be expelled, Barry must play
against Ripton. He was the best man,
and in he must go.
Thats what I thought, said
Trevor. Its bad for OHara, though.
Clowes remarked somewhat tritely
that business was business.
Besides, he went on, youre
assuming that the thing this letter hints
at will really come off. I dont think it
will. A man would have to be such an
awful blackguard to go as low as that.
The least grain of decency in him would
stop him. I can imagine a man
threatening to do it as a piece of bluff
by the way, the letter doesnt actually
say anything of the sort, though I
suppose it hints at itbut I cant
imagine anybody out of a melodrama
doing it.
You can never tell, said Trevor.
He felt that this was but an outside
chance. The forbearance of ones
antagonist is but a poor thing to trust to
at the best of times.
Are you going to tell OHara?
asked Clowes.
I dont see the good. Would you?
No. He cant do anything, and it
would only give him a bad time. There
are pleasanter things, I should think,
than going on from day to day not
knowing whether youre going to be
sacked or not within the next twelve
hours. Dont tell him.
I wont. And Barry plays against
Ripton.
Certainly. Hes the best man.
Im going over to Seymours now,
said Trevor, after a pause, to see
Milton. Weve drawn Seymours in the
next round of the house-matches. I
suppose you knew. I want to get it over
before the Ripton match, for several
reasons. About half the fifteen are
playing on one side or the other, and
itll give them a good chance of getting
fit. Running and passing is all right, but
a good, hard games the thing for
putting you into form. And then I was
thinking that, as the side that loses,
 VICTIM NUMBER THREE
whichever it is
Seymours, of course.
Hope so. Well, theyre bound to be
a bit sick at losing, so theyll play up all
the harder on Saturday to console
themselves for losing the cup.
My word, what strategy! said
Clowes. You think of everything.
When do you think of playing it, then?
Wednesday struck me as a good
day. Dont you think so?
It would do splendidly. Itll be a
good match. For all practical purposes,
of course, its the final. If we beat
Seymours, I dont think the others will
trouble us much.
There was just time to see Milton
before lock-up. Trevor ran across to
Seymours, and went up to his study.
Come in, said Milton, in answer to
his knock.
Trevor went in, and stood surprised
at the difference in the look of the place
since the last time he had visited it. The
walls, once covered with photographs,
were bare. Milton, seated before the
fire, was ruefully contemplating what
looked like a heap of waste cardboard.
Trevor recognised the symptoms.
He had had experience.
You dont mean to say theyve been
at you, too! he cried.
Miltons normally cheerful face was
thunderous and gloomy.
Yes. I was thinking what Id like to
do to the man who ragged it.
Its the League again, I suppose?
Milton looked surprised.
Again? he said, where did you
hear of the League? This is the first
time Ive heard of its existence,
whatever it is. What is the confounded
thing, and why on earth have they
played the fool here? Whats the
meaning of this bally rot?
He exhibited one of the variety of
cards of which Trevor had already seen
199
two specimens. Trevor explained
briefly the style and nature of the
League, and mentioned that his study
also had been wrecked.
Your study? Why, what have they
got against you?
I dont know, said Trevor.
Nothing was to be gained by speaking
of the letters he had received.
Did they cut up your photographs?
Every one.
I tell you what it is, Trevor, old
chap, said Milton, with great
solemnity, theres a lunatic in the
school. Thats what I make of it. A
lunatic whose form of madness is
wrecking studies.
But the same chap couldnt have
done yours and mine. It must have
been a Donaldsons fellow who did
mine, and one of your chaps who did
yours and Mills.
Mills? By Jove, of course. I never
thought of that. That was the League,
too, I suppose?
Yes. One of those cards was tied to
a chair, but Clowes took it away before
anybody saw it.
Milton returned to the details of the
disaster.
Was there any ink spilt in your
room?
Pints, said Trevor, shortly. The
subject was painful.
So there was here, said Milton,
mournfully. Gallons.
There was silence for a while, each
pondering over his wrongs.
Gallons, said Milton again. I was
ass enough to keep a large pot full of it
here, and they used it all, every drop.
You never saw such a sight.
Trevor said he had seen one similar
spectacle.
And my photographs! You
remember those photographs I showed
you? All ruined. Slit across with a
200 THE GOLD BAT
knife. Some torn in half. I wish I knew
who did that.
Trevor said he wished so, too.
There was one of Mrs Patrick
Campbell, Milton continued in
heartrending tones, which was torn
into sixteen pieces. I counted them.
There they are on the mantelpiece. And
there was one of Little Tich (here he
almost broke down), which was so
covered with ink that for half an hour I
couldnt recognise it. Fact.
Trevor nodded sympathetically.
Yes, said Milton. Soaked. All destroyed.
There was another silence. Trevor
felt it would be almost an outrage to
discuss so prosaic a topic as the date of
a house-match with one so broken up.
Yet time was flying, and lock-up was
drawing near.
Are you willing to play he
began.
I feel as if I could never play
again, interrupted Milton. Youd
hardly believe the amount of blotting-
paper Ive used today. It must have
been a lunatic, Dick, old man.
When Milton called Trevor Dick,
it was a sign that he was moved. When
he called him Dick, old man, it gave
evidence of an internal upheaval
without parallel.
Why, who else but a lunatic would
get up in the night to wreck another
chaps study? All this was done
between eleven last night and seven this
morning. I turned in at eleven, and
when I came down here again at seven
the place was a wreck. It must have
been a lunatic.
How do you account for the printed
card from the League?
Milton murmured something about
madmens cunning and diverting
suspicion, and relapsed into silence.
Trevor seized the opportunity to make
the proposal he had come to make, that
Donaldsons v. Seymours should be
played on the following Wednesday.
Milton agreed listlessly.
Just where youre standing, he
said, I found a photograph of Sir
Henry Irving so slashed about that I
thought at first it was Huntley Wright in
San Toy.
Start at two-thirty sharp, said
Trevor.
I had seventeen of Edna May,
continued the stricken Seymourite,
monotonously. In various attitudes.
On the first fifteen ground, of
course, said Trevor. Ill get Aldridge
to referee. Thatll suit you, I suppose?
All right. Anything you like. Just
by the fireplace I found the remains of
Arthur Roberts in H.M.S.
Irresponsible. And part of Seymour
Hicks. Under the table
Trevor departed.
THE WHITE FIGURE
Suppose, said Shoeblossom to
Barry, as they were walking over to
school on the morning following the
day on which Miltons study had passed
through the hands of the League,
suppose you thought somebody had
done something, but you werent quite
certain who, but you knew it was some
one, what would you do?
What on earth do you mean?
inquired Barry.
I was trying to make an A.B. case
of it, explained Shoeblossom.
Whats an A.B. case?
I dont know, admitted
Shoeblossom, frankly. But it comes in
a book of Stevensons. I think it must
mean a sort of case where you call
everyone A. and B. and dont tell their
names.
 THE WHITE FIGURE
Well, go ahead.
Its about Miltons study.
What! what about it?
Well, you see, the night it was
ragged I was sitting in my study with a
dark lantern
What!
Shoeblossom proceeded to relate the
moving narrative of his night-walking
adventure. He dwelt movingly on his
state of mind when standing behind the
door, waiting for Mr Seymour to come
in and find him. He related with
appropriate force the hair-raising
episode of the weird white figure. And
then he came to the conclusions he had
since drawn (in calmer moments) from
that apparitions movements.
You see, he said, I saw it coming
out of Miltons study, and that must
have been about the time the study was
ragged. And it went into Rigbys
dorm. So it must have been a chap in
that dorm, who did it.
Shoeblossom was quite clever at rare
intervals. Even Barry, whose belief in
his sanity was of the smallest, was
compelled to admit that here, at any
rate, he was talking sense.
What would you do? asked
Shoeblossom.
Tell Milton, of course, said Barry.
But hed give me beans for being
out of the dorm, after lights-out.
This was a distinct point to be
considered. The attitude of Barry
towards Milton was different from that
of Shoeblossom. Barry regarded him
through having played with him in
important matchesas a good sort of
fellow who had always behaved
decently to him. Leather-Twigg, on the
other hand, looked on him with
undisguised apprehension, as one in
authority who would give him lines the
first time he came into contact with
him, and cane him if he ever did it
201
again. He had a decided disinclination
to see Milton on any pretext whatever.
Suppose I tell him? suggested
Barry.
Youll keep my name dark? said
Shoeblossom, alarmed.
Barry said he would make an A.B.
case of it.
After school he went to Miltons
study, and found him still brooding over
its departed glories.
I say, Milton, can I speak to you for
a second?
Hullo, Barry. Come in.
Barry came in.
I had forty-three photographs,
began Milton, without preamble. All
destroyed. And Ive no money to buy
any more. I had seventeen of Edna
May.
Barry, feeling that he was expected
to say something, said, By Jove!
Really?
In various positions, continued
Milton. All ruined.
Not really? said Barry.
There was one of Little Tich
But Barry felt unequal to playing the
part of chorus any longer. It was all
very thrilling, but, if Milton was going
to run through the entire list of his
destroyed photographs, life would be
too short for conversation on any other
topic.
I say, Milton, he said, it was
about that that I came. Im sorry
Milton sat up.
It wasnt you who did this, was it?
No, no, said Barry, hastily.
Oh, I thought from your saying you
were sorry
I was going to say I thought I could
put you on the track of the chap who
did do it
For the second time since the
interview began Milton sat up.
Go on, he said.
202 THE GOLD BAT
But Im sorry I cant give you the
name of the fellow who told me about
it.
That doesnt matter, said Milton.
Tell me the name of the fellow who
did it. Thatll satisfy me.
Im afraid I cant do that, either.
Have you any idea what you can
do? asked Milton, satirically.
I can tell you something which may
put you on the right track.
Thatll do for a start. Well?
Well, the chap who told meIll
call him A.; Im going to make an A.B.
case of itwas coming out of his study
at about one oclock in the morning
What the deuce was he doing that
for?
Because he wanted to go back to
bed, said Barry.
About time, too. Well?
As he was going past your study, a
white figure emerged
I should strongly advise you, young
Barry, said Milton, gravely, not to try
and rot me in any way. Youre a jolly
good wing three-quarters, but you
shouldnt presume on it. Id slay the
Old Man himself if he rotted me about
this business.
Barry was quite pained at this
sceptical attitude in one whom he was
going out of his way to assist.
Im not rotting, he protested.
This is all quite true.
Well, go on. You were saying
something about white figures
emerging.
Not white figures. A white figure,
corrected Barry. It came out of your
study
And vanished through the wall?
It went into Rigbys dorm., said
Barry, sulkily. It was maddening to
have an exclusive bit of news treated in
this way.
Did it, by Jove! said Milton,
interested at last. Are you sure the
chap who told you wasnt pulling your
leg? Who was it told you?
I promised him not to say.
Out with it, young Barry.
I wont, said Barry.
You arent going to tell me?
No.
Milton gave up the point with much
cheerfulness. He liked Barry, and he
realised that he had no right to try and
make him break his promise.
Thats all right, he said. Thanks
very much, Barry. This may be useful.
Id tell you his name if I hadnt
promised, you know, Milton.
It doesnt matter, said Milton.
Its not important.
Oh, there was one thing I forgot. It
was a biggish chap the fellow saw.
How big! My size?
Not quite so tall, I should think. He
said he was about Seymours size.
Thanks. Thats worth knowing.
Thanks very much, Barry.
When his visitor had gone, Milton
proceeded to unearth one of the printed
lists of the house which were used for
purposes of roll-call. He meant to find
out who were in Rigbys dormitory. He
put a tick against the names. There
were eighteen of them. The next thing
was to find out which of them was
about the same height as Mr Seymour.
It was a somewhat vague description,
for the house-master stood about five
feet nine or eight, and a good many of
the dormitory were that height, or near
it. At last, after much brain-work, he
reduced the number of possibles to
seven. These seven were Rigby
himself, Linton, Rand-Brown, Griffith,
Hunt, Kershaw, and Chapple. Rigby
might be scratched off the list at once.
He was one of Miltons greatest
friends. Exeunt also Griffith, Hunt, and
Kershaw. They were mild youths, quite
 THE WHITE FIGURE
incapable of any deed of devilry. There
remained, therefore, Chapple, Linton,
and Rand-Brown. Chapple was a boy
who was invariably late for breakfast.
The inference was that he was not likely
to forego his sleep for the purpose of
wrecking studies. Chapple might
disappear from the list. Now there were
only Linton and Rand-Brown to be
considered. His suspicions fell on
Rand-Brown. Linton was the last
person, he thought, to do such a low
thing. He was a cheerful, rollicking
individual, who was popular with
everyone and seemed to like everyone.
He was not an orderly member of the
house, certainly, and on several
occasions Milton had found it necessary
to drop on him heavily for creating
disturbances. But he was not the sort
that bears malice. He took it all in the
way of business, and came up smiling
after it was over. No, everything
pointed to Rand-Brown. He and Milton
had never got on well together, and
quite recently they had quarrelled
openly over the formers play in the
Days match. Rand-Brown must be the
man. But Milton was sensible enough
to feel that so far he had no real
evidence whatever. He must wait.
On the following afternoon
Seymours turned out to play
Donaldsons.
The game, like most house-matches,
was played with the utmost keenness.
Both teams had good three-quarters,
and they attacked in turn. Seymours
had the best of it forward, where Milton
was playing a great game, but Trevor in
the centre was the best outside on the
field, and pulled up rush after rush. By
half-time neither side had scored.
After half-time Seymours, playing
downhill, came away with a rush to the
Donaldsonites half, and Rand-Brown,
with one of the few decent runs he had
203
made in good class football that term,
ran in on the left. Milton took the kick,
but failed, and Seymours led by three
points. For the next twenty minutes
nothing more was scored. Then, when
five minutes more of play remained,
Trevor gave Clowes an easy opening,
and Clowes sprinted between the posts.
The kick was an easy one, and what
sporting reporters term the major
points were easily added.
When there are five more minutes to
play in an important house-match, and
one side has scored a goal and the other
a try, play is apt to become spirited.
Both teams were doing all they knew.
The ball came out to Barry on the right.
Barrys abilities as a three-quarter
rested chiefly on the fact that he could
dodge well. This eel-like attribute
compensated for a certain lack of pace.
He was past the Donaldsons three-
quarters in an instant, and running for
the line, with only the back to pass, and
with Clowes in hot pursuit. Another
wriggle took him past the back, but it
also gave Clowes time to catch him up.
Clowes was a far faster runner, and he
got to him just as he reached the
twenty-five line. They came down
together with a crash, Clowes on top,
and as they fell the whistle blew.
No-side, said Mr. Aldridge, the
master who was refereeing.
Clowes got up.
All over, he said. Jolly good
game. Hullo, whats up?
For Barry seemed to be in trouble.
You might give us a hand up, said
the latter. I believe Ive twisted my
beastly ankle or something.
A SPRAIN AND A
VACANT PLACE
I say, said Clowes, helping him
204 THE GOLD BAT
up, Im awfully sorry. Did I do it?
How did it happen?
Barry was engaged in making
various attempts at standing on the
injured leg. The process seemed to be
painful.
Shall I get a stretcher or anything?
Can you walk?
If youd help me over to the house,
I could manage all right. What a
beastly nuisance! It wasnt your fault a
bit. Only you tackled me when I was
just trying to swerve, and my ankle was
all twisted.
Drummond came up, carrying
Barrys blazer and sweater.
Hullo, Barry, he said, whats up?
You arent crocked?
Something gone wrong with my
ankle. That my blazer? Thanks.
Coming over to the house? Clowes was
just going to help me over.
Clowes asked a Donaldsons junior,
who was lurking near at hand, to fetch
his blazer and carry it over to the house,
and then made his way with Drummond
and the disabled Barry to Seymours.
Having arrived at the senior day-room,
they deposited the injured three-quarter
in a chair, and sent MTodd, who came
in at the moment, to fetch the doctor.
Dr Oakes was a big man with a
breezy manner, the sort of doctor who
hits you with the force of a sledge-
hammer in the small ribs, and asks you
if you felt anything then. It was on this
principle that he acted with regard to
Barrys ankle. He seized it in both
hands and gave it a wrench.
Did that hurt? he inquired
anxiously.
Barry turned white, and replied that
it did.
Dr Oakes nodded wisely.
Ah! Hm! Just so. Myes. Ah. Oakes. Which shows how differently
Is it bad? asked Drummond, awed
by these mystic utterances.
My dear boy, replied the doctor,
breezily, it is always bad when one
twists ones ankle.
How long will it do me out of
footer? asked Barry.
How long? How long? How long?
Why, fortnight. Fortnight, said the
doctor.
Then I shant be able to play next
Saturday?
Next Saturday? Next Saturday?
My dear boy, if you can put your foot to
the ground by next Saturday, you may
take it as evidence that the age of
miracles is not past. Next Saturday,
indeed! Ha, ha.
It was not altogether his fault that he
treated the matter with such brutal
levity. It was a long time since he had
been at school, and he could not quite
realise what it meant to Barry not to be
able to play against Ripton. As for
Barry, he felt that he had never loathed
and detested any one so thoroughly as
he loathed and detested Dr Oakes at that
moment.
I dont see where the joke comes
in, said Clowes, when he had gone. I
bar that man.
Hes a beast, said Drummond. I
cant understand why they let a tout like
that be the school doctor.
Barry said nothing. He was too sore
for words.
What Dr Oakes said to his wife that
evening was: Over at the school, my
dear, this afternoon. This afternoon.
Boy with a twisted ankle. Nice young
fellow. Very much put out when I told
him he could not play football for a
fortnight. But I chaffed him, and
cheered him up in no time. I cheered
him up in no time, my dear.
Im sure you did, dear, said Mrs
the same thing may strike different
people. Barry certainly did not look as
 A SPRAIN AND A VACANT PLACE
if he had been cheered up when Clowes
left the study and went over to tell
Trevor that he would have to find a
substitute for his right wing three-
quarter against Ripton.
Trevor had left the field without
noticing Barrys accident, and he was
tremendously pleased at the result of the
game.
Good man, he said, when Clowes
came in, you saved the match.
And lost the Ripton match
probably, said Clowes, gloomily.
What do you mean?
That last time I brought down Barry
I crocked him. Hes in his study now
with a sprained ankle. Ive just come
from there. Oakes has seen him, and
says he mustnt play for a fortnight.
Great Scott! said Trevor, blankly.
What on earth shall we do?
Why not move Strachan up to the
wing, and put somebody else back
instead of him? Strachan is a good
wing.
Trevor shook his head.
No. Theres nobody good enough
to play back for the first. We mustnt
risk it.
Then I suppose it must be Rand-
Brown?
I suppose so.
He may do better than we think.
He played quite a decent game today.
That try he got wasnt half a bad one.
Hed be all right if he didnt funk.
But perhaps he wouldnt funk against
Ripton. In a match like that anybody
would play up. Ill ask Milton and
Allardyce about it.
I shouldnt go to Milton today,
said Clowes. I fancy hell want a
nights rest before hes fit to talk to. He
must be a bit sick about this match. I
know he expected Seymours to win.
He went out, but came back almost
immediately.
205
I say, he said, theres one thing
thats just occurred to me. Thisll
please the League. I mean, this ankle
business of Barrys.
The same idea had struck Trevor. It
was certainly a respite. But he regretted
it for all that. What he wanted was to
beat Ripton, and Barrys absence would
weaken the team. However, it was
good in its way, and cleared the
atmosphere for the time. The League
would hardly do anything with regard to
the carrying out of their threat while
Barry was on the sick-list.
Next day, having given him time to
get over the bitterness of defeat in
accordance with Clowes thoughtful
suggestion, Trevor called on Milton,
and asked him what his opinion was on
the subject of the inclusion of Rand-
Brown in the first fifteen in place of
Barry,
Hes the next best man, he added,
in defence of the proposal.
I suppose so, said Milton. Hed
better play, I suppose. Theres no one
else.
Clowes thought it wouldnt be a
bad idea to shove Strachan on the wing,
and put somebody else back.
Who is there to put?
Jervis?
Not good enough. No, its better to
be weakish on the wing than at back.
Besides, Rand-Brown may do all right.
He played well against you.
Yes, said Trevor. Study looks a
bit better now, he added, as he was
going, having looked round the room.
Still a bit bare, though.
Milton sighed. It will never be
what it was.
Forty-three theatrical photographs
want some replacing, of course, said
Trevor. But it isnt bad, considering.
Hows yours?
Oh, mines all right, except for the
206 THE GOLD BAT
absence of photographs.
I say, Trevor.
Yes? said Trevor, stopping at the
door. Miltons voice had taken on the
tone of one who is about to disclose
dreadful secrets.
Would you like to know what I
think?
What?
Why, Im pretty nearly sure who it
was that ragged my study?
By Jove! What have you done to
him?
Nothing as yet. Im not quite sure
of my man.
Who is the man?
Rand-Brown.
By Jove! Clowes once said he
thought Rand-Brown must be the
President of the League. But then, I
dont see how you can account for my
study being wrecked. He was out on
the field when it was done.
Why, the League, of course. You
dont suppose hes the only man in it?
There must be a lot of them.
But what makes you think it was
Rand-Brown?
Milton told him the story of
Shoeblossom, as Barry had told it to
him. The only difference was that
Trevor listened without any of the
scepticism which Milton had displayed
on hearing it. He was getting excited.
It all fitted in so neatly. If ever there
was circumstantial evidence against a
man, here it was against Rand-Brown.
Take the two cases. Milton had
quarrelled with him. Miltons study
was wrecked with the compliments of
the League. Trevor had turned him out
of the first fifteen. Trevors study was
wrecked with the compliments of the
League. As Clowes had pointed out,
the man with the most obvious motive
for not wishing Barry to play for the
school was Rand-Brown. It seemed a
true bill.
I shouldnt wonder if youre right,
he said, but of course one cant do
anything yet. You want a lot more
evidence. Anyhow, we must play him
against Ripton, I suppose. Which is his
study? Ill go and tell him now.
Ten.
Trevor knocked at the door of study
Ten. Rand-Brown was sitting over the
fire, reading. He jumped up when he
saw that it was Trevor who had come
in, and to his visitor it seemed that his
face wore a guilty look.
What do you want? said Rand-
Brown.
It was not the politest way of
welcoming a visitor. It increased
Trevors suspicions. The man was
afraid. A great idea darted into his
mind. Why not go straight to the point
and have it out with him here and now?
He had the Leagues letter about the bat
in his pocket. He would confront him
with it and insist on searching the study
there and then. If Rand-Brown were
really, as he suspected, the writer of the
letter, the bat must be in this room
somewhere. Search it now, and he
would have no time to hide it. He
pulled out the letter.
I believe you wrote that, he said.
Trevor was always direct.
Rand-Brown seemed to turn a little
pale, but his voice when he replied was
quite steady.
Thats a lie, he said.
Then, perhaps, said Trevor, you
wouldnt object to proving it.
How?
By letting me search your study?
You dont believe my word?
Why should I? You dont believe
mine.
Rand-Brown made no comment on
this remark.
Was that what you came here for?
 A SPRAIN AND A VACANT PLACE
he asked.
No, said Trevor; as a matter of
fact, I came to tell you to turn out for
running and passing with the first
tomorrow afternoon. Youre playing
against Ripton on Saturday.
Rand-Browns attitude underwent a
complete transformation at the news.
He became friendliness itself.
All right, he said. I say, Im bigger to the Wrykinians than they
sorry I said what I did about lying. I
was rather sick that you should think I
wrote that rot you showed me. I hope
you dont mind.
Not a bit. Do you mind my
searching your study?
For a moment Rand-Brown looked
vicious. Then he sat down with a laugh.
Go on, he said; I see you dont on the field by a quarter of a stone. But,
believe me. Here are the keys if you
want them.
Trevor thanked him, and took the
keys. He opened every drawer and
examined the writing-desk. The bat
was in none of these places. He looked
in the cupboards. No bat there.
Like to take up the carpet?
inquired Rand-Brown.
No, thanks.
Search me if you like. Shall I turn
out my pockets?
Yes, please, said Trevor, to his
surprise. He had not expected to be
taken literally.
Rand-Brown emptied them, but the
bat was not there. Trevor turned to go.
Youve not looked inside the legs
of the chairs yet, said Rand-Brown.
They may be hollow. Theres no
knowing.
It doesnt matter, thanks, said
Trevor. Sorry for troubling you.
Dont forget tomorrow afternoon.
And he went, with the very
unpleasant feeling that he had been
badly scored off.
207
THE RIPTON MATCH
It was a curious thing in connection
with the matches between Ripton and
Wrykyn, that Ripton always seemed to
be the bigger team. They always had a
gigantic pack of forwards, who looked
capable of shoving a hole through one
of the pyramids. Possibly they looked
really were. Strangers always look big
on the football field. When you have
grown accustomed to a persons
appearance, he does not look nearly so
large. Milton, for instance, never struck
anybody at Wrykyn as being
particularly big for a school forward,
and yet today he was the heaviest man
taken in the mass, the Ripton pack were
far heavier than their rivals. There was
a legend current among the lower forms
at Wrykyn that fellows were allowed to
stop on at Ripton till they were twenty-
five, simply to play football. This is
scarcely likely to have been based on
fact. Few lower form legends are.
Jevons, the Ripton captain, through
having played opposite Trevor for three
seasonshe was the Ripton left centre-
three-quarterhad come to be quite an
intimate of his. Trevor had gone down
with Milton and Allardyce to meet the
team at the station, and conduct them up
to the school.
How have you been getting on
since Christmas? asked Jevons.
Pretty well. Weve lost Paget, I
suppose you know?
That was the fast man on the wing,
wasnt it?
Yes.
Well, weve lost a man, too.
Oh, yes, that red-haired forward. I
remember him.
It ought to make us pretty even.
Whats the ground like?
208 THE GOLD BAT
Bit greasy, I should think. We had
some rain late last night.
The ground was a bit greasy. So was
the ball. When Milton kicked off up the
hill with what wind there was in his
favour, the outsides of both teams found
it difficult to hold the ball. Jevons
caught it on his twenty-five line, and
promptly handed it forward. The first
scrum was formed in the heart of the
enemys country.
A deep, swelling roar from either
touch-line greeted the schools
advantage. A feature of a big match
was always the shouting. It rarely
ceased throughout the whole course of
the game, the monotonous but
impressive sound of five hundred
voices all shouting the same word. It
was worth hearing. Sometimes the
evenness of the noise would change to
an excited crescendo as a school three-
quarter got off, or the school back
pulled up the attack with a fine piece of
defence. Sometimes the shouting
would give place to clapping when the
school was being pressed and
somebody had found touch with a long
kick. But mostly the man on the ropes
roared steadily and without cessation,
and with the full force of his lungs, the
word Wrykyn!
The scrum was a long one. For two
minutes the forwards heaved and
strained, now one side, now the other,
gaining a few inches. The Wrykyn
pack were doing all they knew to heel,
but their opponents superior weight
was telling. Ripton had got the ball,
and were keeping it. Their game was to
break through with it and rush. Then
suddenly one of their forwards kicked it
on, and just at that moment the
opposition of the Wrykyn pack gave
way, and the scrum broke up. The ball
came out on the Wrykyn side, and
Allardyce whipped it out to Deacon,
who was playing half with him.
Balls out, cried the Ripton half
who was taking the scrum. Break up.
Its out.
And his colleague on the left darted
across to stop Trevor, who had taken
Deacons pass, and was running
through on the right.
Trevor ran splendidly. He was a
three-quarter who took a lot of stopping
when he once got away. Jevons and the
Ripton half met him almost
simultaneously, and each slackened his
pace for the fraction of a second, to
allow the other to tackle. As they
hesitated, Trevor passed them. He had
long ago learned that to go hard when
you have once started is the thing that
pays.
He could see that Rand-Brown was
racing up for the pass, and, as he
reached the back, he sent the ball to
him, waist-high. Then the back got to
him, and he came down with a thud,
with a vision, seen from the corner of
his eye, of the ball bounding forward
out of the wing three-quarters hands
into touch. Rand-Brown had bungled
the pass in the old familiar way, and
lost a certain try.
The touch-judge ran up with his flag
waving in the air, but the referee had
other views.
Knocked on inside, he said;
scrum here.
Here was, Trevor saw with
unspeakable disgust, some three yards
from the goal-line. Rand-Brown had
only had to take the pass, and he must
have scored.
The Ripton forwards were beginning
to find their feet better now, and they
carried the scrum. A truculent-looking
warrior in one of those ear-guards
which are tied on by strings underneath
the chin, and which add fifty per cent to
the ferocity of a forwards appearance,
 THE RIPTON MATCH
broke away with the ball at his feet, and
swept down the field with the rest of the
pack at his heels. Trevor arrived too
late to pull up the rush, which had gone
straight down the right touch-line, and it
was not till Strachan fell on the ball on
the Wrykyn twenty-five line that the
danger ceased to threaten.
Even now the school were in a bad
way. The enemy were pressing keenly,
and a real piece of combination among
their three-quarters would only too
probably end in a try. Fortunately for
them, Allardyce and Deacon were a
better pair of halves than the couple
they were marking. Also, the Ripton
forwards heeled slowly, and Allardyce
had generally got his man safely buried
in the mud before he could pass.
He was just getting round for the
tenth time to bottle his opponent as
before, when he slipped. When the ball
came out he was on all fours, and the
Ripton exponent, finding to his great
satisfaction that he had not been
tackled, whipped the ball out on the left,
where a wing three-quarter hovered.
This was the man Rand-Brown was
supposed to be marking, and once again
did Barrys substitute prove of what
stuff his tackling powers were made.
After his customary moment of
hesitation, he had at the Riptonians
neck. The Riptonian handed him off in
a manner that recalled the palmy days
of the old Prize Ringhanding off was
always slightly vigorous in the Ripton
v. Wrykyn matchand dashed over the
line in the extreme corner.
There was anguish on the two touch-
lines. Trevor looked savage, but made
no comment. The team lined up in
silence.
It takes a very good kick to convert a
try from the touch-line. Jevons kick
was a long one, but it fell short. Ripton
led by a try to nothing.
209
A few more scrums near the halfway
line, and a fine attempt at a dropped
goal by the Ripton back, and it was
half-time, with the score unaltered.
During the interval there were
lemons. An excellent thing is your
lemon at half-time. It cools the mouth,
quenches the thirst, stimulates the desire
to be at them again, and improves the
play.
Possibly the Wrykyn team had been
happier in their choice of lemons on this
occasion, for no sooner had the game
been restarted than Clowes ran the
whole length of the field, dodged
through the three-quarters, punted over
the backs head, and scored a really
brilliant try, of the sort that Paget had
been fond of scoring in the previous
term. The man on the touch-line
brightened up wonderfully, and began
to try and calculate the probable score
by the end of the game, on the
assumption that, as a try had been
scored in the first two minutes, ten
would be scored in the first twenty, and
so on.
But the calculations were based on
false premises. After Strachan had
failed to convert, and the game had
been resumed with the score at one try
all, play settled down in the centre, and
neither side could pierce the others
defence. Once Jevons got off for
Ripton, but Trevor brought him down
safely, and once Rand-Brown let his
man through, as before, but Strachan
was there to meet him, and the effort
came to nothing. For Wrykyn, no one
did much except tackle. The forwards
were beaten by the heavier pack, and
seldom let the ball out. Allardyce
intercepted a pass when about ten
minutes of play remained, and ran
through to the back. But the back, who
was a capable man and in his third
season in the team, laid him low
210 THE GOLD BAT
scientifically before he could reach the
line.
Altogether it looked as if the match
were going to end in a draw. The
Wrykyn defence, with the exception of
Rand-Brown, was too good to be
penetrated, while the Ripton forwards,
by always getting the ball in the scrums,
kept them from attacking. It was about
five minutes from the end of the game
when the Ripton right centre-three-
quarter, in trying to punt across to the
wing, miskicked and sent the ball
straight into the hands of Trevors
colleague in the centre. Before his man
could get round to him he had slipped
through, with Trevor backing him up.
The back, as a good back should, seeing
two men coming at him, went for the
man with the ball. But by the time he
had brought him down, the ball was no
longer where it had originally been.
Trevor had got it, and was running in
between the posts.
This time Strachan put on the extra
two points without difficulty.
Ripton played their hardest for the
remaining minutes, but without result.
The game ended with Wrykyn a goal
aheada goal and a try to a try. For
the second time in one season the
Ripton match had ended in a victorya
thing it was very rarely in the habit of
doing.
*****
The senior day-room at Seymours
rejoiced considerably that night. The
air was dark with flying cushions, and
darker still, occasionally, when the
usual humorist turned the gas out.
Milton was out, for he had gone to the
dinner which followed the Ripton
match, and the man in command of the
house in his absence was Mill. And the
senior day-room had no respect
whatever for Mill.
Barry joined in the revels as well as
his ankle would let him, but he was not
feeling happy. The disappointment of
being out of the first still weighed on
him.
At about eight, when things were
beginning to grow really lively, and the
noise seemed likely to crack the
window at any moment, the door was
flung open and Milton stalked in.
Whats all this row? he inquired.
Stop it at once.
As a matter of fact, the row had
stoppeddirectly he came in.
Is Barry here? he asked.
Yes, said that youth.
Congratulate you on your first,
Barry. Weve just had a meeting and
given you your colours. Trevor told me
to tell you.
THE WATCHERS IN THE
VAULT
For the next three seconds you could
have heard a cannonball drop. And that
was equivalent, in the senior day-room
at Seymours, to a dead silence. Barry
stood in the middle of the room leaning
on the stick on which he supported life,
now that his ankle had been injured, and
turned red and white in regular rotation,
as the magnificence of the news came
home to him.
Then the small voice of Linton was
heard.
Thatll be six d. Ill trouble you
for, young Sammy, said Linton. For
he had betted an even sixpence with
Master Samuel Menzies that Barry
would get his first fifteen cap this term,
and Barry had got it.
A great shout went up from every
corner of the room. Barry was one of
the most popular members of the house,
and every one had been sorry for him
when his sprained ankle had apparently
 THE WATCHERS IN THE VAULT
put him out of the running for the last
cap.
Good old Barry, said Drummond,
delightedly. Barry thanked him in a
dazed way.
Every one crowded in to shake his
hand. Barry thanked then all in a dazed
way.
And then the senior day-room, in
spite of the fact that Milton had
returned, gave itself up to celebrating
the occasion with one of the most
deafening uproars that had ever been
heard even in that factory of noise. A
babel of voices discussed the match of
the afternoon, each trying to outshout
the other. In one corner Linton was
beating wildly on a biscuit-tin with part
of a broken chair. Shoeblossom was
busy in the opposite corner executing an
intricate step-dance on somebody elses
box. MTodd had got hold of the red-
hot poker, and was burning his initials
in huge letters on the seat of a chair.
Every one, in short, was enjoying
himself, and it was not until an
advanced hour that comparative quiet
was restored. It was a great evening for
Barry, the best he had ever experienced.
Clowes did not learn the news till he
saw it on the notice-board, on the
following Monday. When he saw it he
whistled softly.
I see youve given Barry his first, that he did not see of what use the
he said to Trevor, when they met.
Rather sensational.
Milton and Allardyce both thought
he deserved it. If hed been playing
instead of Rand-Brown, they wouldnt
have scored at all probably, and we
should have got one more try.
Thats all right, said Clowes. He him, and they resolved that that night
deserves it right enough, and Im jolly
glad youve given it him. But things
will begin to move now, dont you
think? The League ought to have a
word to say about the business. Itll be
211
a facer for them.
Do you remember, asked Trevor,
saying that you thought it must be
Rand-Brown who wrote those letters?
Yes. Well?
Well, Milton had an idea that it was
Rand-Brown who ragged his study.
What made him think that?
Trevor related the Shoeblossom
incident.
Clowes became quite excited.
Then Rand-Brown must be the
man, he said. Why dont you go and
tackle him? Probably hes got the bat in
his study.
Its not in his study, said Trevor,
because I looked everywhere for it,
and got him to turn out his pockets, too.
And yet Ill swear he knows something
about it. One thing struck me as a bit
suspicious. I went straight into his
study and showed him that last letter-
about the bat, you know, and accused
him of writing it. Now, if he hadnt
been in the business somehow, he
wouldnt have understood what was
meant by their saying the bat you lost.
It might have been an ordinary cricket-
bat for all he knew. But he offered to
let me search the study. It didnt strike
me as rum till afterwards. Then it
seemed fishy. What do you think?
Clowes thought so too, but admitted
suspicion was going to be. Whether
Rand-Brown knew anything about the
affair or not, it was quite certain that the
bat was not with him.
OHara, meanwhile, had decided that
the time had come for him to resume his
detective duties. Moriarty agreed with
they would patronise the vault instead
of the gymnasium, and take a holiday as
far as their boxing was concerned.
There was plenty of time before the
Aldershot competition.
212 THE GOLD BAT
Lock-up was still at six, so at a
quarter to that hour they slipped down
into the vault, and took up their
position.
A quarter of an hour passed. The
lock-up bell sounded faintly. Moriarty
began to grow tired.
Is it worth it? he said, an
wouldnt they have come before, if they
meant to come?
Well give them another quarter of
an hour, said OHara. After that for a moment, and a sound of puffing
Sh! whispered Moriarty.
The door had opened. They could
see a figure dimly outlined in the semi-
darkness. Footsteps passed down into
the vault, and there came a sound as if
the unknown had cannoned into a chair,
followed by a sharp intake of breath,
expressive of pain. A scraping sound,
and a flash of light, and part of the vault
was lit by a candle. OHara caught a
glimpse of the unknowns face as he
rose from lighting the candle, but it was
not enough to enable him to recognise
him. The candle was standing on a
chair, and the light it gave was too
feeble to reach the face of any one not
on a level with it.
The unknown began to drag chairs
out into the neighbourhood of the light.
OHara counted six.
The sixth chair had scarcely been
placed in position when the door
opened again. Six other figures
appeared in the opening one after the
other, and bolted into the vault like
rabbits into a burrow. The last of them
closed the door after them.
OHara nudged Moriarty, and
Moriarty nudged OHara; but neither
made a sound. They were not likely to
be seenthe blackness of the vault was
too Egyptian for thatbut they were so
near to the chairs that the least whisper
must have been heard. Not a word had
proceeded from the occupants of the
chairs so far. If OHaras suspicion was
correct, and this was really the League
holding a meeting, their methods were
more secret than those of any other
secret society in existence. Even the
Nihilists probably exchanged a few
remarks from time to time, when they
met together to plot. But these men of
mystery never opened their lips. It
puzzled OHara.
The light of the candle was obscured
came from the darkness.
OHara nudged Moriarty again.
Smoking! said the nudge.
Moriarty nudged OHara.
Smoking it is! was the meaning of
the movement.
A strong smell of tobacco showed
that the diagnosis had been a true one.
Each of the figures in turn lit his pipe at
the candle, and sat back, still in silence.
It could not have been very pleasant,
smoking in almost pitch darkness, but it
was breaking rules, which was probably
the main consideration that swayed the
smokers. They puffed away steadily,
till the two Irishmen were wrapped
about in invisible clouds.
Then a strange thing happened. I
know that I am infringing copyright in
making that statement, but it so exactly
suits the occurrence, that perhaps Mr
Rider Haggard will not object. It was a
strange thing that happened.
A rasping voice shattered the silence.
You boys down there, said the
voice, come here immediately. Come
here, I say.
It was the well-known voice of Mr
Robert Dexter, OHara and Moriartys
beloved house-master.
The two Irishmen simultaneously
clutched one another, each afraid that
the other would thinkfrom force of
long habitthat the house-master was
speaking to him. Both stood where they
 THE WATCHERS IN THE VAULT
were. It was the men of mystery and
tobacco that Dexter was after, they
thought.
But they were wrong. What had
brought Dexter to the vault was the fact
that he had seen two boys, who looked
uncommonly like OHara and Moriarty,
go down the steps of the vault at a
quarter to six. He had been doing his
usual after-lock-up prowl on the junior
gravel, to intercept stragglers, and he
had been a witnessfrom a distance of
fifty yards, in a very bad lightof the
descent into the vault. He had remained
on the gravel ever since, in the hope of
catching them as they came up; but as
they had not come up, he had
determined to make the first move
himself. He had not seen the six
unknowns go down, for, the evening
being chilly, he had paced up and down,
and they had by a lucky accident chosen
a moment when his back was turned.
Come up immediately, he
repeated.
Here a blast of tobacco-smoke
rushed at him from the darkness. The
candle had been extinguished at the first
alarm, and he had not realisedthough
he had suspected itthat smoking had
been going on.
A hurried whispering was in
progress among the unknowns.
Apparently they saw that the game was
up, for they picked their way towards
the door.
As each came up the steps and
passed him, Mr Dexter observed Ha!
and appeared to make a note of his
name. The last of the six was just
leaving him after this process had been
completed, when Mr Dexter called him
back.
That is not all, he said,
suspiciously.
Yes, sir, said the last of the
unknowns.
213
Neither of the Irishmen recognised
the voice. Its owner was a stranger to
them.
I tell you it is not, snapped Mr
Dexter. You are concealing the truth
from me. OHara and Moriarty are
down theretwo boys in my own
house. I saw them go down there.
They had nothing to do with us, sir.
We saw nothing of them.
I have no doubt, said the house-
master, that you imagine that you are
doing a very chivalrous thing by trying
to hide them, but you will gain nothing
by it. You may go.
He came to the top of the steps, and
it seemed as if he intended to plunge
into the darkness in search of the
suspects. But, probably realising the
futility of such a course, he changed his
mind, and delivered an ultimatum from
the top step.
OHara and Moriarty.
No reply.
OHara and Moriarty, I know
perfectly well that you are down there.
Come up immediately.
Dignified silence from the vault.
Well, I shall wait here till you do
choose to come up. You would be well
advised to do so immediately. I warn
you you will not tire me out.
He turned, and the door slammed
behind him.
Whatll we do? whispered
Moriarty. It was at last safe to whisper.
Wait, said OHara, Im thinking.
OHara thought. For many minutes
he thought in vain. At last there came
flooding back into his mind a memory
of the days of his faghood. It was after
that that he had been groping all the
time. He remembered now. Once in
those days there had been an
unexpected function in the middle of
term. There were needed for that
function certain chairs. He could recall
214 THE GOLD BAT
even now his furious disgust when he
and a select body of fellow fags had
been pounced upon by their form-
master, and coerced into forming a line
from the junior block to the cloisters,
for the purpose of handing chairs. True,
his form-master had stood ginger-beer
after the event, with princely liberality,
but the labour was of the sort that
gallons of ginger-beer will not make
pleasant. But he ceased to regret the
episode now. He had been at the
extreme end of the chair-handling
chain. He had stood in a passage in the
junior block, just by the door that led to
the masters garden, and whichhe
rememberedwas never locked till late
at night. And while he stood there, a
pair of handsapparently without a
bodyhad heaved up chair after chair
through a black opening in the floor. In
other words, a trap-door connected with
the vault in which he now was.
He imparted these reminiscences of
childhood to Moriarty. They set off to
search for the missing door, and, after
wanderings and barkings of shins too
painful to relate, they found it.
Moriarty lit a match. The light fell on
the trap-door, and their last doubts were
at an end. The thing opened inwards.
The bolt was on their side, not in the
passage above them. To shoot the bolt
took them one second, to climb into the
passage one minute. They stood at the
side of the opening, and dusted their
clothes.
Bedad! said Moriarty, suddenly.
What?
Why, how are we to shut it?
This was a problem that wanted
some solving. Eventually they
managed it, OHara leaning over and
fishing for it, while Moriarty held his
legs.
As luck would have itand luck had
stood by them well all throughthere
was a bolt on top of the trap-door, as
well as beneath it.
Supposing that had been shot! said
OHara, as they fastened the door in its
place.
Moriarty did not care to suppose
anything so unpleasant.
Mr Dexter was still prowling about
on the junior gravel, when the two
Irishmen ran round and across the
senior gravel to the gymnasium. Here
they put in a few minutes gentle
sparring, and then marched boldly up to
Mr Day (who happened to have looked
in five minutes after their arrival) and
got their paper.
What time did OHara and Moriarty
arrive at the gymnasium? asked Mr
Dexter of Mr Day next morning.
OHara and Moriarty? Really, I
cant remember. I know they left at
about a quarter to seven.
That profound thinker, Mr Tony
Weller, was never so correct as in his
views respecting the value of an alibi.
There are few better things in an
emergency.
OHARA EXCELS
HIMSELF
It was Renfords turn next morning
to get up and feed the ferrets. Harvey
had done it the day before.
Renford was not a youth who
enjoyed early rising, but in the cause of
the ferrets he would have endured
anything, so at six punctually he slid out
of bed, dressed quietly, so as not to
disturb the rest of the dormitory, and
ran over to the vault. To his utter
amazement he found it locked. Such a
thing had never been done before in the
whole course of his experience. He
tugged at the handle, but not an inch or
a fraction of an inch would the door
 OHARA EXCELS HIMSELF
yield. The policy of the Open Door had
ceased to find favour in the eyes of the
authorities.
A feeling of blank despair seized
upon him. He thought of the dismay of
the ferrets when they woke up and
realised that there was no chance of
breakfast for them. And then they
would gradually waste away, and some
day somebody would go down to the
vault to fetch chairs, and would come
upon two mouldering skeletons, and
wonder what they had once been. He
almost wept at the vision so conjured
up.
There was nobody about. Perhaps
he might break in somehow. But then
there was nothing to get to work with.
He could not kick the door down. No,
he must give it up, and the ferrets
breakfast-hour must be postponed.
Possibly Harvey might be able to think
of something.
Fed em? inquired Harvey, when
they met at breakfast.
No, I couldnt.
Why on earth not? You didnt
oversleep yourself?
Renford poured his tale into his
friends shocked ears.
My hat! said Harvey, when he had
finished, what on earth are we to do?
Theyll starve.
Renford nodded mournfully.
Whatever made them go and lock
the door? he said.
He seemed to think the authorities
should have given him due notice of
such an action.
Youre sure they have locked it? It
isnt only stuck or something?
I lugged at the handle for hours.
But you can go and see for yourself if
you like.
Harvey went, and, waiting till the
coast was clear, attached himself to the
handle with a prehensile grasp, and put
215
his back into one strenuous tug. It was
even as Renford had said. The door
was locked beyond possibility of doubt.
Renford and he went over to school
that morning with long faces and a
general air of acute depression. It was
perhaps fortunate for their purpose that
they did, for had their appearance been
normal it might not have attracted
OHaras attention. As it was, the
Irishman, meeting them on the junior
gravel, stopped and asked them what
was wrong. Since the adventure in the
vault, he had felt an interest in Renford
and Harvey.
The two told their story in alternate
sentences like the Strophe and
Antistrophe of a Greek chorus.
("Steichomuthics, your Greek scholar
calls it, I fancy. Ha, yes! Just so.)
So ye cant get in because theyve
locked the door, an ye dont know
what to do about it? said OHara, at
the conclusion of the narrative.
Renford and Harvey informed him in
chorus that that was the state of the
game up to present date.
An ye want me to get them out for
you?
Neither had dared to hope that he
would go so far as this. What they had
looked for had been at the most a few
thoughtful words of advice. That such a
master-strategist as OHara should take
up their cause was an unexampled piece
of good luck.
If you only would, said Harvey.
We should be most awfully
obliged, said Renford.
Very well, said OHara.
They thanked him profusely.
OHara replied that it would be a
privilege.
He should be sorry, he said, to have
anything happen to the ferrets.
Renford and Harvey went on into
school feeling more cheerful. If the
216 THE GOLD BAT
ferrets could be extracted from their
present tight corner, OHara was the
man to do it.
OHara had not made his offer of
assistance in any spirit of doubt. He
was certain that he could do what he
had promised. For it had not escaped
his memory that this was a Tuesdayin
other words, a mathematics morning up
to the quarter to eleven interval. That
meant, as has been explained
previously, that, while the rest of the
school were in the form-rooms, he
would be out in the passage, if he cared
to be. There would be no witnesses to
what he was going to do.
But, by that curious perversity of
fate which is so often noticeable, Mr
Banks was in a peculiarly lamb-like and
long-suffering mood this morning.
Actions for which OHara would on
other days have been expelled from the
room without hope of return, today
were greeted with a mild Dont do
that, please, OHara, or even the
ridiculously inadequate OHara! It
was perfectly disheartening. OHara
began to ask himself bitterly what was
the use of ragging at all if this was how
it was received. And the moments were
flying, and his promise to Renford and
Harvey still remained unfulfilled.
He prepared for fresh efforts.
So desperate was he, that he even
resorted to crude methods like the
throwing of paper balls and the
dropping of books. And when your
really scientific ragger sinks to this, he
is nearing the end of his tether. OHara
hated to be rude, but there seemed no
help for it.
The striking of a quarter past ten
improved his chances. It had been
privily agreed upon beforehand
amongst the members of the class that
at a quarter past ten every one was to
sneeze simultaneously. The noise
startled Mr Banks considerably. The
angelic mood began to wear off. A man
may be long-suffering, but he likes to
draw the line somewhere.
Another exhibition like that, he
said, sharply, and the class stays in
after school, OHara!
Sir?
Silence.
I said nothing, sir, really.
Boy, you made a cat-like noise with
your mouth.
What sort of noise, sir?
The form waited breathlessly. This
peculiarly insidious question had been
invented for mathematical use by one
Sandys, who had left at the end of the
previous summer. It was but rarely that
the master increased the gaiety of
nations by answering the question in the
manner desired.
Mr Banks, off his guard, fell into the
trap.
A noise like this, he said curtly,
and to the delighted audience came the
melodious sound of a Mi-aou, which
put OHaras effort completely in the
shade, and would have challenged
comparison with the war-cry of the
stoutest mouser that ever trod a tile.
A storm of imitations arose from all
parts of the room. Mr Banks turned
pink, and, going straight to the root of
the disturbance, forthwith evicted
OHara.
OHara left with the satisfying
feeling that his duty had been done.
Mr Banks room was at the top of
the middle block. He ran softly down
the stairs at his best pace. It was not
likely that the master would come out
into the passage to see if he was still
there, but it might happen, and it would
be best to run as few risks as possible.
He sprinted over to the junior block,
raised the trap-door, and jumped down.
He knew where the ferrets had been
 OHARA EXCELS HIMSELF
placed, and had no difficulty in finding
them. In another minute he was in the
passage again, with the trap-door bolted
behind him.
He now asked himselfwhat should
he do with them? He must find a safe
place, or his labours would have been in
vain.
Behind the fives-court, he thought,
would be the spot. Nobody ever went
there. It meant a run of three hundred
yards there and the same distance back,
and there was more than a chance that
he might be seen by one of the Powers.
In which case he might find it rather
hard to explain what he was doing in
the middle of the grounds with a couple
of ferrets in his possession when the
hands of the clock pointed to twenty
minutes to eleven.
But the odds were against his being
seen. He risked it.
When the bell rang for the quarter to
eleven interval the ferrets were in their
new home, happily discussing a piece
of meatRenfords contribution, held
over from the mornings meal,and
OHara, looking as if he had never left
the passage for an instant, was making
his way through the departing
mathematical class to apologise
handsomely to Mr Banksas was his
invariable customfor his disgraceful
behaviour during the mornings lesson.
THE MAYORS VISIT
School prefects at Wrykyn did
weekly essays for the headmaster.
Those who had got their scholarships at
the Varsity, or who were going up in
the following year, used to take their
essays to him after school and read
them to himan unpopular and nerve-
destroying practice, akin to suicide.
Trevor had got his scholarship in the
217
previous November. He was due at the
headmasters private house at six
oclock on the present Tuesday. He
was looking forward to the ordeal not
without apprehension. The essay
subject this week had been One mans
meat is another mans poison, and
Clowes, whose idea of English Essay
was that it should be a medium for
intempestive frivolity, had insisted on
his beginning with, While I cannot
conscientiously go so far as to say that
one mans meat is another mans
poison, yet I am certainly of opinion
that what is highly beneficial to one
man may, on the other hand, to another
man, differently constituted, be
extremely deleterious, and, indeed,
absolutely fatal.
Trevor was not at all sure how the
headmaster would take it. But Clowes
had seemed so cut up at his suggestion
that it had better be omitted, that he had
allowed it to stand.
He was putting the final polish on
this gem of English literature at half-
past five, when Milton came in.
Busy? said Milton.
Trevor said he would be through in a
minute.
Milton took a chair, and waited.
Trevor scratched out two words and
substituted two others, made a couple of
picturesque blots, and, laying down his
pen, announced that he had finished.
Whats up? he said.
Its about the League, said Milton.
Found out anything?
Not anything much. But Ive been
making inquiries. You remember I
asked you to let me look at those letters
of yours?
Trevor nodded. This had happened
on the Sunday of that week.
Well, I wanted to look at the post-
marks.
By Jove, I never thought of that.
218 THE GOLD BAT
Milton continued with the business-
like air of the detective who explains in
the last chapter of the book how he did
it.
I found, as I thought, that both
letters came from the same place.
Trevor pulled out the letters in
question. So they do, he said,
Chesterton.
Do you know Chesterton? asked
Milton.
Only by name.
Its a small hamlet about two miles
from here across the downs. Theres
only one shop in the place, which acts
as post-office and tobacconist and
everything else. I thought that if I went
there and asked about those letters, they
might remember who it was that sent
them, if I showed them a photograph.
By Jove, said Trevor, of course! photograph of you across the counter,
Did you? What happened?
I went there yesterday afternoon. I
took about half-a-dozen photographs of
various chaps, including Rand-Brown.
But wait a bit. If Chestertons two
miles off, Rand-Brown couldnt have
sent the letters. He wouldnt have the
time after school. He was on the
grounds both the afternoons before I got
the letters.
I know, said Milton; I didnt bind herself down to any particular
think of that at the time.
Well?
One of the points about the
Chesterton post-office is that theres no
letter-box outside. You have to go into
the shop and hand anything you want to
post across the counter. I thought this
was a tremendous score for me. I
thought they would be bound to
remember who handed in the letters.
There cant be many at a place like
that.
Did they remember?
They remembered the letters being
given in distinctly, but as for knowing
anything beyond that, they were simply
futile. There was an old woman in the
shop, aged about three hundred and ten,
I should think. I shouldnt say she had
ever been very intelligent, but now she
simply gibbered. I started off by laying
out a shilling on some poisonous-
looking sweets. I gave the lot to a
village kid when I got out. I hope they
didnt kill him. Then, having scattered
ground-bait in that way, I lugged out the
photographs, mentioned the letters and
the date they had been sent, and asked
her to weigh in and identify the sender.
Did she?
My dear chap, she identified them
all, one after the other. The first was
one of Clowes. She was prepared to
swear on oath that that was the chap
who had sent the letters. Then I shot a
and doubts began to creep in. She said
she was certain it was one of those two
la-ads, but couldnt quite say which.
To keep her amused I fired in
photograph number three-
Allardyces. She identified that, too.
At the end of ten minutes she was pretty
sure that it was one of the sixthe
other three were Paget, Clephane, and
Rand-Brownbut she was not going to
one. As I had come to the end of my
stock of photographs, and was getting a
bit sick of the game, I got up to go,
when in came another ornament of
Chesterton from a room at the back of
the shop. He was quite a kid, not more
than a hundred and fifty at the outside,
so, as a last chance, I tackled him on the
subject. He looked at the photographs
for about half an hour, mumbling
something about it not being thiccy
un or that un, or that ere tother
un, until I began to feel Id had
enough of it. Then it came out that the
real chap who had sent the letters was a
 THE MAYORS VISIT
la-ad with light hair, not so big as me
That doesnt help us much, said
Trevor.
And a prarper little gennlemun. and disappeared in the direction of his
So all weve got to do is to look for
some young duke of polished manners
and exterior, with a thatch of light hair.
There are three hundred and sixty-
seven fellows with light hair in the
school, said Trevor, calmly.
Thought it was three hundred and
sixty-eight myself, said Milton, but I
may be wrong. Anyhow, there you
have the results of my investigations. If
you can make anything out of them,
youre welcome to it. Good-bye.
Half a second, said Trevor, as he
got up; had the fellow a cap of any
sort?
No. Bareheaded. You wouldnt
expect him to give himself away by
wearing a house-cap?
Trevor went over to the
headmasters revolving this discovery
in his mind. It was not much of a clue,
but the smallest clue is better than
nothing. To find out that the sender of
the League letters had fair hair
narrowed the search down a little. It
cleared the more raven-locked members
of the school, at any rate. Besides, by
combining his information with
Miltons, the search might be still
further narrowed down. He knew that
the polite letter-writer must be either in
Seymours or in Donaldsons. The
number of fair-haired youths in the two
houses was not excessive. Indeed, at
the moment he could not recall any;
which rather complicated matters.
He arrived at the headmasters door,
and knocked. He was shown into a
room at the side of the hall, near the
door. The butler informed him that the
headmaster was engaged at present.
Trevor, who knew the butler slightly
219
through having constantly been to see
the headmaster on business via the front
door, asked who was there.
Sir Eustace Briggs, said the butler,
lair beyond the green baize partition at
the end of the hall.
Trevor went into the room, which
was a sort of spare study, and sat down,
wondering what had brought the mayor
of Wrykyn to see the headmaster at this
advanced hour.
A quarter of an hour later the sound
of voices broke in upon his peace. The
headmaster was coming down the hall
with the intention of showing his visitor
out. The door of Trevors room was
ajar, and he could hear distinctly what
was being said. He had no particular
desire to play the eavesdropper, but the
part was forced upon him.
Sir Eustace seemed excited.
It is far from being my habit, he
was saying, to make unnecessary
complaints respecting the conduct of
the lads under your care. (Sir Eustace
Briggs had a distaste for the shorter and
more colloquial forms of speech. He
would have perished sooner than have
substituted complain of your boys for
the majestic formula he had used. He
spoke as if he enjoyed choosing his
words. He seemed to pause and think
before each word. Unkind people-
who were jealous of his distinguished
careerused to say that he did this
because he was afraid of dropping an
aitch if he relaxed his vigilance.)
But, continued he, I am
reluctantly forced to the unpleasant
conclusion that the dastardly outrage to
which both I and the Press of the town
have called your attention is to be
attributed to one of the lads to whom I
avehave (this with a jerk) referred.
I will make a thorough inquiry, Sir
Eustace, said the bass voice of the
220 THE GOLD BAT
headmaster.
I thank you, said the mayor. It
would, under the circumstances, be
nothing more, I think, than what is
distinctly advisable. The man Samuel
Wapshott, of whose narrative I have
recently afforded you a brief synopsis,
stated in no uncertain terms that he
found at the foot of the statue on which
the dastardly outrage was perpetrated a
diminutive ornament, in shape like the
bats that are used in the game of
cricket. This ornament, he avers (with
what truth I know not), was handed by
him to a youth of an age coeval with
that of the lads in the upper division of
this school. The youth claimed it as his
property, I was given to understand.
A thorough inquiry shall be made,
Sir Eustace.
I thank you.
And then the door shut, and the
conversation ceased.
THE FINDING OF THE
BAT
Trevor waited till the headmaster
had gone back to his library, gave him
five minutes to settle down, and then
went in.
The headmaster looked up
inquiringly.
My essay, sir, said Trevor.
Ah, yes. I had forgotten.
Trevor opened the notebook and
began to read what he had written. He
finished the paragraph which owed its
insertion to Clowes, and raced hurriedly
on to the next. To his surprise the
flippancy passed unnoticed, at any rate,
verbally. As a rule the headmaster
preferred that quotations from back
numbers of Punch should be kept out of
the prefects English Essays. And he
generally said as much. But today he
seemed strangely preoccupied. A split
infinitive in paragraph five, which at
other times would have made him sit up
in his chair stiff with horror, elicited no
remark. The same immunity was
accorded to the insertion (inspired by
Clowes, as usual) of a popular catch
phrase in the last few lines. Trevor
finished with the feeling that luck had
favoured him nobly.
Yes, said the headmaster,
seemingly roused by the silence
following on the conclusion of the
essay. Yes. Then, after a long pause,
Yes, again.
Trevor said nothing, but waited for
further comment.
Yes, said the headmaster once
more, I think that is a very fair essay.
Very fair. It wants a little moreer-
not quite so muchumyes.
Trevor made a note in his mind to
effect these improvements in future
essays, and was getting up, when the
headmaster stopped him.
Dont go, Trevor. I wish to speak
to you.
Trevors first thought was, perhaps
naturally, that the bat was going to be
brought into discussion. He was
wondering helplessly how he was going
to keep OHara and his midnight exploit
out of the conversation, when the
headmaster resumed. An unpleasant
thing has happened, Trevor
Now were coming to it, thought
Trevor.
It appears, Trevor, that a
considerable amount of smoking has
been going on in the school.
Trevor breathed freely once more. It
was only going to be a mere
conventional smoking row after all. He
listened with more enjoyment as the
headmaster, having stopped to turn
down the wick of the reading-lamp
which stood on the table at his side, and
 THE FINDING OF THE BAT
which had begun, appropriately enough,
to smoke, resumed his discourse.
Mr Dexter
Of course, thought Trevor. If there
ever was a row in the school, Dexter
was bound to be at the bottom of it.
Mr Dexter has just been in to see
me. He reported six boys. He
discovered them in the vault beneath the
junior block. Two of them were boys in
your house.
Trevor murmured something
wordless, to show that the story
interested him.
You knew nothing of this, of course
No, sir.
No. Of course not. It is difficult
for the head of a house to know all that
goes on in that house.
Was this his beastly sarcasm?
Trevor asked himself. But he came to
the conclusion that it was not. After all,
the head of a house is only human. He
cannot be expected to keep an eye on
the private life of every member of his
house.
This must be stopped, Trevor.
There is no saying how widespread the
practice has become or may become.
What I want you to do is to go straight
back to your house and begin a
complete search of the studies.
Tonight, sir? It seemed too late for
such amusement.
Tonight. But before you go to your
house, call at Mr Seymours, and tell
Milton I should like to see him. And,
Trevor.
Yes, sir?
You will understand that I am
leaving this matter to you to be dealt
with by you. I shall not require you to
make any report to me. But if you
should find tobacco in any boys room,
you must punish him well, Trevor.
Punish him well.
221
This meant that the culprit must be
touched up before the house
assembled in the dining-room. Such an
event did not often occur. The last
occasion had been in Pagets first term
as head of Donaldsons, when two of
the senior day-room had been
discovered attempting to revive the
ancient and dishonourable custom of
bullying. This time, Trevor foresaw,
would set up a record in all probability.
There might be any number of devotees
of the weed, and he meant to carry out
his instructions to the full, and make the
criminals more unhappy than they had
been since the day of their first cigar.
Trevor hated the habit of smoking at
school. He was so intensely keen on
the success of the house and the school
at games, that anything which tended to
damage the wind and eye filled him
with loathing. That anybody should
dare to smoke in a house which was
going to play in the final for the House
Football Cup made him rage internally,
and he proposed to make things bad and
unrestful for such.
To smoke at school is to insult the
divine weed. When you are obliged to
smoke in odd corners, fearing every
moment that you will be discovered, the
whole meaning, poetry, romance of a
pipe vanishes, and you become like
those lost beings who smoke when they
are running to catch trains. The boy
who smokes at school is bound to come
to a bad end. He will degenerate
gradually into a person that plays
dominoes in the smoking-rooms of
A.B.C. shops with friends who wear
bowler hats and frock coats.
Much of this philosophy Trevor
expounded to Clowes in energetic
language when he returned to
Donaldsons after calling at Seymours
to deliver the message for Milton.
Clowes became quite animated at the
222 THE GOLD BAT
prospect of a real row.
We shall be able to see the
skeletons in their cupboards, he
observed. Every man has a skeleton in
his cupboard, which follows him about
wherever he goes. Which study shall
we go to first?
We? said Trevor.
We, repeated Clowes firmly. I
am not going to be left out of this jaunt.
I need bracing upIm not strong, you
knowand this is just the thing to do
it. Besides, youll want a bodyguard of
some sort, in case the infuriated
occupant turns and rends you.
I dont see what there is to enjoy in
the business, said Trevor, gloomily.
Personally, I bar this kind of thing. By
the time weve finished, there wont be
a chap in the house Im on speaking
terms with.
Except me, dearest, said Clowes.
I will never desert you. Its of no use
asking me, for I will never do it. Mr
Micawber has his faults, but I will
never desert Mr Micawber.
You can come if you like, said
Trevor; well take the studies in order.
I suppose we neednt look up the
prefects?
A prefect is above suspicion.
Scratch the prefects.
That brings us to Dixon.
Dixon was a stout youth with
spectacles, who was popularly supposed
to do twenty-two hours work a day. It
was believed that he put in two hours
sleep from eleven to one, and then got
up and worked in his study till
breakfast.
He was working when Clowes and
Trevor came in. He dived head
foremost into a huge Liddell and Scott
as the door opened. On hearing
Trevors voice he slowly emerged, and
a pair of round and spectacled eyes
gazed blankly at the visitors. Trevor
briefly explained his errand, but the
interview lost in solemnity owing to the
fact that the bare notion of Dixon
storing tobacco in his room made
Clowes roar with laughter. Also, Dixon
stolidly refused to understand what
Trevor was talking about, and at the end
of ten minutes, finding it hopeless to try
and explain, the two went. Dixon, with
a hazy impression that he had been
asked to join in some sort of round
game, and had refused the offer,
returned again to his Liddell and Scott,
and continued to wrestle with the
somewhat obscure utterances of the
chorus in AEschylus Agamemnon. The
results of this fiasco on Trevor and
Clowes were widely different. Trevor it
depressed horribly. It made him feel
savage. Clowes, on the other hand,
regarded the whole affair in a spirit of
rollicking farce, and refused to see that
this was a serious matter, in which the
honour of the house was involved.
The next study was Ruthvens. This
fact somewhat toned down the
exubrances of Clowess demeanour.
When one particularly dislikes a person,
one has a curious objection to seeming
in good spirits in his presence. One
feels that he may take it as a sort of
compliment to himself, or, at any rate,
contribute grins of his own, which
would be hateful. Clowes was as grave
as Trevor when they entered the study.
Ruthvens study was like himself,
overdressed and rather futile. It ran to
little china ornaments in a good deal of
profusion. It was more like a drawing-
room than a school study.
Sorry to disturb you, Ruthven, said
Trevor.
Oh, come in, said Ruthven, in a
tired voice. Please shut the door; there
is a draught. Do you want anything?
Weve got to have a look round,
said Clowes.
 THE FINDING OF THE BAT 223

Cant you see everything there is? But as he looked into the drawer he
Ruthven hated Clowes as much as uttered a sudden cry of excitement. He
Clowes hated him. drew something out, and tossed it over
Trevor cut into the conversation to Trevor.
again. Catch, Trevor, he said quietly.
Its like this, Ruthven, he said. Something thatll interest you.
Im awfully sorry, but the Old Mans Trevor caught it neatly in one hand,
just told me to search the studies in case and stood staring at it as if he had never
any of the fellows have got baccy. seen anything like it before. And yet he
Ruthven jumped up, pale with hadoften. For what he had caught
consternation. was a little golden bat, about an inch
You cant. I wont have you long by an eighth of an inch wide.
disturbing my study.
This is rot, said Trevor, shortly,
Ive got to. Its no good making it THE LEAGUE
more unpleasant for me than it is.
But Ive no tobacco. I swear I REVEALED
havent.
What do you think of that? said
Then why mind us searching? said
Clowes.
Clowes affably.
Trevor said nothing. He could not
Come on, Ruthven, said Trevor,
quite grasp the situation. It was not
chuck us over the keys. You might as
only that he had got the idea so firmly
well.
into his head that it was Rand-Brown
I wont.
who had sent the letters and
Dont be an ass, man.
appropriated the bat. Even supposing
We have here, observed Clowes,
he had not suspected Rand-Brown, he
in his sad, solemn way, a stout and
would never have dreamed of
serviceable poker. He stooped, as he
suspecting Ruthven. They had been
spoke, to pick it up.
friends. Not very close friends-
Leave that poker alone, cried
Trevors keenness for games and
Ruthven.
Ruthvens dislike of them prevented
Clowes straightened himself.
thatbut a good deal more than
Ill swop it for your keys, he said.
acquaintances. He was so constituted
Dont be a fool.
that he could not grasp the frame of
Very well, then. We will now
mind required for such an action as
crack our first crib.
Ruthvens. It was something absolutely
Ruthven sprang forward, but
abnormal.
Clowes, handing him off in football
Clowes was equally surprised, but
fashion with his left hand, with his right
for a different reason. It was not so
dashed the poker against the lock of the
much the enormity of Ruthvens
drawer of the table by which he stood.
proceedings that took him aback. He
The lock broke with a sharp crack.
believed him, with that cheerful
It was not built with an eye to such
intolerance which a certain type of mind
onslaught.
affects, capable of anything. What
Neat for a first shot, said Clowes,
surprised him was the fact that Ruthven
complacently. Now for the
had had the ingenuity and even the
Umustaphas and shag.
daring to conduct a campaign of this
224 THE GOLD BAT
description. Cribbing in examinations
he would have thought the limit of his
crimes. Something backboneless and
underhand of that kind would not have
surprised him in the least. He would
have said that it was just about what he
had expected all along. But that
Ruthven should blossom out suddenly
as quite an ingenious and capable
criminal in this way, was a complete
surprise.
Well, perhaps youll make a
remark? he said, turning to Ruthven.
Ruthven, looking very much like a
passenger on a Channel steamer who
has just discovered that the motion of
the vessel is affecting him unpleasantly,
had fallen into a chair when Clowes
handed him off. He sat there with a
look on his pasty face which was not
good to see, as silent as Trevor. It
seemed that whatever conversation
there was going to be would have to
take the form of a soliloquy from
Clowes.
Clowes took a seat on the corner of
the table.
It seems to me, Ruthven, he said,
that youd better say something. At
present theres a lot that wants
explaining. As this bat has been found
lying in your drawer, I suppose we may
take it that youre the impolite letter-
writer?
Ruthven found his voice at last.
Im not, he cried; I never wrote a
line.
Now were getting at it, said
Clowes. I thought you couldnt have
had it in you to carry this business
through on your own. Apparently
youve only been the sleeping partner in
this show, though I suppose it was you
who ragged Trevors study? Not much
sleeping about that. You took over the
acting branch of the concern for that
day only, I expect. Was it you who
ragged the study?
Ruthven stared into the fire, but said
nothing.
Must be polite, you know, Ruthven,
and answer when youre spoken to.
Was it you who ragged Trevors
study?
Yes, said Ruthven.
Thought so.
Why, of course, I met you just
outside, said Trevor, speaking for the
first time. You were the chap who told
me what had happened.
Ruthven said nothing.
The ragging of the study seems to
have been all the active work he did,
remarked Clowes.
No, said Trevor, he posted the
letters, whether he wrote them or not.
Milton was telling meyou
remember? I told you. No, I didnt.
Milton found out that the letters were
posted by a small, light-haired fellow.
Thats him, said Clowes, as
regardless of grammar as the monks of
Rheims, pointing with the poker at
Ruthvens immaculate locks. Well,
you ragged the study and posted the
letters. That was all your share. Am I
right in thinking Rand-Brown was the
other partner?
Silence from Ruthven.
Am I? persisted Clowes.
You may think what you like. I
dont care.
Now were getting rude again,
complained Clowes. Was Rand-Brown
in this?
Yes, said Ruthven.
Thought so. And who else?
No one.
Try again.
I tell you there was no one else.
Cant you believe a word a chap says?
A word here and there, perhaps,
said Clowes, as one making a
concession, but not many, and this
 THE LEAGUE REVEALED
isnt one of them. Have another shot.
Ruthven relapsed into silence.
All right, then, said Clowes, well you done?
accept that statement. Theres just a
chance that it may be true. And thats
about all, I think. This isnt my affair at
all, really. Its yours, Trevor. Im only
a spectator and camp-follower. Its
your business. Youll find me in my
study. And putting the poker carefully
in its place, Clowes left the room. He
went into his study, and tried to begin
some work. But the beauties of the
second book of Thucydides failed to
appeal to him. His mind was
elsewhere. He felt too excited with
what had just happened to translate
Greek. He pulled up a chair in front of
the fire, and gave himself up to
speculating how Trevor was getting on
in the neighbouring study. He was glad
he had left him to finish the business. If
he had been in Trevors place, there was
nothing he would so greatly have
disliked as to have some onehowever
familiar a friendinterfering in his
wars and settling them for him. Left to
himself, Clowes would probably have
ended the interview by kicking Ruthven
into the nearest approach to pulp
compatible with the laws relating to
manslaughter. He had an uneasy
suspicion that Trevor would let him
down far too easily.
The handle turned. Trevor came in,
and pulled up another chair in silence.
His face wore a look of disgust. But
there were no signs of combat upon
him. The toe of his boot was not worn
and battered, as Clowes would have
liked to have seen it. Evidently he had
not chosen to adopt active and physical
measures for the improvement of
Ruthvens moral well-being.
Well? said Clowes.
My word, what a hound! breathed
Trevor, half to himself.
225
My sentiments to a hair, said
Clowes, approvingly. But what have
I didnt do anything.
I was afraid you wouldnt. Did he
give any explanation? What made him
go in for the thing at all? What earthly
motive could he have for not wanting
Barry to get his colours, bar the fact that
Rand-Brown didnt want him to? And
why should he do what Rand-Brown
told him? I never even knew they were
pals, before today.
He told me a good deal, said
Trevor. Its one of the beastliest things
I ever heard. They neither of them
come particularly well out of the
business, but Rand-Brown comes worse
out of it even than Ruthven. My word,
that man wants killing.
Thatll keep, said Clowes,
nodding. Whats the yarn?
Do you remember about a year ago
a chap named Patterson getting
sacked?
Clowes nodded again. He
remembered the case well. Patterson
had had gambling transactions with a
Wrykyn tradesman, had been found out,
and had gone.
You remember what a surprise it
was to everybody. It wasnt one of
those cases where half the school
suspects whats going on. Those cases
always come out sooner or later. But
Patterson nobody knew about.
Yes. Well?
Nobody, said Trevor, except
Ruthven, that is. Ruthven got to know
somehow. I believe he was a bit of a
pal of Pattersons at the time. Anyhow,
they had a row, and Ruthven went to
DexterPatterson was in Dexters-
and sneaked. Dexter promised to keep
his name out of the business, and went
straight to the Old Man, and Patterson
got turfed out on the spot. Then
226 THE GOLD BAT
somehow or other Rand-Brown got to
know about itI believe Ruthven must
have told him by accident some time or
other. After that he simply had to do
everything Rand-Brown wanted him to.
Otherwise he said that he would tell the
chaps about the Patterson affair. That
put Ruthven in a dead funk.
Of course, said Clowes; I should
imagine friend Ruthven would have got
rather a bad time of it. But what made
them think of starting the League? It
was a jolly smart idea. Rand-Browns,
of course?
Yes. I suppose hed heard about it,
and thought something might be made
out of it if it were revived.
And were Ruthven and he the only
two in it?
Ruthven swears they were, and I
shouldnt wonder if he wasnt telling
the truth, for once in his life. You see,
everything the Leagues done so far
could have been done by him and Rand-
Brown, without anybody elses help.
The only other studies that were ragged
were Mills and Miltonsboth in
Seymours.
Yes, said Clowes.
There was a pause. Clowes put
another shovelful of coal on the fire.
What are you going to do to
Ruthven?
Nothing.
Nothing? Hang it, he doesnt
deserve to get off like that. He isnt as
bad as Rand-Brownquitebut hes
pretty nearly as finished a little beast as
you could find.
Finished is just the word, said
Trevor. Hes going at the end of the
week.
Going? What! sacked?
Yes. The Old Mans been finding
out things about him, apparently, and
this smoking row has just added the
finishing-touch to his discoveries. Hes
particularly keen against smoking just
now for some reason.
But was Ruthven in it?
Yes. Didnt I tell you? He was one
of the fellows Dexter caught in the
vault. There were two in this house,
you remember?
Who was the other?
That man Dashwood. Has the
study next to Pagets old one. Hes
going, too.
Scarcely knew him. What sort of a
chap was he?
Outsider. No good to the house in
any way. He wont be missed.
And what are you going to do about
Rand-Brown?
Fight him, of course. What else
could I do?
But youre no match for him.
Well see.
But you arent, persisted Clowes.
He can give you a stone easily, and
hes not a bad boxer either. Moriarty
didnt beat him so very cheaply in the
middle-weight this year. You wouldnt
have a chance.
Trevor flared up.
Heavens, man, he cried, do you
think I dont know all that myself? But
what on earth would you have me do?
Besides, he may be a good boxer, but
hes got no pluck at all. I might outstay
him.
Hope so, said Clowes.
But his tone was not hopeful.
A DRESS REHEARSAL
Some people in Trevors place might
have taken the earliest opportunity of
confronting Rand-Brown, so as to settle
the matter in hand without delay.
Trevor thought of doing this, but finally
decided to let the matter rest for a day,
until he should have found out with
 A DRESS REHEARSAL
some accuracy what chance he stood.
After four oclock, therefore, on the
next day, having had tea in his study, he
went across to the baths, in search of
OHara. He intended that before the
evening was over the Irishman should
have imparted to him some of his skill
with the hands. He did not know that
for a man absolutely unscientific with
his fists there is nothing so fatal as to
take a boxing lesson on the eve of
battle. A little knowledge is a
dangerous thing. He is apt to lose his
recklessnesswhich might have stood
by him wellin exchange for a little
quite useless science. He is neither one
thing nor the other, neither a natural
fighter nor a skilful boxer.
This point OHara endeavoured to
press upon him as soon as he had
explained why it was that he wanted
coaching on this particular afternoon.
The Irishman was in the gymnasium,
punching the ball, when Trevor found
him. He generally put in a quarter of an
hour with the punching-ball every
evening, before Moriarty turned up for
the customary six rounds.
Want me to teach ye a few tricks?
he said. Whats that for?
Ive got a mill coming on soon,
explained Trevor, trying to make the
statement as if it were the most ordinary
thing in the world for a school prefect,
who was also captain of football, head
of a house, and in the cricket eleven, to
be engaged for a fight in the near future.
Mill! exclaimed OHara. You! Trevor, admiringly.
An why?
Never mind why, said Trevor.
Ill tell you afterwards, perhaps. Shall
I put on the gloves now?
Wait, said OHara, I must do my youre going to fight?
quarter of an hour with the ball before I
begin teaching other people how to
box. Have ye a watch?
Yes.
227
Then time me. Ill do four rounds
of three minutes each, with a minutes
rest in between. Thats more than Ill
do at Aldershot, but itll get me fit.
Ready?
Time, said Trevor.
He watched OHara assailing the
swinging ball with considerable envy.
Why, he wondered, had he not gone in
for boxing? Everybody ought to learn
to box. It was bound to come in useful
some time or other. Take his own case.
He was very much afraidno, afraid
was not the right word, for he was not
that. He was very much of opinion that
Rand-Brown was going to have a most
enjoyable time when they met. And the
final house-match was to be played next
Monday. If events turned out as he
could not help feeling they were likely
to turn out, he would be too battered to
play in that match. Donaldsons would
probably win whether he played or not,
but it would be bitter to be laid up on
such an occasion. On the other hand, he
must go through with it. He did not
believe in letting other people take a
hand in settling his private quarrels.
But he wished he had learned to
box. If only he could hit that dancing,
jumping ball with a fifth of the skill that
OHara was displaying, his wiriness and
pluck might see him through. OHara
finished his fourth round with his
leathern opponent, and sat down,
panting.
Pretty useful, that, commented
Ye should see Moriarty, gasped
OHara.
Now, will ye tell me why it is
youre going to fight, and with whom
Very well. Its with Rand-Brown.
Rand-Brown! exclaimed OHara.
But, me dearr man, hell ate you.
Trevor gave a rather annoyed laugh.
228 THE GOLD BAT
I must say Ive got a nice, cheery,
comforting lot of friends, he said.
Thats just what Clowes has been
trying to explain to me.
Clowes is quite right, said OHara,
seriously. Has the thing gone too far
for ye to back out? Without climbing
down, of course, he added.
Yes, said Trevor, theres no
question of my getting out of it. I
daresay I could. In fact, I know I
could. But Im not going to.
But, me dearr man, ye havent an
earthly chance. I assure ye ye havent.
Ive seen Rand-Brown with the gloves
on. That was last term. Hes not put
them on since Moriarty bate him in the
middles, so he may be out of practice.
But even then hed be a bad man to
tackle. Hes big an hes strong, an if
hed only had the heart in him hed
have been going up to Aldershot instead
of Moriarty. Thats what hed be
doing. An you cant box at all. Never
even had the gloves on.
Never. I used to scrap when I was a
kid, though.
Thats no use, said OHara,
decidedly. But you havent said what
it is that yeve got against Rand-
Brown. What is it?
I dont see why I shouldnt tell
you. Youre in it as well. In fact, if it
hadnt been for the bat turning up,
youd have been considerably more in it
than I am.
What! cried OHara. Where did
you find it? Was it in the grounds?
When was it you found it?
Whereupon Trevor gave him a very
full and exact account of what had
happened. He showed him the two
letters from the League, touched on
Miltons connection with the affair,
traced the gradual development of his
suspicions, and described with some
approach to excitement the scene in
Ruthvens study, and the explanations
that had followed it.
Now do you wonder, he
concluded, that I feel as if a few
rounds with Rand-Brown would do me
good.
OHara breathed hard.
My word! he said, Id like to see
ye kill him.
But, said Trevor, as you and
Clowes have been pointing out to me, if
theres going to be a corpse, itll be me.
However, I mean to try. Now perhaps
you wouldnt mind showing me a few
tricks.
Take my advice, said OHara,
and dont try any of that foolery.
Why, I thought you were such a
believer in science, said Trevor in
surprise.
So I am, if youve enough of it.
But its the worst thing ye can do to
learn a trick or two just before a fight, if
you dont know anything about the
game already. A tough, rushing fighter
is ten times as good as a man whos just
begun to learn what he oughtnt to do.
Well, what do you advise me to do,
then? asked Trevor, impressed by the
unwonted earnestness with which the
Irishman delivered this pugilistic
homily, which was a paraphrase of the
views dinned into the ears of every
novice by the school instructor.
I must do something.
The best thing ye can do, said
OHara, thinking for a moment, is to
put on the gloves and have a round or
two with me. Heres Moriarty at last.
Well get him to time us.
As much explanation as was thought
good for him having been given to the
newcomer, to account for Trevors
newly-acquired taste for things
pugilistic, Moriarty took the watch,
with instructions to give them two
minutes for the first round.
 A DRESS REHEARSAL
Go as hard as you can, said
OHara to Trevor, as they faced one
another, and hit as hard as you like. It
wont be any practice if you dont. I
shant mind being hit. Itll do me good
for Aldershot. See?
Trevor said he saw.
Time, said Moriarty.
Trevor went in with a will. He was a
little shy at first of putting all his weight
into his blows. It was hard to forget
that he felt friendly towards OHara.
But he speedily awoke to the fact that
the Irishman took his boxing very
seriously, and was quite a different
person when he had the gloves on.
When he was so equipped, the man
opposite him ceased to be either friend
or foe in a private way. He was simply
an opponent, and every time he hit him
was one point. And, when he entered
the ring, his only object in life for the
next three minutes was to score points.
Consequently Trevor, sparring lightly
and in rather a futile manner at first,
was woken up by a stinging flush hit
between the eyes. After that he, too,
forgot that he liked the man before him,
and rushed him in all directions. There
was no doubt as to who would have
won if it had been a competition.
Trevors guard was of the most
rudimentary order, and OHara got
through when and how he liked. But
though he took a good deal, he also
gave a good deal, and OHara confessed
himself not altogether sorry when
Moriarty called Time.
Man, he said regretfully, why
ever did ye not take up boxing before?
Yed have made a splendid middle-
weight.
Well, have I a chance, do you
think? inquired Trevor.
Ye might do it with luck, said
OHara, very doubtfully. But, he
added, Im afraid yeve not much
229
chance.
And with this poor encouragement
from his trainer and sparring-partner,
Trevor was forced to be content.
WHAT RENFORD SAW
The health of Master Harvey of
Seymours was so delicately constituted
that it was an absolute necessity that he
should consume one or more hot buns
during the quarter of an hours interval
which split up morning school. He was
tearing across the junior gravel towards
the shop on the morning following
Trevors sparring practice with OHara,
when a melodious treble voice called
his name. It was Renford. He stopped,
to allow his friend to come up with him,
and then made as if to resume his way
to the shop. But Renford proposed an
amendment. Dont go to the shop, he
said, I want to talk.
Well, cant you talk in the shop?
Not what I want to tell you. Its
private. Come for a stroll.
Harvey hesitated. There were few
things he enjoyed so much as exclusive
items of school gossip (scandal
preferably), but hot new buns were
among those few things. However, he
decided on this occasion to feed the
mind at the expense of the body. He
accepted Renfords invitation.
What is it? he asked, as they made
for the football field. Whats been
happening?
Its frightfully exciting, said
Renford.
Whats up?
You mustnt tell any one.
All right. Of course not.
Well, then, theres been a big fight,
and Im one of the only chaps who
know about it so far.
A fight? Harvey became excited.
230 THE GOLD BAT
Who between?
Renford paused before delivering his
news, to emphasise the importance of it.
It was between OHara and Rand-
Brown, he said at length.
By Jove! said Harvey. Then a
suspicion crept into his mind.
Look here, Renford, he said, if
youre trying to green me
Im not, you ass, replied Renford
indignantly. Its perfectly true. I saw
it myself.
By Jove, did you really? Where
was it? When did it come off? Was it a
good one? Who won?
It was the best one Ive ever seen.
Did OHara beat him? I hope he
did. OHaras a jolly good sort.
Yes. They had six rounds. Rand-
Brown got knocked out in the middle of
the sixth.
What, do you mean really knocked
out, or did he just chuck it?
No. He was really knocked out.
He was on the floor for quite a time.
By Jove, you should have seen it.
OHara was ripping in the sixth round.
He was all over him.
Tell us about it, said Harvey, and
Renford told.
Id got up early, he said, to feed
the ferrets, and I was just cutting over to
the fives-courts with their grub, when,
just as I got across the senior gravel, I
saw OHara and Moriarty standing
waiting near the second court. OHara
knows all about the ferrets, so I didnt
try and cut or anything. I went up and
began talking to him. I noticed he
didnt look particularly keen on seeing
me at first. I asked him if he was going
to play fives. Then he said no, and told
me what hed really come for. He said
he and Rand-Brown had had a row, and
theyd agreed to have it out that
morning in one of the fives-courts. Of
course, when I heard that, I was all on
to see it, so I said Id wait, if he didnt
mind. He said he didnt care, so long as
I didnt tell everybody, so I said I
wouldnt tell anybody except you, so he
said all right, then, I could stop if I
wanted to. So that was how I saw it.
Well, after wed been waiting a few
minutes, Rand-Brown came in sight,
with that beast Merrett in our house,
whod come to second him. It was just
like one of those duels you read about,
you know. Then OHara said that as I
was the only one there with a watch-
he and Rand-Brown were in footer
clothes, and Merrett and Moriarty
hadnt got their tickers on themId
better act as timekeeper. So I said all
right, I would, and we went to the
second fives-court. Its the biggest of
them, you know. I stood outside on the
bench, looking through the wire netting
over the door, so as not to be in the way
when they started scrapping. OHara
and Rand-Brown took off their blazers
and sweaters, and chucked them to
Moriarty and Merrett, and then
Moriarty and Merrett went and stood in
two corners, and OHara and Rand-
Brown walked into the middle and
stood up to one another. Rand-Brown
was miles the heaviestby a stone, I
should thinkand he was taller and had
a longer reach. But OHara looked
much fitter. Rand-Brown looked rather
flabby.
I sang out Time through the wire
netting, and they started off at once.
OHara offered to shake hands, but
Rand-Brown wouldnt. So they began
without it.
The first round was awfully fast.
They kept having long rallies all over
the place. OHara was a jolly sight
quicker, and Rand-Brown didnt seem
able to guard his hits at all. But he hit
frightfully hard himself, great, heavy
slogs, and OHara kept getting them in
 WHAT RENFORD SAW
the face. At last he got one bang in the
mouth which knocked him down flat.
He was up again in a second, and was
starting to rush, when I looked at the
watch, and found that Id given them
nearly half a minute too much already.
So I shouted Time, and made up my
mind Id keep more of an eye on the
watch next round. Id got so jolly
excited, watching them, that Id forgot I
was supposed to be keeping time for
them. They had only asked for a
minute between the rounds, but as Id
given them half a minute too long in the
first round, I chucked in a bit extra in
the rest, so that they were both pretty fit
by the time I started them again.
The second round was just like the
first, and so was the third. OHara kept
getting the worst of it. He was knocked
down three or four times more, and
once, when hed rushed Rand-Brown
against one of the walls, he hit out and
missed, and barked his knuckles jolly
badly against the wall. That was in the
middle of the third round, and Rand-
Brown had it all his own way for the
rest of the roundfor about two
minutes, that is to say. He hit OHara
about all over the shop. I was so jolly
keen on OHaras winning, that I had
half a mind to call time early, so as to
give him time to recover. But I thought
it would be a low thing to do, so I gave
them their full three minutes.
Directly they began the fourth
round, I noticed that things were going
to change a bit. OHara had given up
his rushing game, and was waiting for
his man, and when he came at him hed
put in a hot counter, nearly always at
the body. After a bit Rand-Brown
began to get cautious, and wouldnt
rush, so the fourth round was the
quietest there had been. In the last
minute they didnt hit each other at all.
They simply sparred for openings. It
231
was in the fifth round that OHara
began to forge ahead. About half way
through he got in a ripper, right in the
wind, which almost doubled Rand-
Brown up, and then he started rushing
again. Rand-Brown looked awfully bad
at the end of the round. Round six was
ripping. I never saw two chaps go for
each other so. It was one long rally.
Thenhow it happened I couldnt see,
they were so quickjust as they had
been at it a minute and a half, there was
a crack, and the next thing I saw was
Rand-Brown on the ground, looking
beastly. He went down absolutely flat;
his heels and head touched the ground
at the same time.
I counted ten out loud in the
professional way like they do at the
National Sporting Club, you know, and
then said OHara wins. I felt an awful
swell. After about another half-minute,
Rand-Brown was all right again, and he
got up and went back to the house with
Merrett, and OHara and Moriarty went
off to Dexters, and I gave the ferrets
their grub, and cut back to breakfast.
Rand-Brown wasnt at breakfast,
said Harvey.
No. He went to bed. I wonder
whatll happen. Think therell be a row
about it?
Shouldnt think so, said Harvey.
They never do make rows about fights,
and neither of them is a prefect, so I
dont see what it matters if they do
fight. But, I say
Whats up?
I wish, said Harvey, his voice full
of acute regret, that it had been my
turn to feed those ferrets.
I dont, said Renford cheerfully.
I wouldnt have missed that mill for
something. Hullo, theres the bell.
Wed better run.
When Trevor called at Seymours
that afternoon to see Rand-Brown, with
232 THE GOLD BAT
a view to challenging him to deadly
combat, and found that OHara had
been before him, he ought to have felt
relieved. His actual feeling was one of
acute annoyance. It seemed to him that
OHara had exceeded the limits of
friendship. It was all very well for him
to take over the Rand-Brown contract,
and settle it himself, in order to save
Trevor from a very bad quarter of an
hour, but Trevor was one of those
people who object strongly to the
interference of other people in their
private business. He sought out OHara
and complained. Within two minutes
OHaras golden eloquence had soothed
him and made him view the matter in
quite a different light. What OHara
pointed out was that it was not Trevors
affair at all, but his own. Who, he
asked, had been likely to be damaged
most by Rand-Browns manoeuvres in
connection with the lost bat? Trevor
was bound to admit that OHara was
that person. Very well, then, said
OHara, then who had a better right to
fight Rand-Brown? And Trevor
confessed that no one else had a better.
Then I suppose, he said, that I
shall have to do nothing about it?
Thats it, said OHara.
Itll be rather beastly meeting the
man after this, said Trevor, presently.
Do you think he might possibly leave
at the end of term?
Hes leaving at the end of the
week, said OHara. He was one of
the fellows Dexter caught in the vault
that evening. You wont see much
more of Rand-Brown.
Ill try and put up with that, said
Trevor.
And so will I, replied OHara.
And I shouldnt think Milton would be
so very grieved.
No, said Trevor. I tell you what
will make him sick, though, and that is
your having milled with Rand-Brown.
Its a job hed have liked to have taken
on himself.
CONCLUSION
Into the story at this point comes the
narrative of Charles Mereweather Cook,
aged fourteen, a day-boy.
Cook arrived at the school on the
tenth of March, at precisely nine
oclock, in a state of excitement.
He said there was a row on in the
town.
Cross-examined, he said there was
no end of a row on in the town.
During morning school he explained
further, whispering his tale into the
attentive ear of Knight of the School
House, who sat next to him.
What sort of a row, Knight wanted to
know.
Cook deposed that he had been
riding on his bicycle past the entrance
to the Recreation Grounds on his way to
school, when his eye was attracted by
the movements of a mass of men just
inside the gate. They appeared to be
fighting. Witness did not stop to watch,
much as he would have liked to do so.
Why not? Why, because he was late
already, and would have had to scorch
anyhow, in order to get to school in
time. And he had been late the day
before, and was afraid that old Appleby
(the master of the form) would give him
beans if he were late again. Wherefore
he had no notion of what the men were
fighting about, but he betted that more
would be heard about it. Why?
Because, from what he saw of it, it
seemed a jolly big thing. There must
have been quite three hundred men
fighting. (Knight, satirically, Pile it
on!) Well, quite a hundred, anyhow.
Fifty a side. And fighting like
 CONCLUSION
anything. He betted there would be
something about it in the Wrykyn
Patriot tomorrow. He shouldnt
wonder if somebody had been killed.
What were they scrapping about? How
should he know!
Here Mr Appleby, who had been
trying for the last five minutes to find
out where the whispering noise came
from, at length traced it to its source,
and forthwith requested Messrs Cook
and Knight to do him two hundred
lines, adding that, if he heard them
talking again, he would put them into
the extra lesson. Silence reigned from
that moment.
Next day, while the form was
wrestling with the moderately exciting
account of Caesars doings in Gaul,
Master Cook produced from his pocket
a newspaper cutting. This, having
previously planted a forcible blow in his
friends ribs with an elbow to attract the
latters attention, he handed to Knight,
and in dumb show requested him to
peruse the same. Which Knight, feeling
no interest whatever in Caesars doings
in Gaul, and having, in consequence, a
good deal of time on his hands,
proceeded to do. The cutting was
headed Disgraceful Fracas, and was
written in the elegant style that was
always so marked a feature of the
Wrykyn Patriot.
We are sorry to have to report, it
ran, another of those deplorable
bullitions of local Hooliganism, to
which it has before now been our
painful duty to refer. Yesterday the
Recreation Grounds were made the
scene of as brutal an exhibition of
savagery as has ever marred the fair
fame of this town. Our readers will
remember how on a previous occasion,
when the fine statue of Sir Eustace
Briggs was found covered with tar, we
attributed the act to the malevolence of
233
the Radical section of the community.
Events have proved that we were right.
Yesterday a body of youths, belonging
to the rival party, was discovered in the
very act of repeating the offence. A
thick coating of tar had already been
administered, when several members of
the rival faction appeared. A free fight
of a peculiarly violent nature
immediately ensued, with the result
that, before the police could interfere,
several of the combatants had received
severe bruises. Fortunately the police
then arrived on the scene, and with
great difficulty succeeded in putting a
stop to the fracas. Several arrests were
made.
We have no desire to discourage
legitimate party rivalry, but we feel
justified in strongly protesting against
such dastardly tricks as those to which
we have referred. We can assure our
opponents that they can gain nothing by
such conduct.
There was a good deal more to the
effect that now was the time for all
good men to come to the aid of the
party, and that the constituents of Sir
Eustace Briggs must look to it that they
failed not in the hour of need, and so
on. That was what the Wrykyn Patriot
had to say on the subject.
OHara managed to get hold of a
copy of the paper, and showed it to
Clowes and Trevor.
So now, he said, its all right, ye
see. Theyll never suspect it wasnt the
same people that tarred the statue both
times. An yeve got the bat back, so
its all right, ye see.
The only thing thatll trouble you
now, said Clowes, will be your
conscience.
OHara intimated that he would try
and put up with that.
But isnt it a stroke of luck, he
said, that they should have gone and
234 THE GOLD BAT
tarred Sir Eustace again so soon after
Moriarty and I did it?
Clowes said gravely that it only
showed the force of good example.
Yes. They wouldnt have thought
of it, if it hadnt been for us, chortled
OHara. I wonder, now, if theres
anything else we could do to that
statue! he added, meditatively.
My good lunatic, said Clowes,
dont you think youve done almost
enough for one term?
Well, myes, replied OHara delicate subject. Not so Sir Eustace
thoughtfully, perhaps we have, I
suppose.
*****
The term wore on. Donaldsons won
the final house-match by a matter of
twenty-six points. It was, as they had
expected, one of the easiest games they
had had to play in the competition.
Bryants, who were their opponents,
were not strong, and had only managed
to get into the final owing to their luck
in drawing weak opponents for the trial
heats. The real final, that had decided
the ownership of the cup, had been
Donaldsons v. Seymours.
Aldershot arrived, and the sports.
Drummond and OHara covered
themselves with glory, and brought
home silver medals. But Moriarty, to
the disappointment of the school, which
had counted on his pulling off the
middles, met a strenuous gentleman
from St Pauls in the final, and was
prematurely outed in the first minute of
the third round. To him, therefore,
there fell but a medal of bronze.
It was on the Sunday after the sports
that Trevors connection with the bat
ceasedas far, that is to say, as
concerned its unpleasant character (as a
piece of evidence that might be used to
his disadvantage). He had gone to
supper with the headmaster,
accompanied by Clowes and Milton.
The headmaster nearly always invited a
few of the house prefects to Sunday
supper during the term. Sir Eustace
Briggs happened to be there. He had
withdrawn his insinuations concerning
the part supposedly played by a member
of the school in the matter of the tarred
statue, and the headmaster had sealed
the entente cordiale by asking him to
supper.
An ordinary man might have
considered it best to keep off the
Briggs. He was on to it like glue. He
talked of little else throughout the
whole course of the meal.
My suspicions, he boomed,
towards the conclusion of the feast,
which have, I am rejoiced to say,
proved so entirely void of foundation
and significance, were aroused in the
first instance, as I mentioned before, by
the narrative of the man Samuel
Wapshott.
Nobody present showed the slightest
desire to learn what the man Samuel
Wapshott had had to say for himself,
but Sir Eustace, undismayed, continued
as if the whole table were hanging on
his words.
The man Samuel Wapshott, he
said, distinctly asserted that a small
gold ornament, shaped like a bat, was
handed by him to a lad of age coeval
with these lads here.
The headmaster interposed. He had
evidently heard more than enough of
the man Samuel Wapshott.
He must have been mistaken, he
said briefly. The bat which Trevor is
wearing on his watch-chain at this
moment is the only one of its kind that I
know of. You have never lost it,
Trevor?
Trevor thought for a moment. He
had never lost it. He replied
diplomatically, It has been in a drawer
 CONCLUSION 235

nearly all the term, sir, he said.
A drawer, hey? remarked Sir
Eustace Briggs. Ah! A very sensible
place to keep it in, my boy. You could
have no better place, in my opinion.
And Trevor agreed with him, with
the mental reservation that it rather
depended on whom the drawer
belonged to.
236 THE HEAD OF KAY'S

THE HEAD OF KAYS

by P. G. Wodehouse
1905
 CONTENTS 237

CONTENTS
I MAINLY ABOUT FENN
II AN EVENING AT KAYS
III THE FINAL HOUSE-MATCH
IV HARMONY AND DISCORD
V CAMP
VI THE RAID ON THE GUARD-TENT
VII A CLUE
VIII A NIGHT ADVENTURETHE DETHRONEMENT OF FENN
IX THE SENSATIONS OF AN EXILE
X FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF AN EXILE
XI THE SENIOR DAYROOM OPENS FIRE
XII KENNEDY INTERVIEWS WALTON
XIII THE FIGHT IN THE DORMITORY
XIV FENN RECEIVES A LETTER
XV DOWN TOWN
XVI WHAT HAPPENED TO FENN
XVII FENN HUNTS FOR HIMSELF
XVIII A VAIN QUEST
XIX THE GUILE OF WREN
XX JIMMY THE PEACEMAKER
XXI IN WHICH AN EPISODE IS CLOSED
XXII KAYS CHANGES ITS NAME
XXIII THE HOUSE-MATCHES
XXIV THE SPORTS
238 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
MAINLY ABOUT FENN
When we get licked tomorrow by
half-a-dozen wickets, said Jimmy
Silver, tilting his chair until the back
touched the wall, dont say I didnt
warn you. If you fellows take down
what I say from time to time in note-
books, as you ought to do, youll
remember that I offered to give anyone
odds that Kays would out us in the
final. I always said that a really hot
man like Fenn was more good to a side
than half-a-dozen ordinary men. He
can do all the bowling and all the
batting. All the fielding, too, in the
slips.
Tea was just over at Blackburns,
and the bulk of the house had gone
across to preparation in the school
buildings. The prefects, as was their
custom, lingered on to finish the meal at
their leisure. These after-tea
conversations were quite an institution
at Blackburns. The labours of the day
were over, and the time for preparation
for the morrow had not yet come. It
would be time to be thinking of that in
another hour. Meanwhile, a little
relaxation might be enjoyed. Especially
so as this was the last day but two of the
summer term, and all necessity for
working after tea had ceased with the
arrival of the last lap of the
examinations.
Silver was head of the house, and
captain of its cricket team, which was
nearing the end of its last match, the
final for the inter-house cup, andon
papergetting decidedly the worst of
it. After riding in triumph over the
School House, Bedells, and
Mulhollands, Blackburns had met its
next door neighbour, Kays, in the final,
and, to the surprise of the great majority
of the school, was showing up badly.
The match was affording one more
example of how a team of average merit
all through may sometimes fall before a
one-man side. Blackburns had the
three last men on the list of the first
eleven, Silver, Kennedy, and Challis,
and at least nine of its representatives
had the reputation of being able to
knock up a useful twenty or thirty at
any time. Kays, on the other hand, had
one man, Fenn. After him the tail
started. But Fenn was such an
exceptional all-round man that, as
Silver had said, he was as good as half-
a-dozen of the Blackburns team,
equally formidable whether batting or
bowlinghe headed the school
averages at both. He was one of those
batsmen who seem to know exactly
what sort of ball you are going to bowl
before it leaves your hand, and he could
hit like another Jessop. As for his
bowling, he bowled left handalways a
puzzling eccentricity to an undeveloped
batsmanand could send them down
very fast or very slow, as he thought
best, and it was hard to see which
particular brand he was going to serve
up before it was actually in mid-air.
But it is not necessary to enlarge on
his abilities. The figures against his
name in Wisden prove a good deal. The
fact that he had steered Kays through
into the last round of the house-matches
proves still more. It was perfectly
obvious to everyone that, if only you
could get Fenn out for under ten, Kays
total for that innings would be nearer
twenty than forty. They were an
appalling side. But then no house
bowler had as yet succeeded in getting
Fenn out for under ten. In the six
innings he had played in the
competition up to date, he had made
four centuries, an eighty, and a seventy.
Kennedy, the second prefect at
Blackburns, paused in the act of
grappling with the remnant of a pot of
 MAINLY ABOUT FENN
jam belonging to some person
unknown, to reply to Silvers remarks.
We arent beaten yet, he said, in
his solid way. Kennedys chief
characteristics were solidity, and an
infinite capacity for taking pains.
Nothing seemed to tire or discourage
him. He kept pegging away till he
arrived. The ordinary person, for
instance, would have considered the
jam-pot, on which he was then engaged,
an empty jam-pot. Kennedy saw that
there was still a strawberry (or it may
have been a section of a strawberry) at
the extreme end, and he meant to have
that coy vegetable if he had to squeeze
the pot to get at it. To take another
instance, all the afternoon of the
previous day he had bowled patiently at
Fenn while the latter lifted every other
ball into space. He had been taken off
three times, and at every fresh attack he
had plodded on doggedly, until at last,
as he had expected, the batsman had
misjudged a straight one, and he had
bowled him all over his wicket.
Kennedy generally managed to get
there sooner or later.
Its no good chucking the game up
simply because were in a tight place,
he said, bringing the spoon to the
surface at last with the section of
strawberry adhering to the end of it.
That sort of things awfully feeble.
He calls me feeble! shouted
Jimmy Silver. By James, Ive put a
man to sleep for less.
It was one of his amusements to
express himself from time to time in a
melodramatic fashion, sometimes
accompanying his words with suitable
gestures. It was on one of these
occasionswhen he had assumed at a
moments notice the rle of the
Baffled Despot, in an argument with
Kennedy in his study on the subject of
the house football teamthat he broke
239
what Mr Blackburn considered a
valuable door with a poker. Since then
he had moderated his transports.
Theyve got to make seventy-nine,
said Kennedy.
Challis, the other first eleven man,
was reading a green scoring-book.
I dont think Kays ought to have
the face to stick the cup up in their
dining-room, he said, considering the
little theyve done to win it. If they do
win it, that is. Still, as they made two
hundred first innings, they ought to be
able to knock off seventy-nine. But I
was saying that the pot ought to go to
Fenn. Lot the rest of the team had to do
with it. Blackburns, first innings,
hundred and fifty-one; Fenn, eight for
forty-nine. Kays, two hundred and
one; Fenn, a hundred and sixty-four not
out. Second innings, Blackburns
hundred and twenty-eight; Fenn ten for
eighty. Bit thick, isnt it? I suppose
thats what youd call a one-man team.
Williams, one of the other prefects,
who had just sat down at the piano for
the purpose of playing his one tunea
cake-walk, of which, through constant
practice, he had mastered the rudiments
spoke over his shoulder to Silver.
I tell you what, Jimmy, he said,
youve probably lost us the pot by
getting your people to send brother
Billy to Kays. If he hadnt kept up his
wicket yesterday, Fenn wouldnt have
made half as many.
When his young brother had been
sent to Eckleton two terms before,
Jimmy Silver had strongly urged upon
his father the necessity of placing him
in some house other than Blackburns.
He felt that a head of a house, even of
so orderly and perfect a house as
Blackburns, has enough worries
without being saddled with a small
brother. And on the previous afternoon
young Billy Silver, going in eighth
240 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
wicket for Kays, had put a solid bat in
front of everything for the space of one
hour, in the course of which he made
ten runs and Fenn sixty. By scoring
odd numbers off the last ball of each
over, Fenn had managed to secure the
majority of the bowling in the most
masterly way.
These things will happen, said
Silver, resignedly. We Silvers, you
know, cant help making runs. Come
on, Williams, lets have that tune, and
get it over.
Williams obliged. It was a classic
piece called The Coon Band Contest,
remarkable partly for a taking melody,
partly for the vast possibilities of noise
which it afforded. Williams made up
for his failure to do justice to the former
by a keen appreciation of the latter. He
played the piece through again, in order
to correct the mistakes he had made at
his first rendering of it. Then he played
it for the third time to correct a new
batch of errors.
I should like to hear Fenn play
that, said Challis. Youre awfully
good, you know, Williams, but he
might do it better still.
Get him to play it as an encore at
the concert, said Williams, starting for
the fourth time.
The talented Fenn was also a
musician,not a genius at the piano, as
he was at cricket, but a sufficiently
sound performer for his age,
considering that he had not made a
special study of it. He was to play at
the school concert on the following day.
I believe Fenn has an awful time at
Kays, said Jimmy Silver. It must be
a fair sort of hole, judging from the
specimens you see crawling about in
Kay caps. I wish Id known my people
were sending young Billy there. Id
have warned them. I only told them not
to sling him in here. I had no idea
theyd have picked Kays.
Fenn was telling me the other day,
said Kennedy, that being in Kays had
spoiled his whole time at the school.
He always wanted to come to
Blackburns, only there wasnt room
that particular term. Bad luck, wasnt
it? I dont think he found it so bad
before he became head of the house.
He didnt come into contact with Kay
so much. But now he finds that he cant
do a thing without Kay buzzing round
and interfering.
I wonder, said Jimmy Silver,
thoughtfully, if thats why he bowls so
fast. To work it off, you know.
In the course of a beautiful innings
of fifty-three that afternoon, the captain
of Blackburns had received two of
Fenns speediest on the same spot just
above the pad in rapid succession, and
he now hobbled painfully when he
moved about.
The conversation that evening had
dealt so largely with Fennthe whole
school, indeed, was talking of nothing
but his great attempt to win the cricket
cup single-handedthat Kennedy,
going out into the road for a breather
before the rest of the boarders returned
from preparation, made his way to
Kays to see if Fenn was imitating his
example, and taking the air too.
He found him at Kays gate, and
they strolled towards the school
buildings together. Fenn was unusually
silent.
Well? said Kennedy, after a
minute had passed without a remark.
Well, what?
Whats up?
Fenn laughed what novelists are
fond of calling a mirthless laugh.
Oh, I dont know, he said; Im
sick of this place.
Kennedy inspected his friends face
anxiously by the light of the lamp over
 MAINLY ABOUT FENN
the school gate. There was no mistake
about it. Fenn certainly did look bad.
His face always looked lean and craggy,
but tonight there was a difference. He
looked used up.
Fagged? asked Kennedy.
No. Sick.
What about?
Everything. I wish you could come
into Kays for a bit just to see what its
like. Then youd understand. At
present I dont suppose youve an idea
of it. Id like to write a book on Kay
Day by Day. Id have plenty to put in
it.
Whats he been doing?
Oh, nothing out of the ordinary
run. Its the fact that hes always at it
that does me. You get a houseful of-
well, you know the sort of chap the
average Kayite is. Theyd keep me
busy even if I were allowed a free
hand. But Im not. Whenever I try and
keep order and stop things a bit, out
springs the man Kay from nowhere, and
takes the job out of my hands, makes a
ghastly mess of everything, and retires
purring. Once in every three times, or
thereabouts, he slangs me in front of the
kids for not keeping order. Im glad
this is the end of the term. I couldnt
stand it much longer. Hullo, here come
the chaps from prep. Wed better be
getting back.
AN EVENING AT KAYS
They turned, and began to walk
towards the houses. Kennedy felt
miserable. He never allowed himself to
be put out, to any great extent, by his
own worries, which, indeed, had not
been very numerous up to the present,
but the misfortunes of his friends
always troubled him exceedingly.
When anything happened to him
241
personally, he found the discomfort of
being in a tight place largely
counterbalanced by the excitement of
trying to find a way out. But the
impossibility of helping Fenn in any
way depressed him.
It must be awful, he said, breaking
the silence.
It is, said Fenn, briefly.
But havent the house-matches
made any difference? Blackburns
always frightfully bucked when the
house does anything. You can do
anything you like with him if you lift a
cup. I should have thought Kay would
have been all right when he saw you
knocking up centuries, and getting into
the final, and all that sort of thing.
Fenn laughed.
Kay! he said. My dear man, he
doesnt know. I dont suppose hes got
the remotest idea that we are in the final
at all, or, if he has, he doesnt
understand what being in the final
means.
But surely hell be glad if you lick
us tomorrow? asked Kennedy. Such
indifference on the part of a house-
master respecting the fortunes of his
house seemed to him, having before
him the bright example of Mr
Blackburn almost incredible.
I dont suppose so, said Fenn.
Or, if he is, Ill bet he doesnt show it.
Hes not like Blackburn. I wish he
was. Here he comes, so perhaps wed
better talk about something else.
The vanguard of the boys returning
from preparation had passed them, and
they were now standing at the gate of
the house. As Fenn spoke, a little,
restless-looking man in cap and gown
came up. His clean-shaven face wore
an expression of extreme alertnessthe
sort of look a ferret wears as he slips in
at the mouth of a rabbit-hole. A doctor,
called upon to sum up Mr Kay at a
242 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
glance, would probably have said that
he suffered from nerves, which would
have been a perfectly correct diagnosis,
though none of the members of his
house put his manners and customs
down to that cause. They considered
that the methods he pursued in the
management of the house were the
outcome of a naturally malignant
disposition. This was, however, not the
case. There is no reason to suppose that
Mr Kay did not mean well. But there is
no doubt that he was extremely fussy.
And fussinesswith the possible
exceptions of homicidal mania and a
taste for arsonis quite the worst
characteristic it is possible for a house-
master to possess.
He caught sight of Fenn and
Kennedy at the gate, and stopped in his
stride.
What are you doing here, Fenn? he
asked, with an abruptness which
brought a flush to the latters face.
Why are you outside the house?
Kennedy began to understand why it
was that his friend felt so strongly on
the subject of his house-master. If this
was the sort of thing that happened
every day, no wonder that there was
dissension in the house of Kay. He
tried to imagine Blackburn speaking in
that way to Jimmy Silver or himself, but
his imagination was unequal to the
task. Between Mr Blackburn and his
prefects there existed a perfect
understanding. He relied on them to see
that order was kept, and they acted
accordingly. Fenn, by the exercise of
considerable self-control, had always
been scrupulously polite to Mr Kay.
I came out to get some fresh air
before lock-up, sir, he replied.
Well, go in. Go in at once. I
cannot allow you to be outside the
house at this hour. Go indoors
directly.
Kennedy expected a scene, but Fenn
took it quite quietly.
Good night, Kennedy, he said.
So long, said Kennedy.
Fenn caught his eye, and smiled
painfully. Then he turned and went into
the house.
Mr Kays zeal for reform was
apparently still unsatisfied. He directed
his batteries towards Kennedy.
Go to your house at once,
Kennedy. You have no business out
here at this time.
This, thought Kennedy, was getting
a bit too warm. Mr Kay might do as he
pleased with his own house, but he was
hanged if he was going to trample on
him.
Mr Blackburn is my house-master,
sir, he said with great respect.
Mr Kay stared.
My house-master, continued
Kennedy with gusto, slightly
emphasising the first word, knows that
I always go out just before lock-up, and
he has no objection.
And, to emphasise this point, he
walked towards the school buildings
again. For a moment it seemed as if Mr
Kay intended to call him back, but he
thought better of it. Mr Blackburn, in
normal circumstances a pacific man,
had one touchy pointhis house. He
resented any interference with its
management, and was in the habit of
saying so. Mr Kay remembered one
painful scene in the Masters Common
Room, when he had ventured to let fall
a few well-meant hints as to how a
house should be ruled. Really, he had
thought Blackburn would have choked.
Better, perhaps, to leave him to look
after his own affairs.
So Mr Kay followed Fenn indoors,
and Kennedy, having watched him
vanish, made his way to Blackburns.
Quietly as Fenn had taken the
 AN EVENING AT KAYS
incident at the gate, it nevertheless
rankled. He read prayers that night in a
distinctly unprayerful mood. It seemed
to him that it would be lucky if he could
get through to the end of the term
before Mr Kay applied that last straw
which does not break the backs of
camels only. Eight weeks holiday,
with plenty of cricket, would brace him
up for another term. And he had been
invited to play for the county against
Middlesex four days after the holidays
began. That should have been a
soothing thought. But it really seemed
to make matters worse. It was hard that
a man who on Monday would be
bowling against Warner and Beldam, or
standing up to Trott and Hearne, should
on the preceding Tuesday be sent
indoors like a naughty child by a man
who stood five-feet-one in his boots,
and was devoid of any sort of merit
whatever.
It seemed to him that it would help
him to sleep peacefully that night if he
worked off a little of his just
indignation upon somebody. There was
a noise going on in the fags room.
There always was at Kays. It was not a
particularly noisy noiseconsidering;
but it had better be stopped. Badly as
Kay had treated him, he remembered
that he was head of the house, and as
such it behoved him to keep order in the
house.
He went downstairs, and, on arriving
on the scene of action, found that the
fags were engaged upon spirited
festivities, partly in honour of the near
approach of the summer holidays, partly
becausemiracles barredthe house
was going on the morrow to lift the
cricket-cup. There were a good many
books flying about, and not a few
slippers. There was a confused mass
rolling in combat on the floor, and the
table was occupied by a scarlet-faced
243
individual, who passed the time by
kicking violently at certain hands,
which were endeavouring to drag him
from his post, and shrieking frenzied
abuse at the owners of the said hands.
It was an animated scene, and to a deaf
man might have been most enjoyable.
Fenns appearance was the signal for
a temporary suspension of hostilities.
What the dickens is all this row
about? he inquired.
No one seemed ready at the moment
with a concise explanation. There was
an awkward silence. One or two of the
weaker spirits even went so far as to sit
down and begin to read. All would
have been well but for a bright idea
which struck some undiscovered youth
at the back of the room.
Three cheers for Fenn! observed
this genial spirit, in no uncertain voice.
The idea caught on. It was just what
was wanted to give a finish to the
evenings festivities. Fenn had done
well by the house. He had scored four
centuries and an eighty, and was going
to knock off the runs against
Blackburns tomorrow off his own bat.
Also, he had taken eighteen wickets in
the final house-match. Obviously Fenn
was a person deserving of all
encouragement. It would be a pity to
let him think that his effort had passed
unnoticed by the fags room. Happy
thought! Three cheers and one more,
and then Hes a jolly good fellow, to
wind up with.
It was while those familiar words,
Its a way we have in the public scho-
o-o-o-l-s, were echoing through the
room in various keys, that a small and
energetic form brushed past Fenn as he
stood in the doorway, vainly trying to
stop the fags choral efforts.
It was Mr Kay.
The singing ceased gradually, very
gradually. It was some time before Mr
244 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Kay could make himself heard. But
after a couple of minutes there was a
lull, and the house-masters address
began to be audible.
... unendurable noise. What is the
meaning of it? I will not have it. Do
you hear? It is disgraceful. Every boy
in this room will write me two hundred
lines by tomorrow evening. It is
abominable, Fenn. He wheeled round
towards the head of the house. Fenn, I
am surprised at you standing here and
allowing such a disgraceful disturbance
to go on. Really, if you cannot keep
order betterIt is disgraceful,
disgraceful.
Mr Kay shot out of the room. Fenn
followed in his wake, and the
procession made its way to the house-
masters study. It had been a near
thing, but the last straw had arrived
before the holidays.
Mr Kay wheeled round as he reached
his study door.
Well, Fenn?
Fenn said nothing.
Have you anything you wish to say,
Fenn?
I thought you might have
something to say to me, sir.
I do not understand you, Fenn.
I thought you might wish to
apologise for slanging me in front of the
fags.
It is wonderful what a difference the
last straw will make in ones demeanour
to a person.
Apologise! I think you forget
whom it is you are speaking to.
When a master makes this well-worn
remark, the wise youth realises that the
time has come to close the
conversation. All Fenns prudence,
however, had gone to the four winds.
If you wanted to tell me I was not
fit to be head of the house, you neednt
have done it before a roomful of fags.
How do you think I can keep order in
the house if you do that sort of thing?
Mr Kay overcame his impulse to end
the interview abruptly in order to put in
a thrust.
You do not keep order in the house,
Fenn, he said, acidly.
I do when I am not interfered with.
You will be good enough to say
sir when you speak to me, Fenn, said
Mr Kay, thereby scoring another point.
In the stress of the moment, Fenn had
not noticed the omission.
He was silenced. And before he
could recover himself, Mr Kay was in
his study, and there was a closed,
forbidding door between them.
And as he stared at it, it began
slowly to dawn upon Fenn that he had
not shown up to advantage in the recent
interview. In a word, he had made a
fool of himself.
THE FINAL HOUSE-
MATCH
Blackburns took the field at three
punctually on the following afternoon,
to play out the last act of the final
house-match. They were not without
some small hope of victory, for curious
things happen at cricket, especially in
the fourth innings of a match. And runs
are admitted to be easier saved than
made. Yet seventy-nine seemed an
absurdly small score to try and dismiss
a team for, and in view of the fact that
that team contained a batsman like
Fenn, it seemed smaller still. But
Jimmy Silver, resolutely as he had
declared victory impossible to his
intimate friends, was not the man to
depress his team by letting it become
generally known that he considered
Blackburns chances small.
You must work like niggers in the
 THE FINAL HOUSE-MATCH
field, he said; dont give away a run.
Seventy-nine isnt much to make, but if
we get Fenn out for a few, they wont
come near it.
He did not add that in his opinion
Fenn would take very good care that he
did not get out for a few. It was far
more likely that he would make that
seventy-nine off his own bat in a dozen
overs.
Youd better begin, Kennedy, he
continued, from the top end. Place
your men where you want em. I
should have an extra man in the deep, if
I were you. Thats where Fenn kept
putting them last innings. And youll
want a short leg, only for goodness sake
keep them off the leg-side if you can.
Its a safe four to Fenn every time if
you dont. Look out, you chaps. Man
in.
Kays first pair were coming down
the pavilion steps.
Challis, going to his place at short
slip, called Silvers attention to a
remarkable fact.
Hullo, he said, why isnt Fenn
coming in first?
What! By Jove, nor he is. Thats
queer. All the better for us. You might
get a bit finer, Challis, in case they
snick em.
Wayburn, who had accompanied
Fenn to the wicket at the beginning of
Kays first innings, had now for his
partner one Walton, a large, unpleasant-
looking youth, said to be a bit of a
bruiser, and known to be a black sheep.
He was one of those who made life at
Kays so close an imitation of an
Inferno. His cricket was of a rustic
order. He hit hard and high. When
allowed to do so, he hit often. But, as a
rule, he left early, a prey to the slips or
deep fields. Today was no exception to
that rule.
Kennedys first ball was straight and
245
medium-paced. It was a little too short,
however, and Walton, letting go at it
with a semi-circular sweep like the
drive of a golfer, sent it soaring over
mid-ons head and over the boundary.
Cheers from the pavilion.
Kennedy bowled his second ball
with the same purposeful air, and
Walton swept at it as before. There was
a click, and Jimmy Silver, who was
keeping wicket, took the ball
comfortably on a level with his chin.
Hows that?
The umpires hand went up, and
Walton went outreluctantly,
murmuring legends of how he had not
gone within a yard of the thing.
It was only when the next batsman
who emerged from the pavilion turned
out to be his young brother and not
Fenn, that Silver began to see that
something was wrong. It was
conceivable that Fenn might have
chosen to go in first wicket down
instead of opening the batting, but not
that he should go in second wicket. If
Kays were to win it was essential that
he should begin to bat as soon as
possible. Otherwise there might be no
time for him to knock off the runs.
However good a batsman is, he can do
little if no one can stay with him.
There was no time to question the
newcomer. He must control his
curiosity until the fall of the next
wicket.
Man in, he said.
Billy Silver was in many ways a
miniature edition of his brother, and he
carried the resemblance into his
batting. The head of Blackburns was
stylish, and took no risks. His brother
had not yet developed a style, but he
was very settled in his mind on the
subject of risks. There was no tempting
him with half-volleys and long-hops.
His motto was defence, not defiance.
246 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
He placed a straight bat in the path of
every ball, and seemed to consider his
duty done if he stopped it.
The remainder of the over was,
therefore, quiet. Billy played
Kennedys fastest like a book, and left
the more tempting ones alone.
Challiss first over realised a single,
Wayburn snicking him to leg. The first
ball of Kennedys second over saw him
caught at the wicket, as Walton had
been.
Every time a coconut, said Jimmy
Silver complacently, as he walked to
the other end. Were a powerful
combination, Kennedy. Wheres
Fenn? Does anybody know? Why
doesnt he come in?
Billy Silver, seated on the grass by
the side of the crease, fastening the top
strap of one of his pads, gave tongue
with the eagerness of the well-informed
man.
What, dont you know? he said.
Why, theres been an awful row. Fenn
wont be able to play till four oclock. I
believe he and Kay had a row last night,
and he cheeked Kay, and the old mans
given him a sort of extra. I saw him
going over to the School House, and I
heard him tell Wayburn that he
wouldnt be able to play till four.
The effect produced by this
communication would be most fittingly
expressed by the word sensation in
brackets. It came as a complete surprise
to everyone. It seemed to knock the
bottom out of the whole match.
Without Fenn the thing would be a
farce. Kays would have no chance.
What a worm that man is, said
Kennedy. Do you know, I had a sort
of idea Fenn wouldnt last out much
longer. Kays been ragging him all the
term. I went round to see him last
night, and Kay behaved like a bounder
then. I expect Fenn had it out with him
when they got indoors. What a beastly
shame, though.
Beastly, agreed Jimmy Silver.
Still, it cant be helped. The sins of
the house-master are visited on the
house. Im afraid it will be our painful
duty to wipe the floor with Kays this
day. Speaking at a venture, I should say
that we have got them where the hairs
short. Yea. Even on toast, if I may be
allowed to use the expression. Who is
this coming forth now? Curtis, or me
old eyes deceive me. And is not
Curtiss record score three, marred by
ten chances? Indeed yes. A fastish
yorker should settle Curtiss young
hash. Try one.
Kennedy followed the recipe. A ball
later the middle and leg stumps were
lying in picturesque attitudes some
yards behind the crease, and Curtis was
beginning that sad, unending walk to
the pavilion, thinking, with the poet,
Thou wast not made to play,
infernal ball!
Blackburns non-combatants, dotted
round the boundary, shrieked their
applause. Three wickets had fallen for
five runs, and life was worth living.
Kays were silent and gloomy.
Billy Silver continued to occupy one
end in an immovable manner, but at the
other there was no monotony. Man
after man came in, padded and gloved,
and looking capable of mighty things.
They took guard, patted the ground
lustily, as if to make it plain that they
were going to stand no nonsense, settled
their caps over their eyes, and prepared
to receive the ball. When it came it
usually took a stump or two with it
before it stopped. It was a procession
such as the school grounds had not
often seen. As the tenth man walked
from the pavilion, four sounded from
the clock over the Great Hall, and five
minutes later the weary eyes of the
 THE FINAL HOUSE-MATCH
supporters of Kays were refreshed by
the sight of Fenn making his way to the
arena from the direction of the School
House.
Just as he arrived on the scene, Billy
Silvers defence broke down. One of
Challiss slows, which he had left alone
with the idea that it was going to break
away to the off, came in quickly
instead, and removed a bail. Billy
Silver had only made eight; but, as the
full score, including one bye, was only
eighteen, this was above the average,
and deserved the applause it received.
Fenn came in in the unusual position
of eleventh man, with an expression on
his face that seemed to suggest that he
meant business. He was curiously
garbed. Owing to the shortness of the
interval allowed him for changing, he
had only managed to extend his cricket
costume as far as white buckskin boots.
He wore no pads or gloves. But even in
the face of these sartorial deficiencies,
he looked like a cricketer. The field
spread out respectfully, and Jimmy
Silver moved a man from the slips into
the country.
There were three more balls of
Challiss over, for Billy Silvers
collapse had occurred at the third
delivery. Fenn mistimed the first. Two
hours writing indoors does not improve
the eye. The ball missed the leg stump
by an inch.
About the fifth ball he made no
mistake. He got the full face of the bat
to it, and it hummed past coverpoint to
the boundary. The last of the over he
put to leg for three.
A remarkable last-wicket partnership
now took place, remarkable not so
much for tall scoring as for the fact that
one of the partners did not receive a
single ball from beginning to end of it,
with the exception of the one that
bowled him. Fenn seemed to be able to
247
do what he pleased with the bowling.
Kennedy he played with a shade more
respect than the others, but he never
failed to score a three or a single off the
last ball of each of his overs. The
figures on the telegraph-board rose
from twenty to thirty, from thirty to
forty, from forty to fifty. Williams went
on at the lower end instead of Challis,
and Fenn made twelve off his first
over. The pavilion was filled with
howling enthusiasts, who cheered every
hit in a frenzy.
Jimmy Silver began to look worried.
He held a hasty consultation with
Kennedy. The telegraph-board now
showed the figures 6098.
This wont do, said Silver. It
would be too foul to get licked after
having nine of them out for eighteen.
Cant you manage to keep Fenn from
scoring odd figures off the last ball of
your over? If only that kid at the other
end would get some of the bowling, we
should do it.
Ill try, said Kennedy, and walked
back to begin his over.
Fenn reached his fifty off the third
ball. Seventy went up on the board.
Ten more and Kays would have the
cup. The fourth ball was too good to
hit. Fenn let it pass. The fifth he drove
to the on. It was a big hit, but there was
a fieldsman in the neighbourhood. Still,
it was an easy two. But to Kennedys
surprise Fenn sent his partner back after
they had run a single. Even the umpire
was surprised. Fenns policy was so
obvious that it was strange to see him
thus deliberately allow his partner to
take a ball.
Thats not over, you know, Fenn,
said the umpireLang, of the School
House, a member of the first eleven.
Fenn looked annoyed. He had
miscounted the balls, and now his
partner, who had no pretensions to be
248 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
considered a bat, would have to face
Kennedy.
That mistake lost Kays the match.
Impossible as he had found it to
defeat Fenn, Kennedy had never lost his
head or his length. He was bowling
fully as well as he had done at the
beginning of the innings.
The last ball of the over beat the
batsman all the way. He scooped
blindly forward, missed it by a foot, and
the next moment the off stump lay flat.
Blackburns had won by seven runs.
HARMONY AND
DISCORD
What might be described as a mixed
reception awaited the players as they
left the field. The pavilion and the parts
about the pavilion rails were always
packed on the last day of a final house-
match, and even in normal
circumstances there was apt to be a little
sparring between the juniors of the two
houses which had been playing for the
cup. In the present case, therefore, it
was not surprising that Kays fags took
the defeat badly. The thought that
Fenns presence at the beginning of the
innings, instead of at the end, would
have made all the difference between a
loss and a victory, maddened them.
The crowd that seethed in front of the
pavilion was a turbulent one.
For a time the operation of chairing
Fenn up the steps occupied the active
minds of the Kayites. When he had
disappeared into the first eleven room,
they turned their attention in other
directions. Caustic and
uncomplimentary remarks began to fly
to and fro between the representatives
of Kays and Blackburns. It is not
known who actually administered the
first blow. But, when Fenn came out of
the pavilion with Kennedy and Silver,
he found a stirring battle in progress.
The members of the other houses who
had come to look on at the match stood
in knots, and gazed with approval at the
efforts of Kays and Blackburns
juniors to wipe each other off the face
of the earth. The air was full of shrill
battle-cries, varied now and then by a
smack or a thud, as some young but
strenuous fist found a billet. The
fortune of war seemed to be distributed
equally so far, and the combatants were
just warming to their work.
Look here, said Kennedy, we
ought to stop this.
Whats the good, said Fenn,
without interest. It pleases them, and
doesnt hurt anybody else.
All the same, observed Jimmy
Silver, moving towards the nearest
group of combatants, free fights arent
quite the thing, somehow. For,
children, you should never let your
angry passions rise; your little hands
were never made to tear each others
eyes. Dr Watts Advice to Young
Pugilists. Drop it, you little beasts.
He separated two heated youths who
were just beginning a fourth round. The
rest of the warriors, seeing Silver and
the others, called a truce, and Silver,
having read a sort of Riot Act, moved
on. The juniors of the beaten house,
deciding that it would be better not to
resume hostilities, consoled themselves
by giving three groans for Mr Kay.
What happened after I left you last
night, Fenn? asked Kennedy.
Oh, I had one of my usual rows
with Kay, only rather worse than usual.
I said one or two things he didnt like,
and today the old man sent for me and
told me to come to his room from two
till four. Kay had run me in for being
grossly rude. Listen to those kids.
What a row theyre making!
 HARMONY AND DISCORD
Its a beastly shame, said Kennedy
despondently.
At the school shop Morrell, of
Mulhollands, met them. He had been
spending the afternoon with a rug and a
novel on the hills at the back of the
school, and he wanted to know how the
final house-match had gone.
Blackburns had beaten Mulhollands in
one of the early rounds. Kennedy
explained what had happened.
We should have lost if Fenn had
turned up earlier, he said. He had a
row with Kay, and Kay gave him a sort
of extra between two and four.
Fenn, busily occupied with an ice,
added no comment of his own to this
plain tale.
Rough luck, said Morrell.
Whats all that row out in the field?
Thats Kays kids giving three
groans for Kay, explained Silver. At
least, they started with the idea of
giving three groans. Theyve got up to
about three hundred by this time. It
seems to have fascinated them. They
wont leave off. Theres no school rule
against groaning in the grounds, and
they mean to groan till the end of the
term. Personally, I like the sound. But
then, Im fond of music.
Morrells face beamed with sudden
pleasure. I knew there was something
I wanted to tell you, he said, only I
couldnt remember what. Your saying
youre fond of music reminds me.
Mulhollands crocked himself, and
wont be able to turn out for the
concert.
What! cried Kennedy. How did
it happen? Whats he done?
Mr Mulholland was the master who
looked after the music of the school, a
fine cricketer and keen sportsman. Had
nothing gone wrong, he would have
conducted at the concert that night.
I heard it from the matron at our
249
place, said Morrell. Shes full of it.
Mulholland was batting at the middle
net, and somebody elseI forget who
was at the one next to it on the right.
The bowler sent down a long-hop to
leg, and this Johnny had a smack at it,
and sent it slap through the net, and it
got Mulholland on the side of the head.
He was stunned for a bit, but hes
getting all right again now. But he
wont be able to conduct tonight.
Rather bad luck on the man, especially
as hes so keen on the concert.
Whos going to sub for him? asked
Silver. Perhaps theyll scratch the
show, suggested Kennedy.
Oh, no, said Morrell, its all
right. Kay is going to conduct. Hes
often done it at choir practices when
Mulholland couldnt turn up.
Fenn put down his empty saucer
with an emphatic crack on the counter.
If Kays going to run the show, Im
hanged if I turn up, he said.
My dear chap, you cant get out of
it now, said Kennedy anxiously. He
did not want to see Fenn plunging into
any more strife with the authorities this
term.
Think of the crowned heads who
are coming to hear you, pleaded
Jimmy Silver. Think of the nobility
and gentry. Think of me. You must
play.
Ah, there you are, Fenn.
Mr Kay had bustled in in his
energetic way.
Fenn said nothing. He was there. It
was idle to deny it.
I thought I should find you here.
Yes, I wanted to see you about the
concert tonight. Mr Mulholland has
met with an unfortunate accident, and I
am looking after the entertainment in
his place. Come with me and play over
your piece. I should like to see that you
are perfect in it. Dear me, dear me,
250 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
what a noise those boys are making.
Why are they behaving in that
extraordinary way, I wonder!
Kays juniors had left the pavilion,
and were trooping back to their house.
At the present moment they were
passing the school shop, and their
tuneful voices floated in through the
open window.
This is very unusual. Why, they
seem to be boys in my house. They are
groaning.
I think they are a little upset at the
result of the match, sir, said Jimmy
Silver suavely. Fenn did not arrive,
for some reason, till the end of the
innings, so Mr Blackburns won. The
wicket was good, but a little fiery.
Thank you, Silver, replied Mr Kay
with asperity. When I require
explanations I will ask for them.
He darted out of the shop, and a
moment later they heard him pouring
out a flood of recriminations on the
groaning fags.
There was once a man who snubbed
me, said Jimmy Silver. They buried
him at Brookwood. Well, what are you
going to do, Fenn? Going to play
tonight? Harkee, boy. Say but the
word, and I will beard this tyrant to his
face.
Fenn rose.
Yes, he said briefly, I shall play.
Youd better turn up. I think youll
enjoy it.
Silver said that no human power
should keep him away.
*****
The School concert was always one
of the events of the summer term.
There was a concert at the end of the
winter term, too, but it was not so
important. To a great many of those
present the summer concert marked, as
it were, the last flutter of their school
life. On the morrow they would be Old
Boys, and it behoved them to extract as
much enjoyment from the function as
they could. Under Mr Mullhollands
rule the concert had become a very
flourishing institution. He aimed at a
high standard, and reached it. There
was more than a touch of the austere
about the music. A glance at the
programme was enough to show the
lover of airs of the trashy, clashy order
that this was no place for him. Most of
the items were serious. When it was
thought necessary to introduce a lighter
touch, some staidly rollicking number
was inserted, some song that was saved
in spite of a catchy tuneby a halo
of antiquity. Anything modern was
taboo, unless it were the work of
Gotsuchakoff, Thingummyowsky, or
some other eminent foreigner. Foreign
origin made it just possible.
The school prefects lurked during
the performance at the doors and at the
foot of the broad stone steps that led to
the Great Hall. It was their duty to
supply visitors with programmes.
Jimmy Silver had foregathered with
Kennedy, Challis, and Williams at the
junior door. The hall was full now, and
their labours consequently at an end.
Pretty good gate, said Silver,
looking in through the open door. It
must be warm up in the gallery.
Across the further end of the hall a
dais had been erected. On this the bulk
of the school sat, leaving the body of
the hall to the crowned heads, nobility,
and gentry to whom Silver had referred
in his conversation with Fenn.
It always is warm in the gallery,
said Challis. I lost about two stone
there every concert when I was a kid.
We simply used to sit and melt.
And I tell you what, broke in
Silver, its going to get warmer before
the end of the show. Do you notice that
all Kays house are sitting in a lump at
 HARMONY AND DISCORD
the back. I bet theyre simply spoiling
for a row. Especially now Kays
running the concert. Theres going to
be a hot time in the old town tonight-
you see if there isnt. Hark at em.
The choir had just come to the end of
a little thing of Handels. There was no
reason to suppose that the gallery
appreciated Handel. Nevertheless, they
were making a deafening noise. Clouds
of dust rose from the rhythmical
stamping of many feet. The noise was
loudest and the dust thickest by the big
window, beneath which sat the men
from Kays. Things were warming up.
The gallery, with one last stamp
which nearly caused the dais to
collapse, quieted down. The masters in
the audience looked serious. One or
two of the visitors glanced over their
shoulders with a smile. How excited
the dear boys were at the prospect of
holidays! Young blood! Young blood!
Boys would be boys.
The concert continued. Half-way
through the programme there was a ten
minutes interval. Fenns pianoforte
solo was the second item of the second
half.
He mounted the platform amidst
howls of delight from the gallery.
Applause at the Eckleton concerts was
granted more for services in the
playing-fields than merit as a musician.
Kubelik or Paderewski would have
been welcomed with a few polite
handclaps. A man in the eleven or
fifteen was certain of two minutes
unceasing cheers.
Evidently one of their heroes, my
dear, said Paterfamilias to
Materfamilias. I suppose he has won a
scholarship at the University.
Paterfamilias mind was accustomed
to run somewhat upon scholarships at
the University. What the school wanted
was a batting average of forty odd or a
251
bowling analysis in single figures.
Fenn played the Moonlight
Sonata. A trained musical critic would
probably have found much to cavil at in
his rendering of the piece, but it was
undoubtedly good for a public school
player. Of course he was encored. The
gallery would have encored him if he
had played with one finger, three
mistakes to every bar.
I told Fenn, said Jimmy Silver, if
he got an encore, that he ought to play
theMy aunt! He is!
Three runs and half-a-dozen crashes,
and there was no further room for
doubt. Fenn was playing the Coon
Band Contest.
Hes gone mad, gasped Kennedy.
Whether he had or not, it is certain
that the gallery had. All the evening
they had been stewing in an atmosphere
like that of the inner room of a Turkish
bath, and they were ready for anything.
It needed but a trifle to set them off.
The lilt of that unspeakable Yankee
melody supplied that trifle. Kays
malcontents, huddled in their seats by
the window, were the first to break out.
Feet began to stamp in time to the
musicsoftly at first, then more
loudly. The wooden dais gave out the
sound like a drum.
Other rioters joined in from the
right. The noise spread through the
gallery as a fire spreads through gorse.
Soon three hundred pairs of well-shod
feet were rising and falling. Somebody
began to whistle. Everybody whistled.
Mr Kay was on his feet, gesticulating
wildly. His words were lost in the
uproar.
For five minutes the din prevailed.
Then, with a final crash, Fenn finished.
He got up from the music-stool, bowed,
and walked back to his place by the
senior door. The musical efforts of the
gallery changed to a storm of cheering
252 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
and clapping.
The choir rose to begin the next
piece.
Still the noise continued.
People began to leave the Hallin
ones and twos first, then in a steady
stream which blocked the doorways. It
was plain to the dullest intelligence that
if there was going to be any more
concert, it would have to be performed
in dumb show. Mr Kay flung down his
baton.
The visitors had left by now, and the
gallery was beginning to follow their
example, howling as it went.
Well, said Jimmy Silver
cheerfully, as he went with Kennedy
down the steps, I think we may call
that a record. By my halidom, therell
be a row about this later on.
CAMP
With the best intentions in the world,
however, a headmaster cannot make a
row about a thing unless he is given a
reasonable amount of time to make it
in. The concert being on the last
evening of term, there was only a single
morning before the summer holidays,
and that morning was occupied with the
prize-giving. The school assembled at
ten oclock with a shadowy hope that
this prize-day would be more exciting
than the general run of prize-days, but
they were disappointed. The function
passed off without sensation. The
headmaster did not denounce the school
in an impassioned speech from the
dais. He did not refer to the events of
the previous evening. At the same time,
his demeanour was far from jovial. It
lacked that rollicking bonhomie which
we like to see in headmasters on prize-
day. It was evident to the most casual
observer that the affair was not closed.
The school would have to pay the bill
sooner or later. But eight weeks would
elapse before the day of reckoning,
which was a comforting thought.
The last prize was handed over to its
rightful owner. The last and dullest
vote of thanks had been proposed by the
last and dullest member of the board of
governors. The Bishop of Rumtifoo
(who had been selected this year to
distribute the prizes) had worked off his
seventy minutes speech (inaudible, of
course, as usual), and was feeling much
easier. The term had been formally
declared at an end, and those members
of the school corps who were going to
camp were beginning to assemble in
front of the buildings.
I wonder why it always takes about
three hours to get us off to the station,
said Jimmy Silver. Ive been to camp
two years now, and theres always been
this rotting about in the grounds before
we start. Nobodys likely to turn up to
inspect us for the next hour or so. If
any gent cares to put in a modest
ginger-beer at the shop, Im with him.
I dont see why we shouldnt, said
Kennedy. He had seen Fenn go into the
shop, and wished to talk to him. He had
not seen him after the concert, and he
thought it would be interesting to know
how Kay had taken it, and what his
comments had been on meeting Fenn in
the house that night.
Fenn had not much to say.
He was rather worried, he said,
grinning as if the recollection of the
interview amused him. But he
couldnt do anything. Of course,
therell be a row next term, but it cant
be helped.
If I were you, said Silver, I
should point out to them that youd a
perfect right to play what you liked for
an encore. How were you to know the
gallery would go off like that? You
 CAMP
arent responsible for them. Hullo,
theres that bugle. Things seem to be
on the move. We must go.
So long, said Fenn.
Goodbye. Mind you come off
against Middlesex.
Kennedy stayed for a moment.
Has the Old Man said anything to
you yet? he asked.
Not yet. Hell do that next term.
Itll be something to look forward to.
Kennedy hurried off to take his place
in the ranks.
Getting to camp at the end of the
summer term is always a nuisance.
Aldershot seems a long way from
everywhere, and the trains take their
time over the journey. Then, again, the
heat always happens to be particularly
oppressive on that day. Snow may have
fallen on the day before, but directly
one sets out for camp, the thermometer
goes up into three figures. The
Eckleton contingent marched into the
lines damp and very thirsty.
Most of the other schools were
already on the spot, and looked as if
they had been spending the last few
years there. There was nothing
particular going on when the Eckleton
warriors arrived, and everybody was
lounging about in khaki and shirt-
sleeves, looking exasperatingly cool.
The only consolation which buoyed up
the spirits of Eckleton was the reflection
that in a short space of time, when the
important-looking gentleman in
uniform who had come to meet them
had said all he wanted to say on the
subject of rules and regulations, they
would be like that too. Happy thought!
If the man bucked up and cut short the
peroration, there would be time for a
bathe in Cove Reservoir. Those of the
corps who had been to camp in previous
years felt quite limp with the joy of the
thought. Why couldnt he get through
253
with it, and give a fellow a chance of
getting cool again?
The gist of the oration was
apparently that the Eckleton cadets were
to consider themselves not only as
soldiersand as such subject to
military discipline, and the rules for the
conduct of troops quartered in the
Aldershot districtbut also as members
of a public school. In short, that if they
misbehaved themselves they would get
cells, and a hundred lines in the same
breath, as it were.
The corps knew all this ages ago.
The man seemed to think he was telling
them something fresh. They began
positively to dislike him after a while.
He finished at last. Eckleton
marched off wearily, but in style, to its
lines.
Dis-miss!
They did.
And about time, too, said Jimmy
Silver. I wish they would tie that man
up, or something. Hes one of the worst
bores I know. He may be full of bright
conversation in private life, but in
public he will talk about his beastly
military regulations. You cant stop
him. Its a perfect mania with him.
Now, I believethats to say, I have a
sort of dim ideathat theres a place
round about here called a canteen. I
seem to remember such a thing
vaguely. We might go and look for it.
Kennedy made no objection.
This was his first appearance at
camp. Jimmy Silver, on the other hand,
was a veteran. He had been there twice
before, and meant to go again. He had
a peculiar and extensive knowledge of
the ins and outs of the place. Kennedy
was quite willing to take him as his
guide. He was full of information.
Kennedy was surprised to see what a
number of men from the other schools
he seemed to know. In the canteen
254 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
there were, amongst others, a
Carthusian, two Tonbridge men, and a
Haileyburian. They all greeted Silver
with the warmth of old friends.
You get to know a lot of fellows in
camp, explained Jimmy, as they
strolled back to the Eckleton lines.
Thats the best of the place. Camps
the best place on earth, if only you have
decent weather. See that chap over
there? He came here last year. Hed
never been before, and one of the things
he didnt know was that Cove
Reservoirs only about three feet deep
round the sides. He took a running
dive, and almost buried himself in the
mud. Its about two feet deep. He told
me afterwards he swallowed pounds of
it. Rather bad luck. Somebody ought
to have told him. You cant do much
diving here.
Glad you mentioned it, said
Kennedy. I should have dived myself
if you hadnt.
Many other curious and diverting
facts did the expert drag from the
bonded warehouse of his knowledge.
Nothing changes at camp. Once get to
know the ropes, and you know them for
all time.
The one thing I bar, he said, is
having to get up at half-past five. And
one day in the week, when theres a
divisional field-day, its half-past four.
Its hardly worth while going to sleep at
all. Still, it isnt so bad as it used to be.
The first year I came to camp we used
to have to do a three hours field-day
before brekker. We used to have coffee
before it, and nothing else till it was
over. By Jove, you felt youd had
enough of it before you got back. This
is Laffans Plain. The worst of Laffans
Plain is that you get to know it too
well. You get jolly sick of always
starting on field-days from the same
place, and marching across the same bit
of ground. Still, I suppose they cant
alter the scenery for our benefit. See
that man there? He won the sabres at
Aldershot last year. That chap with him
is in the Clifton footer team.
When a school corps goes to camp, it
lives in a number of tents, and, as a rule,
each house collects in a tent of its own.
Blackburns had a tent, and further
down the line Kays had assembled.
The Kay contingent were under
Wayburn, a good sort, as far as he
himself was concerned, but too weak to
handle a mob like Kays. Wayburn was
not coming back after the holidays, a
fact which perhaps still further
weakened his hold on the Kayites.
They had nothing to fear from him next
term.
Kays was represented at camp by a
dozen or so of its members, of whom
young Billy Silver alone had any
pretensions to the esteem of his fellow
man. Kays was the rowdiest house in
the school, and the cream of its rowdy
members had come to camp. There was
Walton, for one, a perfect specimen of
the public school man at his worst.
There was Mortimer, another of Kays
gems. Perry, again, and Callingham,
and the rest. A pleasant gang, fit for
anything, if it could be done in safety.
Kennedy observed them, andthe
spectacle starting a train of thought-
asked Jimmy Silver, as they went into
their tent just before lights-out, if there
was much ragging in camp.
Not very much, said the expert.
Chaps are generally too done up at the
end of the day to want to do anything
except sleep. Still, Ive known cases.
You sometimes get one tent mobbing
another. They loose the ropes, you
know. Low trick, I think. It isnt often
done, and it gets dropped on like bricks
when its found out. But why? Do you
feel as if you wanted to do it?
 CAMP 255

It only occurred to me that weve Good night.

got a lively gang from Kays here. I Half an hour later, Kennedy, who
was wondering if theyd get any had been ruminating over the incident
chances of ragging, or if theyd have to in his usual painstaking way, reopened
lie low. the debate.
Id forgotten Kays for the Whos Wren? he asked.
moment. Now you mention it, they are Wha? murmured Silver, sleepily.
rather a crew. But I shouldnt think Whos Wren? repeated Kennedy.
theyd find it worth while to rot about I dknow.... Oh.... Lil beast....
here. It isnt as if they were on their Kays.... Red hair.... G-ni.
native heath. People have a prejudice And sleep reigned in Blackburns
against having their tent-ropes loosed, tent.
and theyd get beans if they did
anything in that line. I remember once
there was a tent which made itself THE RAID ON THE
objectionable, and it got raided in the
night by a sort of vigilance committee GUARD-TENT
from the other schools, and the chaps in
Wren and Billy Silver had fallen out
it got the dickens of a time. None of
over a question of space. It was
them ever came to camp again. I hope
Silvers opinion that Wrens nest ought
Kaysll try and behave decently. Itll
to have been built a foot or two further
be an effort for them; but I hope theyll
to the left. He stated baldly that he had
make it. It would be an awful nuisance
not room to breathe, and requested the
if young Billy made an ass of himself in
red-headed one to ease off a point or so
any way. He loves making an ass of
in the direction of his next-door
himself. Its a sort of hobby of his.
neighbour. Wren had refused, and,
As if to support the statement, a
after a few moments chatty
sudden volley of subdued shouts came
conversation, smote William earnestly
from the other end of the Eckleton lines.
in the wind. Trouble had begun upon
Go it, Wren!
the instant. It had ceased almost as
Stick to it, Silver!
rapidly owing to interruptions from
Wren!
without, but the truce had been merely
Silver!
temporary. They continued the
S-s-h!
argument outside the tent at five-thirty
Silence, followed almost
the next morning, after the reveille had
immediately by a gruff voice inquiring
sounded, amidst shouts of approval
with simple directness what the dickens
from various shivering mortals who
all this noise was about.
were tubbing preparatory to embarking
Hullo! said Kennedy. Did you
on the labours of the day.
hear that? I wonder whats been up?
A brisk first round had just come to a
Your brother was in it, whatever it
conclusion when Walton lounged out of
was.
the tent, yawning.
Of course, said Jimmy Silver, he
Walton proceeded to separate the
would be. We cant find out about it
combatants. After which he rebuked
now, though. Ill ask him tomorrow, if
Billy Silver with a swagger-stick.
I remember. I shant remember, of
Wrens share in the business he
course. Good night.
overlooked. He was by way of being a
256 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
patron of Wrens, and he disliked Billy
Silver, partly for his own sake and
partly because he hated his brother,
with whom he had come into contact
once or twice during his career at
Eckleton, always with unsatisfactory
results.
So Walton dropped on to Billy
Silver, and Wren continued his toilet
rejoicing.
Camp was beginning the strenuous
life now. Tent after tent emptied itself
of its occupants, who stretched
themselves vigorously, and proceeded
towards the tubbing-ground, where
there were tin baths for those who cared
to wait until the same were vacant, and
a good, honest pump for those who did
not. Then there was that unpopular job,
the piling of ones bedding outside the
tent, and the rolling up of the tent
curtains. But these unpleasant duties
came to an end at last, and signs of
breakfast began to appear.
Breakfast gave Kennedy his first
insight into life in camp. He happened
to be tent-orderly that day, and it
therefore fell to his lot to join the
orderlies from the other tents in their
search for the Eckleton rations. He
returned with a cargo of bread (obtained
from the quartermaster), and, later, with
a great tin of meat, which the cook-
house had supplied, and felt that this
was life. Hitherto breakfast had been to
him a thing of white cloths, tables, and
food that appeared from nowhere. This
was the first time he had ever tracked
his food to its source, so to speak, and
brought it back with him. After
breakfast, when he was informed that,
as tent-orderly for the day, it was his
business to wash up, he began to feel as
if he were on a desert island. He had
never quite realised before what
washing-up implied, and he was
conscious of a feeling of respect for the
servants at Blackburns, who did it
every day as a matter of course, without
complaint. He had had no idea before
this of the intense stickiness of a jammy
plate.
One day at camp is much like
another. The schools opened the day
with parade drill at about eight oclock,
and, after an instruction series of
changing direction half-left in column
of double companies, and other
pleasant movements of a similar nature,
adjourned for lunch. Lunch was much
like breakfast, except that the supply of
jam was cut off. The people who
arrange these thingsprobably the War
Office, or Mr Brodrick, or someone-
have come to the conclusion that two
pots of jam per tent are sufficient for
breakfast and lunch. The unwary
devour theirs recklessly at the earlier
meal, and have to go jamless until tea at
six oclock, when another pot is served
out.
The afternoon at camp is perfect or
otherwise, according to whether there is
a four oclock field-day or not. If there
is, there are more manoeuvrings until
tea-time, and the time is spent
profitably, but not so pleasantly as it
might be. If there is no field-day, you
can take your time about your bathe in
Cove Reservoir. And a really
satisfactory bathe on a hot day should
last at least three hours. Kennedy and
Jimmy Silver strolled off in the
direction of the Reservoir as soon as
they felt that they had got over the
effects of the beef, potatoes, and ginger-
beer which a generous commissariat
had doled out to them for lunch. It was
a glorious day, and bathing was the only
thing to do for the next hour or so.
Stump-cricket, that fascinating sport
much indulged in in camp, would not be
at its best until the sun had cooled off a
little.
 THE RAID ON THE GUARD-TENT
After a pleasant half hour in the mud
and water of the Reservoir, they lay on
the bank and watched the rest of the
schools take their afternoon dip.
Kennedy had laid in a supply of
provisions from the stall which stood at
the camp end of the water. Neither of
them felt inclined to move.
This is decent, said Kennedy,
wriggling into a more comfortable
position in the long grass. Hullo!
Whats up? inquired Jimmy Silver,
lazily.
He was almost asleep.
Look at those idiots. Theyre
certain to get spotted.
Jimmy Silver tilted his hat off his
face, and sat up.
Whats the matter? Which idiot?
Kennedy pointed to a bush on their
right. Walton and Perry were seated
beside it. Both were smoking.
Oh, thats all right, said Silver.
Masters never come to Cove
Reservoir. Its a sort of unwritten law.
Theyre rotters to smoke, all the same.
Certain to get spotted some day.... Not
worth it.... Spoils lungs.... Beastly
bad ... training.
He dozed off. The sun was warm,
and the grass very soft and
comfortable. Kennedy turned his gaze
to the Reservoir again. It was no
business of his what Walton and Perry
did.
Walton and Perry were discussing
ways and means. The conversation
changed as they saw Kennedy glance at
them. They were the sort of persons
who feel a vague sense of injury when
anybody looks at them, perhaps because
they feel that those whose attention is
attracted to them must say something to
their discredit when they begin to talk
about them.
Theres that beast Kennedy, said
Walton. I cant stick that man. Hes
257
always hanging round the house. What
he comes for, I cant make out.
Pal of Fenns, suggested Perry.
He hangs on to Fenn. I bet Fenn
bars him really.
Perry doubted this in his innermost
thoughts, but it was not worth while to
say so.
Those Blackburn chaps, continued
Walton, reverting to another grievance,
will stick on no end of side next term
about that cup. They wouldnt have had
a look in if Kay hadnt given Fenn that
extra. Kay ought to be kicked. Im
hanged if Im going to care what I do
next term. Somebody ought to do
something to take it out of Kay for
getting his own house licked like that.
Walton spoke as if the line of
conduct he had mapped out for himself
would be a complete reversal of his
customary mode of life. As a matter of
fact, he had never been in the habit of
caring very much what he did.
Waltons last remarks brought the
conversation back to where it had been
before the mention of Kennedy
switched it off on to new lines. Perry
had been complaining that he thought
camp a fraud, that it was all drilling and
getting up at unearthly hours. He
reminded Walton that he had only come
on the strength of the latters statement
that it would be a rag. Where did the
rag come in? That was what Perry
wanted to know.
When its not a ghastly sweat, he
concluded, its slow. Like it is now.
Cant we do something for a change?
As a matter of fact, said Walton,
nearly all the best rags are played out.
A chap at a crammers told me last
holidays that when he was at camp he
and some other fellows loosed the ropes
of the guard-tent. He said it was grand
sport.
Perry sat up.
258 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Thats the thing, he said,
excitedly. Lets do that. Why not?
Its beastly risky, objected Walton.
Whats that matter? They cant do
anything, even if they spot us.
Thats all you know. We should
get beans.
Still, its worth risking. It would be
the biggest rag going. Did the chap tell
you how they did it?
Yes, said Walton, becoming
animated as he recalled the stirring tale,
they bagged the sentry. Chucked a
cloth or something over his head, you
know. Then they shoved him into the
ditch, and one of them sat on him while
the others loosed the ropes. It took the
chaps inside no end of a time getting
out.
Thats the thing. Well do it. We
only need one other chap. Leveson
would come if we asked him. Lets get
back to the lines. Its almost tea-time.
Tell him after tea.
Leveson proved agreeable. Indeed,
he jumped at it. His life, his attitude
suggested, had been a hollow mockery
until he heard the plan, but now he
could begin to enjoy himself once more.
The lights-out bugle sounded at ten
oclock; the last post at ten-thirty. At a
quarter to twelve the three adventurers,
who had been keeping themselves
awake by the exercise of great pains,
satisfied themselves that the other
occupants of the tent were asleep, and
stole out.
It was an excellent night for their
purpose. There was no moon, and the
stars were hidden by clouds.
They crept silently towards the
guard-tent. A dim figure loomed out of
the blackness. They noted with
satisfaction, as it approached, that it was
small. Sentries at the public-school
camp vary in physique. They felt that it
was lucky that the task of sentry-go had
not fallen that night to some muscular
forward from one of the school fifteens,
or worse still, to a boxing expert who
had figured in the Aldershot
competition at Easter. The present
sentry would be an easy victim.
They waited for him to arrive.
A moment later Private Jones, of St
Asterisksfor it was heturning to
resume his beat, found himself tackled
from behind. Two moments later he
was reclining in the ditch. He would
have challenged his adversary, but,
unfortunately, that individual happened
to be seated on his face.
He struggled, but to no purpose.
He was still struggling when a
muffled roar of indignation from the
direction of the guard-tent broke the
stillness of the summer night. The roar
swelled into a crescendo. What seemed
like echoes came from other quarters
out of the darkness. The camp was
waking.
The noise from the guard-tent waxed
louder.
The unknown marauder rose from
his seat on Private Jones, and vanished.
Private Jones also rose. He climbed
out of the ditch, shook himself, looked
round for his assailant, and, not finding
him, hurried to the guard-tent to see
what was happening.
A CLUE
The guard-tent had disappeared.
Private Jones bewildered eye,
rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven to
earth, and from earth to heaven, in
search of the missing edifice, found it at
last in a tangled heap upon the ground.
It was too dark to see anything
distinctly, but he perceived that the
canvas was rising and falling
spasmodically like a stage sea, and for a
 A CLUE
similar reasonbecause there were
human beings imprisoned beneath it.
By this time the whole camp was up
and doing. Figures in deshabille,
dashing the last vestiges of sleep away
with their knuckles, trooped on to the
scene in twos and threes, full of inquiry
and trenchant sarcasm.
What are you men playing at?
Whats all the row about? Cant you
finish that game of footer some other
time, when we arent trying to get to
sleep? What on earths up?
Then the voice of one having
authority.
Whats the matter? What are you
doing?
It was perfectly obvious what the
guard was doing. It was trying to get
out from underneath the fallen tent.
Private Jones explained this with some
warmth.
Somebody jumped at me and sat on
my head in the ditch. I couldnt get up.
And then some blackguard cut the ropes
of the guard-tent. I couldnt see who it
was. He cut off directly the tent went
down.
Private Jones further expressed a
wish that he could find the chap. When
he did, there would, he hinted, be
trouble in the old homestead.
The tent was beginning to disgorge
its prisoners.
Guard, turn out! said a facetious
voice from the darkness.
The camp was divided into two
schools of thought. Those who were
watching the guard struggle out thought
the episode funny. The guard did not.
It was pathetic to hear them on the
subject of their mysterious assailants.
Matters quieted down rapidly after the
tent had been set up again. The
spectators were driven back to their
lines by their officers. The guard turned
in again to try and restore their
259
shattered nerves with sleep until their
time for sentry-go came round. Private
Jones picked up his rifle and resumed
his beat. The affair was at an end as far
as that night was concerned.
Next morning, as might be expected,
nothing else was talked about.
Conversation at breakfast was confined
to the topic. No halfpenny paper,
however many times its circulation
might exceed that of any penny
morning paper, ever propounded so
fascinating and puzzling a breakfast-
table problem. It was the utter
impossibility of detecting the culprits
that appealed to the schools. They had
swooped down like hawks out of the
night, and disappeared like eels into
mud, leaving no traces.
Jimmy Silver, of course, had no
doubts.
It was those Kays men, he said.
What does it matter about evidence?
Youve only got to look at em. Thats
all the evidence you want. The only
thing that makes it at all puzzling is that
they did nothing worse. Youd
naturally expect them to slay the sentry,
at any rate.
But the rest of the camp, lacking that
intimate knowledge of the Kayite which
he possessed, did not turn the eye of
suspicion towards the Eckleton lines.
The affair remained a mystery.
Kennedy, who never gave up a problem
when everybody else did, continued to
revolve the mystery in his mind.
I shouldnt wonder, he said to
Silver, two days later, if you were
right.
Silver, who had not made any
remark for the last five minutes, with
the exception of abusive comments on
the toughness of the meat which he was
trying to carve with a blunt knife for the
tent, asked for an explanation. I mean
about that row the other night.
260 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
What row?
That guard-tent business.
Oh, that! Id forgotten. Why dont continue their revels on the green, our
you move with the times? Youre
always thinking of something thats
been dead and buried for years.
You remember you said you
thought it was those Kays chaps who
did it. Ive been thinking it over, and I
believe youre right. You see, it was
probably somebody whod been to
camp before, or he wouldnt have
known that dodge of loosing the ropes.
I dont see why. Seems to me its special correspondent, murmured
the sort of idea that might have
occurred to anybody. You dont want
to study the thing particularly deeply to
know that the best way of making a tent
collapse is to loose the ropes. Of course
it was Kays lot who did it. But I dont
see how youre going to have them
simply because one or two of them have
been here before.
No, I suppose not, said Kennedy.
After tea the other occupants of the
tent went out of the lines to play stump-
cricket. Silver was in the middle of a
story in one of the magazines, so did
not accompany them. Kennedy cried
off on the plea of slackness.
I say, he said, when they were
alone.
Hullo, said Silver, finishing his
story, and putting down the magazine.
What do you say to going after those
chaps? I thought that story was going
to be a long one that would take half an
hour to get through. But it collapsed.
Like that guard-tent.
About that tent business, said
Kennedy. Of course that was all rot
what I was saying just now. I suddenly
remembered that I didnt particularly
want anybody but you to hear what I
was going to say, so I had to invent any
rot that I could think of.
But now, said Jimmy Silver,
sinking his voice to a melodramatic
whisper, the villagers have left us to
wicked uncle has gone to London, his
sinister retainer, Jasper Murgleshaw, is
washing his hands in the scullery sink,
andwe are alone!
Dont be an ass, pleaded Kennedy.
Tell me your dreadful tale. Conceal
nothing. Spare me not. In fact, say on.
Ive had a talk with the chap who
was sentry that night, began Kennedy.
Astounding revelations by our
Silver.
You might listen.
I am listening. Why dont you
begin? All this hesitation strikes me as
suspicious. Get on with your shady
story.
You remember the sentry was upset
Very upset.
Somebody collared him from
behind, and upset him into the ditch.
They went in together, and the other
man sat on his head.
A touching picture. Proceed,
friend.
They rolled about a bit, and this
sentry chap swears he scratched the
man. It was just after that that the man
sat on his head. Jones says he was a big
chap, strong and heavy.
He was in a position to judge,
anyhow.
Of course, he didnt mean to
scratch him. He was rather keen on
having that understood. But his fingers
came up against the fellows cheek as
he was falling. So you see weve only
got to look for a man with a scratch on
his cheek. It was the right cheek, Jones
was almost certain. I dont see what
youre laughing at.
I wish you wouldnt spring these
good things of yours on me suddenly,
 A CLUE 261

gurgled Jimmy Silver, rolling about the A NIGHT ADVENTURE

wooden floor of the tent. You ought to
give a chap some warning. Look here, THE
he added, imperatively, swear youll DETHRONEMENT OF
take me with you when you go on your
tour through camp examining FENN
everybodys right cheek to see if its got
One of the things which make life on
a scratch on it.
this planet more or less agreeable is the
Kennedy began to feel the glow and
speed with which alarums, excursions,
pride of the successful sleuth-hound
excitement, and rows generally, blow
leaking out of him. This aspect of the
over. A nine-days wonder has to be a
case had not occurred to him. The fact
big business to last out its full time
that the sentry had scratched his
nowadays. As a rule the third day sees
assailants right cheek, added to the
the end of it, and the public rushes
other indubitable fact that Walton, of
whooping after some other hare that has
Kays, was even now walking abroad
been started for its benefit. The guard-
with a scratch on his right cheek, had
tent row, as far as the bulk of camp was
seemed to him conclusive. He had
concerned, lasted exactly two days; at
forgotten that there might be others.
the end of which period it was generally
Still, it was worth while just to question
agreed that all that could be said on the
him. He questioned him at Cove
subject had been said, and that it was
Reservoir next day.
now a back number. Nobody, except
Hullo, Walton, he said, with a
possibly the authorities, wanted to find
friendly carelessness which would not
out the authors of the raid, and even
have deceived a prattling infant, nasty
Private Jones had ceased to talk about it
scratch youve got on your cheek. How
this owing to the unsympathetic
did you get it?
attitude of his tent.
Perry did it when we were ragging
Jones, the corporal had observed,
a few days ago, replied Walton, eyeing
as the ex-sentrys narrative of his
him distrustfully.
misfortunes reached a finish for the
Oh, said Kennedy.
third time since reveille that morning,
Silly fool, said Walton.
if you cant manage to switch off that
Talking about me? inquired
infernal chestnut of yours, Ill make you
Kennedy politely.
wash up all day and sit on your head all
No, replied Walton, with the
night.
suavity of a Chesterfield, Perry.
So Jones had withdrawn his yarn
They parted, Kennedy with the idea
from circulation. Kennedys interest in
that Walton was his man still more
detective work waned after his
deeply rooted, Walton with an
interview with Walton. He was quite
uncomfortable feeling that Kennedy
sure that Walton had been one of the
knew too much, and that, though he had
band, but it was not his business to find
undoubtedly scored off him for the
out; even had he found out, he would
moment, a time (as Jimmy Silver was
have done nothing. It was more for his
fond of observing with a satanic laugh)
own private satisfaction than for the
would come, and then!
furtherance of justice that he wished to
He felt that it behoved him to be
track the offenders down. But he did
wary.
not look on the affair, as Jimmy Silver
262 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
did, as rather sporting; he had a tender
feeling for the good name of the school,
and he felt that it was not likely to make
Eckleton popular with the other schools
that went to camp if they got the
reputation of practical jokers. Practical
jokers are seldom popular until they
have been dead a hundred years or so.
As for Walton and his colleagues, to
complete the list of those who were
interested in this matter of the midnight
raid, they lay remarkably low after their
successful foray. They imagined that
Kennedy was spying on their every
movement. In which they were quite
wrong, for Kennedy was doing nothing
of the kind. Camp does not allow a
great deal of leisure for the minding of
other peoples businesses. But this
reflection did not occur to Walton, and
he regarded Kennedy, whenever chance
or his duties brought him into the
neighbourhood of that worthys tent,
with a suspicion which increased
whenever the latter looked at him.
On the night before camp broke up, a
second incident of a sensational kind
occurred, which, but for the fact that
they never heard of it, would have given
the schools a good deal to talk about. It
happened that Kennedy was on sentry-
go that night. The manner of sentry-go
is thus. At seven in the evening the
guard falls in, and patrols the fringe of
the camp in relays till seven in the
morning. A guard consists of a
sergeant, a corporal, and ten men. They
are on duty for two hours at a time, with
intervals of four hours between each
spell, in which intervals they sleep the
sleep of tired men in the guard-tent,
unless, as happened on the occasion
previously described, some miscreant
takes it upon himself to loose the ropes.
The ground to be patrolled by the
sentries is divided into three parts, each
of which is entrusted to one man.
Kennedy was one of the ten privates,
and his first spell of sentry-go began at
eleven oclock.
On this night there was no moon. It
was as black as pitch. It is always
unpleasant to be on sentry-go on such a
night. The mind wanders, in spite of all
effort to check it, through a long series
of all the ghastly stories one has ever
read. There is one in particular of
Conan Doyles about a mummy that
came to life and chased people on
lonely roadsbut enough! However
courageous one may be, it is difficult
not to speculate on the possible horrors
which may spring out on one from the
darkness. That feeling that there is
somebodyor somethingjust behind
one can only be experienced in all its
force by a sentry on an inky night at
camp. And the thought that, of all the
hundreds there, he and two others are
the only ones awake, puts a sort of
finishing touch to the unpleasantness of
the situation.
Kennedy was not a particularly
imaginative youth, but he looked
forward with no little eagerness to the
time when he should be relieved. It
would be a relief in two senses of the
word. His beat included that side of the
camp which faces the road to
Aldershot. Between camp and this road
is a ditch and a wood. After he had
been on duty for an hour this wood
began to suggest a variety of
possibilities, all grim. The ditch, too,
was not without associations. It was
into this that Private Jones had been
hurled on a certain memorable
occasion. Such a thing was not likely to
happen again in the same week, and,
even if it did, Kennedy flattered himself
that he would have more to say in the
matter than Private Jones had had; but
nevertheless he kept a careful eye in
that direction whenever his beat took
 A NIGHT ADVENTURETHE DETHRONEMENT OF FENN
him along the ditch.
It was about half-past twelve, and he
had entered upon the last section of his
two hours, when Kennedy distinctly
heard footsteps in the wood. He had
heard so many mysterious sounds since
his patrol began at eleven oclock that at
first he was inclined to attribute this to
imagination. But a crackle of dead
branches and the sound of soft
breathing convinced him that this was
the real thing for once, and that, as a
sentry of the Public Schools Camp on
duty, it behoved him to challenge the
unknown.
He stopped and waited, peering into
the darkness in a futile endeavour to
catch a glimpse of his man. But the
night was too black for the keenest eye
to penetrate it. A slight thud put him on
the right track. It showed him two
things; first, that the unknown had
dropped into the ditch, and, secondly,
that he was a camp man returning to his
tent after an illegal prowl about the
town at lights-out. Nobody save one
belonging to the camp would have
cause to cross the ditch.
Besides, the man walked warily, as
one not ignorant of the danger of
sentries. The unknown had crawled out
of the ditch now. As luck would have it
he had chosen a spot immediately
opposite to where Kennedy stood. Now
that he was nearer Kennedy could see
the vague outline of him.
Who goes there? he said.
From an instinctive regard for the
others feelings he did not shout the
question in the regulation manner. He
knew how he would feel himself if he
were out of camp at half-past twelve,
and the voice of the sentry were to rip
suddenly through the silence fortissimo.
As it was, his question was quite
loud enough to electrify the person to
whom it was addressed. The unknown
263
started so violently that he nearly leapt
into the air. Kennedy was barely two
yards from him when he spoke.
The next moment this fact was
brought home to him in a very practical
manner. The unknown, sighting the
sentry, perhaps more clearly against the
dim whiteness of the tents than
Kennedy could sight him against the
dark wood, dashed in with a rapidity
which showed that he knew something
of the art of boxing. Kennedy dropped
his rifle and flung up his arm. He was
altogether too late. A sudden blaze of
light, and he was on the ground, sick
and dizzy, a feeling he had often
experienced before in a slighter degree,
when sparring in the Eckleton
gymnasium with the boxing instructor.
The immediate effect of a flush hit in
the regions about the jaw is to make the
victim lose for the moment all interest
in life. Kennedy lay where he had
fallen for nearly half a minute before he
fully realised what it was that had
happened to him. When he did realise
the situation, he leapt to his feet, feeling
sick and shaky, and staggered about in
all directions in a manner which
suggested that he fancied his assailant
would be waiting politely until he had
recovered. As was only natural, that
wily person had vanished, and was by
this time doing a quick change into
garments of the night. Kennedy had the
satisfaction of knowingfor what it
was worththat his adversary was in
one of those tents, but to place him with
any greater accuracy was impossible.
So he gave up the search, found his
rifle, and resumed his patrol. And at
one oclock his successor relieved him.
On the following day camp broke
up.
*****
Kennedy always enjoyed going
home, but, as he travelled back to
264 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Eckleton on the last day of these
summer holidays, he could not help
feeling that there was a great deal to be
said for term. He felt particularly
cheerful. He had the carriage to
himself, and he had also plenty to read
and eat. The train was travelling at
forty miles an hour. And there were all
the pleasures of a first night after the
holidays to look forward to, when you
dashed from one friends study to
anothers, comparing notes, and
explainingfive or six of you at a time
what a good time you had had in the
holidays. This was always a pleasant
ceremony at Blackburns, where all the
prefects were intimate friends, and all
good sorts, without that liberal
admixture of weeds, worms, and
outsiders which marred the list of
prefects in most of the other houses.
Such as Kays! Kennedy could not
restrain a momentary gloating as he
contrasted the state of affairs in
Blackburns with what existed at
Kays. Then this feeling was merged in
one of pity for Fenns hard case. How
he must hate the beginning of term,
thought Kennedy.
All the well-known stations were
flashing by now. In a few minutes he
would be at the junction, and in another
half-hour back at Blackburns. He
began to collect his baggage from the
rack.
Nobody he knew was at the
junction. This was the late train that he
had come down by. Most of the school
had returned earlier in the afternoon.
He reached Blackburns at eight
oclock, and went up to his study to
unpack. This was always his first act
on coming back to school. He liked to
start the term with all his books in their
shelves, and all his pictures and
photographs in their proper places on
the first day. Some of the studies
looked like lumber-rooms till near the
end of the first week.
He had filled the shelves, and was
arranging the artistic decorations, when
Jimmy Silver came in. Kennedy had
been surprised that he had not met him
downstairs, but the matron had
answered his inquiry with the statement
that he was talking to Mr Blackburn in
the other part of the house.
When did you arrive? asked
Silver, after the conclusion of the first
outbreak of holiday talk.
Ive only just come.
Seen Blackburn yet?
No. I was thinking of going up
after I had got this place done
properly.
Jimmy Silver ran his eye over the
room.
I havent started mine yet, he said.
Youre such an energetic man. Now,
are all those books in their proper
places?
Yes, said Kennedy.
Sure?
Yes.
How about the pictures? Got them
up?
All but this lot here. Shant be a
second. There you are. Hows that for
effect?
Not bad. Got all your photographs
in their places?
Yes.
Then, said Jimmy Silver, calmly,
youd better start now to pack them all
up again. And why, my son? Because
you are no longer a Blackburnite.
Thats what.
Kennedy stared.
Ive just had the whole yarn from
Blackburn, continued Jimmy Silver.
Our dear old pal, Mr Kay, wanting
somebody in his house capable of
keeping order, by way of a change, has
gone to the Old Man and borrowed
 A NIGHT ADVENTURETHE DETHRONEMENT OF FENN 265

you. So youre head of Kays now. know that Silver has spent years in
Theres an honour for you. showing him the straight and narrow
path. You take Kennedy. All right,
says Kay; I always thought Kennedy a
THE SENSATIONS OF bit of an ass myself, but if hes studied
under Silver he ought to know how to
AN EXILE manage a house. Ill take him. Advise
our Mr Blackburn to that effect, and ask
What shouted Kennedy.
him to deliver the goods at his earliest
He sprang to his feet as if he had had
convenience. Adoo, mess-mate, adoo!
an electric shock.
And there you arethats how it was.
Jimmy Silver, having satisfied his
But whats wrong with Fenn?
passion for the dramatic by the
My dear chap! Remember last
abruptness with which he had exploded
term. Didnt Fenn have a regular scrap
his mine, now felt himself at liberty to
with Kay, and get shoved into extra for
be sympathetic.
it? And didnt he wreck the concert in
Its quite true, he said. And
the most sportsmanlike way with that
thats just how I felt when Blackburn
encore of his? Think the Old Man is
told me. Blackburns as sick as
going to take that grinning? Not much!
anything. Naturally he doesnt see the
Fenn made a ripping fifty against Kent
point of handing you over to Kay. But
in the holidaysI saw him do itbut
the Old Man insisted, so he caved in.
they dont count that. Its a wonder
He wanted to see you as soon as you
they didnt ask him to leave. Of course,
arrived. Youd better go now. Ill
I think its jolly rough on Fenn, but I
finish your packing.
dont see that you can blame them. Not
This was noble of Jimmy, for of all
the Old Man, at any rate. He couldnt
the duties of life he loathed packing
do anything else. Its all Kays fault
most.
that all this has happened, of course.
Thanks awfully, said Kennedy,
Im awfully sorry for you having to go
but dont you bother. Ill do it when I
into that beastly hole, but from Kays
get back. But whats it all about? What
point of view its a jolly sound move.
made Kay want a man? Why wont
You may reform the place.
Fenn do? And why me?
I doubt it.
Well, its easy to see why they
So do Ivery much. I didnt say
chose you. They reflected that youd
you wouldI said you might. I wonder
had the advantage of being in
if Kay means to give you a free hand. It
Blackburns with me, and seeing how a
all depends on that.
house really should be run. Kay wants
Yes. If hes going to interfere with
a head for his house. Off he goes to the
me as he used to with Fenn, hell want
Old Man. Look here, he says, I want
to bring in another head to improve on
somebody shunted into my happy
me.
home, or itll bust up. And its no good
Rather a good idea, that, said
trying to put me off with an inferior
Jimmy Silver, laughing, as he always
article, because I wont have it. It must
did when any humorous possibilities
be somebody whos been trained from
suggested themselves to him. If he
youth up by Silver. Then, says the
brings in somebody to improve on you,
Old Man, reflectively, you cant do
and then somebody else to improve on
better than take Kennedy. I happen to
266 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
him, and then another chap to improve
on him, he ought to have a decent house
in half-a-dozen years or so.
The worst of it is, said Kennedy,
that Ive got to go to Kays as a sort of
rival to Fenn. I shouldnt mind so much
if it wasnt for that. I wonder how hell
take it! Do you think he knows about it
yet? He didnt enjoy being head, but
thats no reason why he shouldnt cut
up rough at being shoved back to
second prefect. Its a beastly situation.
Beastly, agreed Jimmy Silver.
Look here, he added, after a pause,
theres no reason, you know, why this
should make any difference. To us, I
mean. What I mean to say is, I dont
see why we shouldnt see each other
just as often, and so on, simply because
you are in another house, and all that
sort of thing. You know what I mean.
He spoke shamefacedly, as was his
habit whenever he was serious. He
liked Kennedy better than anyone he
knew, and hated to show his feelings.
Anything remotely connected with
sentiment made him uncomfortable.
Of course, said Kennedy,
awkwardly.
Youll want a refuge, said Silver,
in his normal manner, now that youre
going to see wild life in Kays. Dont
forget that Im always at home in my
study in the afternoonsadmission on
presentation of a visiting-card.
All right, said Kennedy, Ill
remember. I suppose Id better go and
see Blackburn now.
Mr Blackburn was in his study. He
was obviously disgusted and irritated by
what had happened. Loyalty to the
headmaster, and an appreciation of his
position as a member of the staff led
him to try and conceal his feelings as
much as possible in his interview with
Kennedy, but the latter understood as
plainly as if his house-master had burst
into a flow of abuse and complaint.
There had always been an excellent
understandingindeed, a friendship-
between Kennedy and Mr Blackburn,
and the master was just as sorry to lose
his second prefect as the latter was to
go.
Well, Kennedy, he said,
pleasantly. I hope you had a good
time in the holidays. I suppose Silver
has told you the melancholy newsthat
you are to desert us this term? It is a
great pity. We shall all be very sorry to
lose you. I dont look forward to seeing
you bowl us all out in the house-
matches next summer, he added, with
a smile, though we shall expect a few
full-pitches to leg, for the sake of old
times.
He meant well, but the picture he
conjured up almost made Kennedy
break down. Nothing up to the present
had made him realise the completeness
of his exile so keenly as this remark of
Mr Blackburns about his bowling
against the side for which he had taken
so many wickets in the past. It was a
painful thought.
I am afraid you wont have quite
such a pleasant time in Mr Kays as you
have had here, resumed the house-
master. Of course, I know that, strictly
speaking, I ought not to talk like this
about another masters house; but you
can scarcely be unaware of the reasons
that have led to this change. You must
know that you are being sent to pull Mr
Kays house together. This is strictly
between ourselves, of course. I think
you have a difficult task before you, but
I dont fancy that you will find it too
much for you. And mind you come
here as often as you please. I am sure
Silver and the others will be glad to see
you. Goodbye, Kennedy. I think you
ought to be getting across now to Mr
Kays. I told him that you would be
 THE SENSATIONS OF AN EXILE
there before half-past nine. Good
night.
Good night, sir, said Kennedy.
He wandered out into the house
dining-room. Somehow, though Kays
was only next door, he could not get rid
of the feeling that he was about to start
on a long journey, and would never see
his old house again. And in a sense this
was so. He would probably visit
Blackburns tomorrow afternoon, but it
would not be the same. Jimmy Silver
would greet him like a brother, and he
would brew in the same study in which
he had always brewed, and sit in the
same chair; but it would not be the
same. He would be an outsider, a
visitor, a stranger within the gates, and
worst of alla Kayite. Nothing
could alter that.
The walk of the dining-room were
covered with photographs of the house
cricket and football teams for the last
fifteen years. Looking at them, he felt
more than ever how entirely his school
life had been bound up in his house.
From his first day at Eckleton he had
been taught the simple creed of the
Blackburnite, that Eckleton was the
finest school in the three kingdoms, and
that Blackburns was the finest house in
the finest school.
Under the gas-bracket by the door
hung the first photograph in which he
appeared, the cricket team of four years
ago. He had just got the last place in
front of Challis on the strength of a
tremendous catch for the house second
in a scratch game two days before the
house-matches began. It had been a
glaring fluke, but it had impressed
Denny, the head of the house, who
happened to see it, and had won him his
place.
He walked round the room, looking
at each photograph in turn. It seemed
incredible that he had no longer any
267
right to an interest in the success of
Blackburns. He could have endured
leaving all this when his time at school
was up, for that would have been the
natural result of the passing of years.
But to be transplanted abruptly and with
a wrench from his native soil was too
much. He went upstairs to pack,
suffering from as severe an attack of the
blues as any youth of eighteen had
experienced since blues were first
invented.
Jimmy Silver hovered round, while
he packed, with expressions of
sympathy and bitter remarks concerning
Mr Kay and his wicked works, and,
when the operation was concluded,
helped Kennedy carry his box over to
his new house with the air of one seeing
a friend off to the parts beyond the
equator.
It was ten oclock by the time the
front door of Kays closed upon its new
head. Kennedy went to the matrons
sanctum to be instructed in the
geography of the house. The matron, a
severe lady, whose faith in human
nature had been terribly shaken by five
years of office in Kays, showed him
his dormitory and study with a lack of
geniality which added a deeper tinge of
azure to Kennedys blues. So youve
come to live here, have you? her
manner seemed to say; well, I pity
you, thats all. A nice time youre
going to have.
Kennedy spent the half-hour before
going to bed in unpacking his box for
the second time, and arranging his
books and photographs in the study
which had been Wayburns. He had
nothing to find fault with in the study.
It was as large as the one he had owned
at Blackburns, and, like it, looked out
over the school grounds.
At half-past ten the gas gave a
flicker and went out, turned off at the
268 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
main. Kennedy lit a candle and made
his way to his dormitory. There now
faced him the more than unpleasant task
of introducing himself to its inmates.
He knew from experience the
disconcerting way in which a dormitory
greets an intruder. It was difficult to
know how to begin matters. It would
take a long time, he thought, to explain
his presence to their satisfaction.
Fortunately, however, the dormitory
was not unprepared. Things get about
very quickly in a house. The matron
had told the housemaids; the
housemaids had handed it on to their
ally, the boot boy; the boot boy had told
Wren, whom he happened to meet in
the passage, and Wren had told
everybody else.
There was an uproar going on when
Kennedy opened the door, but it died
away as he appeared, and the dormitory
gazed at the newcomer in absolute and
embarrassing silence. Kennedy had not
felt so conscious of the public eye being
upon him since he had gone out to bat
against the M.C.C., on his first
appearance in the ranks of the Eckleton
eleven. He went to his bed and began
to undress without a word, feeling
rather than seeing the eyes that were
peering at him. When he had
completed the performance of
disrobing, he blew out the candle and
got into bed. The silence was broken
by numerous coughs, of that short,
suggestive type with which the public
schoolboy loves to embarrass his fellow
man. From some unidentified corner of
the room came a subdued giggle. Then
a whispered, Shut up, you fool! To
which a low voice replied, All right,
Im not doing anything.
More coughs, and another outbreak
of giggling from a fresh quarter.
Good night, said Kennedy, to the
room in general.
There was no reply. The giggler
appeared to be rapidly approaching
hysterics.
Shut up that row, said Kennedy.
The giggling ceased.
The atmosphere was charged with
suspicion. Kennedy fell asleep fearing
that he was going to have trouble with
his dormitory before many nights had
passed.
FURTHER
EXPERIENCES OF AN
EXILE
Breakfast on the following morning
was a repetition of the dormitory
ordeal. Kennedy walked to his place on
Mr Kays right, feeling that everyone
was looking at him, as indeed they
were. He understood for the first time
the meaning of the expression, the
cynosure of all eyes. He was modest
by nature, and felt his position a distinct
trial.
He did not quite know what to say or
do with regard to his new house-master
at this their first meeting in the latters
territory. Come aboard, sir, occurred
to him for a moment as a happy phrase,
but he discarded it. To make the
situation more awkward, Mr Kay did
not observe him at first, being occupied
in assailing a riotous fag at the other
end of the table, that youth having
succeeded, by a dexterous drive in the
ribs, in making a friend of his spill half
a cup of coffee. Kennedy did not know
whether to sit down without a word or
to remain standing until Mr Kay had
time to attend to him. He would have
done better to have sat down; Mr Kays
greeting, when it came, was not worth
waiting for.
Sit down, Kennedy, he said,
 FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF AN EXILE
irritablyrebuking people on an empty
stomach always ruffled him. Sit down,
sit down.
Kennedy sat down, and began to toy
diffidently with a sausage,
remembering, as he did so, certain
diatribes of Fenns against the food at
Kays. As he became more intimate
with the sausage, he admitted to himself
that Fenn had had reason. Mr Kay
meanwhile pounded away in moody
silence at a plate of kidneys and bacon.
It was one of the many grievances
which gave the Kayite material for
conversation that Mr Kay had not the
courage of his opinions in the matter of
food. He insisted that he fed his house
luxuriously, but he refused to brave the
mysteries of its bill of fare himself.
Fenn had not come down when
Kennedy went in to breakfast. He
arrived some ten minutes later, when
Kennedy had vanquished the sausage,
and was keeping body and soul together
with bread and marmalade.
I cannot have this, Fenn, snapped
Mr Kay; you must come down in
time.
Fenn took the rebuke in silence, cast
one glance at the sausage which
confronted him, and then pushed it
away with such unhesitating rapidity
that Mr Kay glared at him as if about to
take up the cudgels for the rejected
viand. Perhaps he remembered that it
scarcely befitted the dignity of a house-
master to enter upon a wrangle with a
member of his house on the subject of
the merits and demerits of sausages, for
he refrained, and Fenn was allowed to
go on with his meal in peace.
Kennedys chief anxiety had been
with regard to Fenn. True, the latter
could hardly blame him for being made
head of Kays, since he had not been
consulted in the matter, and, if he had
been, would have refused the post with
269
horror; but nevertheless the situation
might cause a coolness between them.
And if Fenn, the only person in the
house with whom he was at all intimate,
refused to be on friendly terms, his stay
in Kays would be rendered worse than
even he had looked for.
Fenn had not spoken to him at
breakfast, but then there was little table
talk at Kays. Perhaps the quality of the
food suggested such gloomy reflections
that nobody liked to put them into
words.
After the meal Fenn ran upstairs to
his study. Kennedy followed him, and
opened conversation in his direct way
with the subject which he had come to
discuss.
I say, he said, I hope you arent
sick about this. You know I didnt want
to bag your place as head of the house.
My dear chap, said Fenn, dont
apologise. Youre welcome to it.
Being head of Kays isnt such a soft
job that one is keen on sticking to it.
All the same began Kennedy.
I knew Kay would get at me
somehow, of course. Ive been
wondering how all the holidays. I
didnt think of this. Still, Im jolly glad
its happened. I now retire into private
life, and look on. Ive taken years off
my life sweating to make this house
decent, and now Im going to take a rest
and watch you tearing your hair out
over the job. Im awfully sorry for
you. I wish theyd roped in some other
victim.
But youre still a house prefect, I
suppose?
I believe so, Kay couldnt very well
make me a fag again.
Then youll help manage things?
Fenn laughed.
Will I, by Jove! Id like to see
myself! I dont want to do the heavy
martyr business and that sort of thing,
270 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
but Im hanged if Im going to take any
more trouble over the house. Havent
you any respect for Mr Kays feelings?
He thinks I cant keep order. Surely
you dont want me to go and shatter his
pet beliefs? Anyhow, Im not going to
do it. Im going to play villagers and
retainers to your hero. If you do
anything wonderful with the house, I
shall be standing by ready to cheer. But
you dont catch me shoving myself
forward. Thank Heaven I knows me
place, as the butler in the play says.
Kennedy kicked moodily at the leg
of the chair which he was holding. The
feeling that his whole world had fallen
about his ears was increasing with every
hour he spent in Kays. Last term he
and Fenn had been as close friends as
you could wish to see. If he had asked
Fenn to help him in a tight place then,
he knew he could have relied on him.
Now his chief desire seemed to be to
score off the human race in general, his
best friend included. It was a
depressing beginning.
Do you know what the sherry said
to the man when he was just going to
drink it? inquired Fenn. It said,
Nemo me impune lacessit. Thats how
I feel. Kay went out of his way to give
me a bad time when I was doing my
best to run his house properly, so I
dont see that Im called upon to go out
of my way to work for him.
Its rather rough on me
Kennedy began. Then a sudden
indignation rushed through him. Why
should he grovel to Fenn? If Fenn
chose to stand out, let him. He was
capable of running the house by
himself.
I dont care, he said, savagely. If
you cant see what a cad youre making
of yourself, Im not going to try to show
you. You can do what you jolly well
please. Im not dependent on you. Ill
make this a decent house off my own
bat without your help. If you like
looking on, youd better look on. Ill
give you something to look at soon.
He went out, leaving Fenn with
mixed feelings. He would have liked to
have followed him, taken back what he
had said, and formed an offensive
alliance against the black sheep of the
houseand also, which was just as
important, against the slack sheep, who
were good for nothing, either at work or
play. But his bitterness against the
house-master prevented him. He was
not going to take his removal from the
leadership of Kays as if nothing had
happened.
Meanwhile, in the dayrooms and
studies, the house had been holding
indignation meetings, and at each it had
been unanimously resolved that Kays
had been abominably treated, and that
the deposition of Fenn must not be
tolerated. Unfortunately, a house
cannot do very much when it revolts. It
can only show its displeasure in little
things, and by an increase of
rowdiness. This was the line that Kays
took. Fenn became a popular hero.
Fags, until he kicked them for it,
showed a tendency to cheer him
whenever they saw him. Nothing could
paint Mr Kay blacker in the eyes of his
house, so that Kennedy came in for all
the odium. The same fags who had
cheered Fenn hooted him on one
occasion as he passed the junior
dayroom. Kennedy stopped short, went
in, and presented each inmate of the
room with six cuts with a swagger-
stick. This summary and Captain
Kettle-like move had its effect. There
was no more hooting. The fags
bethought themselves of other ways of
showing their disapproval of their new
head.
One genius suggested that they
 FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF AN EXILE 271

might kill two birds with one stone- Jimmy to Kennedy, after the match,
snub Kennedy and pay a stately when telling the latter of the incident;
compliment to Fenn by applying to the theres no false idea of politeness
latter for leave to go out of bounds about them. If they dont like your
instead of to the former. As the giving decisions, they say so in a shrill treble.
of leave down town was the Little beasts, said Kennedy. I
prerogative of the head of the house, wish I knew who they were. Its
and of no other, there was a hopeless to try and spot them, of
suggestiveness about this mode of course.
procedure which appealed to the junior
dayroom.
But the star of the junior dayroom THE SENIOR
was not in the ascendant. Fenn might
have quarrelled with Kennedy, and be DAYROOM OPENS FIRE
extremely indignant at his removal from
Curiously enough, it was shortly
the headship of the house, but he was
after this that the junior dayroom ceased
not the man to forget to play the game.
almost entirely to trouble the head of
His policy of non-interference did not
the house. Not that they turned over
include underhand attempts to sap
new leaves, and modelled their conduct
Kennedys authority. When Gorrick, of
on that of the hero of the Sunday-school
the Lower Fourth, the first of the fags to
story. They were still disorderly, but in
put the ingenious scheme into practice,
a lesser degree; and ragging became a
came to him, still smarting from
matter of private enterprise among the
Kennedys castigation, Fenn promptly
fags instead of being, as it had
gave him six more cuts, worse than the
threatened to be, an organised revolt
first, and kicked him out into the
against the new head. When a Kays
passage. Gorrick naturally did not want
fag rioted now, he did so with the air of
to spoil a good thing by giving Fenns
one endeavouring to amuse himself, not
game away, so he lay low and said
as if he were carrying on a holy war
nothing, with the result that Wren and
against the oppressor.
three others met with the same fate,
Kennedys difficulties were
only more so, because Fenns wrath
considerably diminished by this
increased with each visit.
change. A head of a house expects the
Kennedy, of course, heard nothing of
juniors of his house to rag. It is what
this, or he might perhaps have thought
they are put into the world to do, and
better of Fenn. As for the junior
there is no difficulty in keeping the
dayroom, it was obliged to work off its
thing within decent limits. A revolution
emotion by jeering Jimmy Silver from
is another case altogether. Kennedy
the safety of the touchline when the
was grateful for the change, for it gave
head of Blackburns was refereeing in a
him more time to keep an eye on the
match between the juniors of his house
other members of the house, but he had
and those of Kays. Blackburns
no idea what had brought it about. As a
happened to win by four goals and eight
matter of fact, he had Billy Silver to
tries, a result which the patriotic Kay
thank for it. The chief organiser of the
fag attributed solely to favouritism on
movement against Kennedy in the
the part of the referee.
junior dayroom had been the red-haired
I like the kids in your house, said
Wren, who preached war to his fellow
272 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
fags, partly because he loved to create a
disturbance, and partly because Walton,
who hated Kennedy, had told him to.
Between Wren and Billy Silver a feud
had existed since their first meeting.
The unsatisfactory conclusion to their
encounter in camp had given another
lease of life to the feud, and Billy had
come back to Kays with the fixed
intention of smiting his auburn-haired
foe hip and thigh at the earliest
opportunity. Wrens attitude with
respect to Kennedy gave him a decent
excuse. He had no particular regard for
Kennedy. The fact that he was a friend
of his brothers was no
recommendation. There existed
between the two Silvers that feeling
which generally exists between an elder
and a much younger brother at the same
school. Each thought the other a bit of
an idiot, and though equal to tolerating
him personally, was hanged if he was
going to do the same by his friends. In
Billys circle of acquaintances, Jimmys
friends were looked upon with cold
suspicion as officious meddlers who
would give them lines if they found
them out of bounds. The aristocrats
with whom Jimmy foregathered barely
recognised the existence of Billys
companions. Kennedys claim to
Billys good offices rested on the fact
that they both objected to Wren.
So that, when Wren lifted up his
voice in the junior dayroom, and
exhorted the fags to go and make a row
in the passage outside Kennedys study,
andfrom a safe distance, and having
previously ensured a means of rapid
escapeto fling boots at his door, Billy
damped the popular enthusiasm which
had been excited by the proposal by
kicking Wren with some violence, and
begging him not to be an ass.
Whereupon they resumed their battle at
the point at which it had been
interrupted at camp. And when, some
five minutes later, Billy, from his seat
on his adversarys chest, offered to go
through the same performance with
anybody else who wished, the junior
dayroom came to the conclusion that his
feelings with regard to the new head of
the house, however foolish and
unpatriotic, had better be respected.
And the revolution of the fags had
fizzled out from that moment.
In the senior dayroom, however, the
flag of battle was still unfurled. It was
so obvious that Kennedy had been put
into the house as a reformer, and the
seniors of Kays had such an objection
to being reformed, that trouble was only
to be expected. It was the custom in
most houses for the head of the house,
by right of that position, to be also
captain of football. The senior dayroom
was aggrieved at Kennedys taking this
post from Fenn. Fenn was in his second
year in the school fifteen, and he was
the three-quarter who scored most
frequently for Eckleton, whereas
Kennedy, though practically a certainty
for one of the six vacant places in the
school scrum, was at present entitled to
wear only a second fifteen cap. The
claims of Fenn to be captain of Kays
football were strong, Kennedy had
begged him to continue in that position
more than once. Fenns persistent
refusal had helped to increase the
coolness between them, and it had also
made things more difficult for Kennedy
in the house.
It was on the Monday of the third
week of term that Kennedy, at Jimmy
Silvers request, arranged a friendly
between Kays and Blackburns. There
could be no doubt as to which was the
better team (for Blackburns had been
runners up for the Cup the season
before), but the better ones opponents
the better the practice. Kennedy wrote
 THE SENIOR DAYROOM OPENS FIRE
out the list and fixed it on the notice
board. The match was to be played on
the following afternoon.
A football team must generally be
made up of the biggest men at the
captains disposal, so it happened that
Walton, Perry, Callingham, and the
other leaders of dissension in Kays all
figured on the list. The consequence
was that the list came in for a good deal
of comment in the senior dayroom.
There were games every Saturday and
Wednesday, and it annoyed Walton and
friends that they should have to turn out
on an afternoon that was not a half
holiday. It was trouble enough playing
football on the days when it was
compulsory. As for patriotism, no
member of the house even pretended to
care whether Kays put a good team
into the field or not. The senior
dayroom sat talking over the matter till
lights-out. When Kennedy came down
next morning, he found his list
scribbled over with blue pencil, while
across it in bold letters ran the single
word,
ROT.
He went to his study, wrote out a
fresh copy, and pinned it up in place of
the old one. He had been early in
coming down that morning, and the
majority of the Kayites had not seen the
defaced notice. The match was fixed
for half-past four. At four a thin rain
was falling. The weather had been bad
for some days, but on this particular
afternoon it reached the limit. In
addition to being wet, it was also cold,
and Kennedy, as he walked over to the
grounds, felt that he would be glad
when the game was over. He hoped
that Blackburns would be punctual,
and congratulated himself on his
foresight in securing Mr Blackburn as
referee. Some of the staff, when they
consented to hold the whistle in a
273
scratch game, invariably kept the teams
waiting on the field for half an hour
before turning up. Mr Blackburn, an
the other hand, was always punctual.
He came out of his house just as
Kennedy turned in at the school gates.
Well, Kennedy, he said from the
depths of his ulster, the collar of which
he had turned up over his ears with a
prudence which Kennedy, having come
out with only a blazer on over his
football clothes, distinctly envied, I
hope your men are not going to be late.
I dont think I ever saw a worse day for
football. How long were you thinking
of playing? Two twenty-fives would be
enough for a day like this, I think.
Kennedy consulted with Jimmy
Silver, who came up at this moment,
and they agreed without argument that
twenty-five minutes each way would be
the very thing.
Where are your men? asked
Jimmy. Ive got all our chaps out here,
bar Challis, wholl be out in a few
minutes. I left him almost changed.
Challis appeared a little later, and
joined the rest of Blackburns team,
who were putting in the time and trying
to keep warm by running and passing
and dropping desultory goals. But, with
the exception of Fenn, who stood
brooding by himself in the centre of the
field, wrapped to the eyes in a huge
overcoat, and two other house prefects
of Kays, who strolled up and down
looking as if they wished they were in
their studies, there was no sign of the
missing team.
I cant make it out, said Kennedy.
Youre sure you put up the right
time? asked Jimmy Silver.
Yes, quite.
It certainly could not be said that
Kays had had any room for doubt as to
the time of the match, for it had
appeared in large figures on both
274 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
notices.
A quarter to five sounded from the
college clock.
We must begin soon, said Mr
Blackburn, or there will not be light
enough even for two twenty-fives.
Kennedy felt wretched. Apart from
the fact that he was frozen to an icicle
and drenched by the rain, he felt
responsible for his team, and he could
see that Blackburns men were growing
irritated at the delay, though they did
their best to conceal it.
Cant we lend them some subs?
suggested Challis, hopefully.
All rightif you can raise eleven
subs, said Silver. Theyve only got
four men on the field at present.
Challis subsided.
Look here, said Kennedy, Im
going back to the house to see whats
up. Ill be back as soon as I can. They
must have mistaken the time or
something after all.
He rushed back to the house, and
flung open the door of the senior
dayroom. It was empty.
Kennedy had expected to find his
missing men huddled in a semicircle
round the fire, waiting for some one to
come and tell them that Blackburns
had taken the field, and that they could
come out now without any fear of
having to wait in the rain for the match
to begin. This, he thought, would have
been the unselfish policy of Kays
senior dayroom.
But to find nobody was
extraordinary.
The thought occurred to him that the
team might be changing in their
dormitories. He ran upstairs. But all
the dormitories were locked, as he
might have known they would have
been. Coming downstairs again he met
his fag, Spencer.
Spencer replied to his inquiry that he
had only just come in. He did not know
where the team had got to. No, he had
not seen any of them.
Oh, yes, though, he added, as an
afterthought, I met Walton just now.
He looked as if he was going down
town.
Walton had once licked Spencer, and
that vindictive youth thought that this
might be a chance of getting back at
him.
Oh, said Kennedy, quietly,
Walton? Did you? Thanks.
Spencer was disappointed at his lack
of excitement. His news did not seem
to interest him.
Kennedy went back to the football
field to inform Jimmy Silver of the
result of his investigations.
KENNEDY INTERVIEWS
WALTON
Im very sorry, he said, when he
rejoined the shivering group, but Im
afraid we shall have to call this match
off. There seems to have been a
mistake. None of my team are
anywhere about. Im awfully sorry,
sir, he added, to Mr Blackburn, to
have given you all this trouble for
nothing.
Not at all, Kennedy. We must try
another day.
Mr Blackburn suspected that
something untoward had happened in
Kays to cause this sudden defection of
the first fifteen of the house. He knew
that Kennedy was having a hard time in
his new position, and he did not wish to
add to his discomfort by calling for an
explanation before an audience. It
could not be pleasant for Kennedy to
feel that his enemies had scored off
him. It was best to preserve a discreet
silence with regard to the whole affair,
 KENNEDY INTERVIEWS WALTON
and leave him to settle it for himself.
Jimmy Silver was more curious. He
took Kennedy off to tea in his study, sat
him down in the best chair in front of
the fire, and proceeded to urge him to
confess everything.
Now, then, whats it all about? he
asked, briskly, spearing a muffin on the
fork and beginning to toast.
Its no good asking me, said
Kennedy. I suppose its a put-up job
to make me look a fool. I ought to have
known something of this kind would
happen when I saw what they did to my
first notice.
What was that?
Kennedy explained.
This is getting thrilling, said
Jimmy. Just pass that plate. Thanks.
What are you going to do about it?
I dont know. What would you
do?
My dear chap, Id first find out who
was at the bottom of ittheres bound
to be one man who started the whole
thingand Id make it my aim in life to
give him the warmest ten minutes hed
ever had.
That sounds all right. But how
would you set about it?
Why, touch him up, of course.
What else would you do? Before the
whole house, too.
Supposing he wouldnt be touched
up?
Wouldnt be! Hed have to.
You dont know Kays, Jimmy.
Youre thinking what youd do if this
had happened in Blackburns. The two
things arent the same. Here the man
would probably take it like a lamb. The
feeling of the house would be against
him. Hed find nobody to back him up.
Thats because Blackburns is a decent
house instead of being a sink like
Kays. If I tried the touching-up before
the whole house game with our chaps,
275
the man would probably reply by going
for me, assisted by the whole strength
of the company.
Well, dash it all then, all youve got
to do is to call a prefects meeting, and
hell get ten times worse beans from
them than hed have got from you. Its
simple.
Kennedy stared into the fire
pensively.
I dont know, he said. I bar that
prefects meeting business. It always
seems rather feeble to me, lugging in a
lot of chaps to help settle some one you
cant manage yourself. I want to carry
this job through on my own.
Then youd better scrap with the
man.
I think I will.
Silver stared.
Dont be an ass, he said. I was
only rotting. You cant go fighting all
over the shop as if you were a fag.
Youd lose your prefects cap if it came
out.
I could wear my topper, said
Kennedy, with a grin. You see, he
added, Ive not much choice. I must
do something. If I took no notice of this
business thered be no holding the
house. I should be ragged to death. Its
no good talking about it. Personally, I
should prefer touching the chap up to
fighting him, and I shall try it on. But
hes not likely to meet me half-way.
And if he doesnt therell be an
interesting turn-up, and you shall hold
the watch. Ill send a kid round to fetch
you when things look like starting. I
must go now to interview my missing
men. So long. Mind you slip round
directly I send for you.
Wait a second. Dont be in such a
beastly hurry. Whos the chap youre
going to fight?
I dont know yet. Walton, I should
think. But I dont know.
276 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Walton! By Jove, itll be worth
seeing, anyhow, if we are both sacked
for it when the Old Man finds out.
Kennedy returned to his study and
changed his football boots for a pair of
gymnasium shoes. For the job he had
in hand it was necessary that he should
move quickly, and football boots are a
nuisance on a board floor. When he
had changed, he called Spencer.
Go down to the senior dayroom,
he said, and tell MacPherson I want to
see him.
MacPherson was a long, weak-
looking youth. He had been put down
to play for the house that day, and had
not appeared.
MacPherson! said the fag, in a
tone of astonishment, not Walton?
He had been looking forward to the
meeting between Kennedy and his
ancient foe, and to have a miserable
being like MacPherson offered as a
substitute disgusted him.
If you have no objection, said
Kennedy, politely, I may want you to
fetch Walton later on.
Spencer vanished, hopeful once
more.
Come in, MacPherson, said
Kennedy, on the arrival of the long one;
shut the door.
MacPherson did so, feeling as if he
were paying a visit to the dentist. As
long as there had been others with him
in this affair he had looked on it as a
splendid idea. But to be singled out like
this was quite a different thing.
Now, said Kennedy, Why
werent you on the field this
afternoon?
IerI was kept in.
How long?
Ohertill about five.
What do you call about five?
About twenty-five to, he replied,
despondently.
Now look here, said Kennedy,
briskly, Im just going to explain to
you exactly how I stand in this business,
so youd better attend. I didnt ask to
be made head of this sewage depot. If I
could have had any choice, I wouldnt
have touched a Kayite with a barge-
pole. But since I am head, Im going to
be it, and the sooner you and your
senior dayroom crew realise it the
better. This sort of thing isnt going
on. I want to know now who it was put
up this job. You wouldnt have the
cheek to start a thing like this yourself.
Who was it?
Weller
Youd better say, and be quick,
too. I cant wait. Whoever it was. I
shant tell him you told me. And I
shant tell Kay. So now you can go
ahead. Who was it?
WellerWalton.
I thought so. Now you can get out.
If you see Spencer, send him here.
Spencer, curiously enough, was just
outside the door. So close to it, indeed,
that he almost tumbled in when
MacPherson opened it.
Go and fetch Walton, said
Kennedy.
Spencer dashed off delightedly, and
in a couple of minutes Walton
appeared. He walked in with an air of
subdued defiance, and slammed the
door.
Dont bang the door like that, said
Kennedy. Why didnt you turn out
today?
I was kept in.
Couldnt you get out in time to
play?
No.
When did you get out?
Six.
Not before?
I said six.
Then how did you manage to go
 KENNEDY INTERVIEWS WALTON
down townwithout leave, by the way,
but thats a detailat half-past five?
All right, said Walton; better call
me a liar.
Good suggestion, said Kennedy,
cheerfully; I will.
Its all very well, said Walton.
You know jolly well you can say
anything you like. I cant do anything
to you. Youd have me up before the
prefects.
Not a bit of it. This is a private
affair between ourselves. Im not going
to drag the prefects into it. You seem to
want to make this house worse than it
is. I want to make it more or less
decent. We cant both have what we
want.
There was a pause.
When would it be convenient for
you to be touched up before the whole
house? inquired Kennedy, pleasantly.
What?
Well, you see, it seems the only
thing. I must take it out of some one for
this house-match business, and you
started it. Will tonight suit you, after
supper?
Youll get it hot if you try to touch
me.
Well see.
Youd funk taking me on in a
scrap, said Walton.
Would I? As a matter of fact, a
scrap would suit me just as well.
Better. Are you ready now?
Quite, thanks, sneered Walton.
Ive knocked you out before, and Ill
do it again.
Oh, then it was you that night at
camp? I thought so. I spotted your
style. Hitting a chap when he wasnt
ready, you know, and so on. Now, if
youll wait a minute, Ill send across to
Blackburns for Silver. I told him I
should probably want him as a time-
keeper tonight.
277
What do you want with Silver.
Why wont Perry do?
Thanks, Im afraid Perrys time-
keeping wouldnt be impartial enough.
Silver, I think, if you dont mind.
Spencer was summoned once more,
and despatched to Blackburns. He
returned with Jimmy.
Come in, Jimmy, said Kennedy.
Run away, Spencer. Walton and I are
just going to settle a point of order
which has arisen, Jimmy. Will you
hold the watch? We ought just to have
time before tea.
Where? asked Silver.
My dormitory would be the best
place. We can move the beds. Ill go
and get the keys.
Kennedys dormitory was the largest
in the house. After the beds had been
moved back, there was a space in the
middle of fifteen feet one way, and
twelve the othernot a large ring, but
large enough for two fighters who
meant business.
Walton took off his coat, waistcoat,
and shirt. Kennedy, who was still in
football clothes, removed his blazer.
Half a second, said Jimmy Silver
what length rounds?
Two minutes? said Kennedy to
Walton.
All right, growled Walton.
Two minutes, then, and half a
minute in between.
Are you both ready? asked Jimmy,
from his seat on the chest of drawers.
Kennedy and Walton advanced into
the middle of the impromptu ring.
There was dead silence for a
moment.
Time! said Jimmy Silver.
278 THE HEAD OF KAY'S

THE FIGHT IN THE glance. The idea of one of the august

body lowering himself to the extent of
DORMITORY emphasising his authority with the bare
knuckle would scandalise the powers.
Stating it broadly, fighters may be
So Kennedy, rising at the call of time
said to be divided into two classes-
from the bed on which he sat, came up
those who are content to take two blows
to the scratch warily.
if they can give three in return, and
Walton, on the other hand, having
those who prefer to receive as little
everything to gain and nothing to lose,
punishment as possible, even at the
and happy in the knowledge that no
expense of scoring fewer points
amount of bruises could do him any
themselves. Kennedys position, when
harm, except physically, came on with
Jimmy Silver called time, was peculiar.
the evident intention of making a
On all the other occasions on which he
hurricane fight of it. He had very little
had foughtwith the gloves on in the
science as a boxer. Heavy two-handed
annual competition, and at the assault-
slogging was his forte, and, as the
at-armshe had gone in for the policy
majority of his opponents up to the
of taking all that the other man liked to
present had not had sufficient skill to
give him, and giving rather more in
discount his strength, he had found this
exchange. Now, however, he was
a very successful line of action.
obliged to alter his whole style. For a
Kennedy and he had never had the
variety of reasons it was necessary that
gloves on together. In the competition
he should come out of this fight with as
of the previous year both had entered in
few marks as possible. To begin with,
their respective classes, Kennedy as a
he represented, in a sense, the Majesty
lightweight, Walton in the middles, and
of the Law. He was tackling Walton
both, after reaching the semi-final, had
more by way of an object-lesson to the
been defeated by the narrowest of
Kayite mutineers than for his own
margins by men who had since left the
personal satisfaction. The object-lesson
school. That had been in the previous
would lose in impressiveness if he were
Easter term, and, while Walton had
compelled to go about for a week or so
remained much the same as regards
with a pair of black eyes, or other
weight and strength, Kennedy, owing to
adornments of a similar kind. Again-
a term of hard bowling and a summer
and this was even more importantif
holiday spent in the open, had filled
he was badly marked the affair must
out. They were now practically on an
come to the knowledge of the
equality, as far as weight was
headmaster. Being a prefect, and in the
concerned. As for condition, that was
sixth form, he came into contact with
all in favour of Kennedy. He played
the Head every day, and the disclosure
football in his spare time. Walton, on
of the fact that he had been engaged in a
the days when football was not
pitched battle with a member of his
compulsory, smoked cigarettes.
house, who was, in addition to other
Neither of the pair showed any
disadvantages, very low down in the
desire to open the fight by shaking
school, would be likely to lead to
hands. This was not a friendly spar. It
unpleasantness. A school prefect of
was business. The first move was made
Eckleton was supposed to be hedged
by Walton, who feinted with his right
about with so much dignity that he
and dashed in to fight at close quarters.
could quell turbulent inferiors with a
 THE FIGHT IN THE DORMITORY
It was not a convincing feint. At any
rate, it did not deceive Kennedy. He
countered with his left, and swung his
right at the body with all the force he
could put into the hit. Walton went
back a pace, sparred for a moment, then
came in again, hitting heavily.
Kennedys counter missed its mark this
time. He just stopped a round sweep of
Waltons right, ducked to avoid a
similar effort of his left, and they came
together in a clinch.
In a properly regulated glove-fight,
the referee, on observing the principals
clinch, says, Break away there, break
away, in a sad, reproachful voice, and
the fighters separate without demur,
being very much alive to the fact that,
as far as that contest is concerned, their
destinies are in his hands, and that any
bad behaviour in the ring will lose them
the victory. But in an impromptu turn-
up like this one, the combatants show a
tendency to ignore the rules so carefully
mapped out by the present Marquess of
Queensberrys grandfather, and revert
to the conditions of warfare under
which Cribb and Spring won their
battles. Kennedy and Walton, having
clinched, proceeded to wrestle up and
down the room, while Jimmy Silver
looked on from his eminence in pained
surprise at the sight of two men, who
knew the rules of the ring, so far
forgetting themselves.
To do Kennedy justice, it was not his
fault. He was only acting in self-
defence. Walton had started the
hugging. Also, he had got the under-
grip, which, when neither man knows a
great deal of the science of wrestling,
generally means victory. Kennedy was
quite sure that he could not throw his
antagonist, but he hung on in the
knowledge that the round must be over
shortly, when Walton would have to
loose him.
279
Time, said Jimmy Silver.
Kennedy instantly relaxed his grip,
and in that instant Walton swung him
off his feet, and they came down
together with a crash that shook the
room. Kennedy was underneath, and,
as he fell, his head came into violent
contact with the iron support of a bed.
Jimmy Silver sprang down from his
seat.
What are you playing at, Walton?
Didnt you hear me call time? It was a
beastly foulthe worst I ever saw.
You ought to be sacked for a thing like
that. Look here, Kennedy, you neednt
go on. I disqualify Walton for fouling.
The usually genial James stammered
with righteous indignation.
Kennedy sat down on a bed, dizzily.
No, he said; Im going on.
But he fouled you.
I dont care. Ill look after myself.
Is it time yet?
Ten seconds more, if you really are
going on.
He climbed back on to the chest of
drawers.
Time.
Kennedy came up feeling weak and
sick. The force with which he had hit
his head on the iron had left him dazed.
Walton rushed in as before. He had
no chivalrous desire to spare his man by
way of compensation for fouling him.
What monopolised his attention was the
evident fact that Kennedy was in a bad
way, and that a little strenuous
infighting might end the affair in the
desired manner.
It was at this point that Kennedy had
reason to congratulate himself on
donning gymnasium shoes. They gave
him that extra touch of lightness which
enabled him to dodge blows which he
was too weak to parry. Everything was
vague and unreal to him. He seemed to
be looking on at a fight between Walton
280 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
and some stranger.
Then the effect of his fall began to
wear off. He could feel himself
growing stronger. Little by little his
head cleared, and he began once more
to take a personal interest in the battle.
It is astonishing what a power a boxer,
who has learnt the art carefully, has of
automatic fighting. The expert
gentleman who fights under the
pseudonym of Kid MCoy once
informed the present writer that in one
of his fights he was knocked down by
such a severe hit that he remembered
nothing further, and it was only on
reading the paper next morning that he
found, to his surprise, that he had
fought four more rounds after the blow,
and won the battle handsomely on
points. Much the same thing happened
to Kennedy. For the greater part of the
second round he fought without
knowing it. When Jimmy Silver called
time he was in as good case as ever, and
the only effects of the blow on his head
were a vast lump underneath the hair,
and a settled determination to win or
perish. In a few minutes the bell would
ring for tea, and all his efforts would
end in nothing. It was no good fighting
a draw with Walton if he meant to
impress the house. He knew exactly
what Rumour, assisted by Walton,
would make of the affair in that case.
Have you heard the latest? A would
ask of B. Why, Kennedy tried to touch
Walton up for not playing footer, and
Walton went for him and would have
given him frightful beans, only they had
to go down to tea. There must be none
of that sort of thing.
Time, said Jimmy Silver, breaking
in on his meditations.
It was probably the suddenness and
unexpectedness of it that took Walton
aback. Up till now his antagonist had
been fighting strictly on the defensive,
and was obviously desirous of escaping
punishment as far as might be possible.
And then the fall at the end of round
one had shaken him up, so that he could
hardly fight at all at their second
meeting. Walton naturally expected
that it would be left to him to do the
leading in round three. Instead of this,
however, Kennedy opened the round
with such a lightning attack that Walton
was all abroad in a moment. In his
most scientific mood he had never had
the remotest notion of how to guard.
He was aggressive and nothing else.
Attacked by a quick hitter, he was
useless. Three times Kennedy got
through his guard with his left. The
third hit staggered him. Before he
could recover, Kennedy had got his
right in, and down went Walton in a
heap.
He was up again as soon as he
touched the boards, and down again
almost as soon as he was up. Kennedy
was always a straight hitter, and now a
combination of good cause and bad
temperfor the thought of the foul in
the first round had stirred what was
normally a more or less placid nature
into extreme viciousnesslent a vigour
to his left arm to which he had hitherto
been a stranger. He did not use his right
again. It was not needed.
Twice more Walton went down. He
was still down when Jimmy Silver
called time. When the half-minute
interval between the rounds was over,
he stated that he was not going on.
Kennedy looked across at him as he
sat on a bed dabbing tenderly at his face
with a handkerchief, and was satisfied
with the success of his object-lesson.
From his own face the most observant
of headmasters could have detected no
evidence that he had been engaged in a
vulgar fight. Walton, on the other hand,
looked as if he had been engaged in
 THE FIGHT IN THE DORMITORY 281

severalall violent. Kennedy went off and help him in his work, the
to his study to change, feeling that he combination would be irresistible. It
had advanced a long step on the thorny was impossible to make any leeway to
path that led to the Perfect House. speak of by himself. If Fenn would
only forget his grievances and join
forces with him, they could electrify the
FENN RECEIVES A house.
Fenn, however, showed no
LETTER inclination to do anything of the kind.
He and Kennedy never spoke to one
But the step was not such a very long
another now except when it was
one after all. What it amounted to was
absolutely unavoidable, and then they
simply this, that open rebellion ceased
behaved with that painful politeness in
in Kays. When Kennedy put up the list
which the public schoolman always
on the notice-board for the third time,
wraps himself as in a garment when
which he did on the morning following
dealing with a friend with whom he has
his encounter with Walton, and wrote
quarrelled.
on it that the match with Blackburns
On the Walton episode Fenn had
would take place that afternoon, his
made no comment, though it is probable
team turned out like lambs, and were
that he thought a good deal.
duly defeated by thirty-one points. He
It was while matters were in this
had to play a substitute for Walton, who
strained condition that Fenn received a
was rather too battered to be of any real
letter from his elder brother. This
use in the scrum; but, with that
brother had been at Eckleton in his time
exception, the team that entered the
School Houseand had left five
field was the same that should have
years before to go to Cambridge.
entered it the day before.
Cambridge had not taught him a great
But his labours in the Augean stables
deal, possibly because he did not meet
of Kays were by no means over.
the well-meant efforts of his tutor half-
Practically they had only begun. The
way. The net result of his three years at
state of the house now was exactly what
Kings wasimprimis, a cricket blue,
it had been under Fenn. When Kennedy
including a rather lucky eighty-three at
had taken over the reins, Kays had
Lords; secondly, a very poor degree;
become on the instant twice as bad as it
thirdly and lastly, a taste for literature
had been before. By his summary
and the dramahe had been a
treatment of the revolution, he had, so
prominent member of the Footlights
to speak, wiped off this deficit. What
Club. When he came down he looked
he had to do now was to begin to
about him for some occupation which
improve things. Kays was now in its
should combine in happy proportions a
normal stateslack, rowdy in an
small amount of work and a large
underhand way, and utterly useless to
amount of salary, and, finding none,
the school. It was up to Kennedy, as
drifted into journalism, at which calling
they say in America, to start in and
he had been doing very fairly ever
make something presentable and useful
since.
out of these unpromising materials.
Dear Bob, the letter began. Fenns
What annoyed him more than
names were Robert Mowbray, the
anything else was the knowledge that if
second of which he had spent much of
only Fenn chose to do the square thing
282 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
his time in concealing. Just a line.
The elder Fenn always began his
letters with these words, whether they
ran to one sheet or eight. In the present
case the screed was not particularly
long.
Do you remember my reading you a
bit of an opera I was writing? Well, I
finished it, and, after going the round of
most of the managers, who chucked it
with wonderful unanimity, it found an
admirer in Higgs, the man who took the
part of the duke in The Outsider.
Luckily, he happened to be thinking of
starting on his own in opera instead of
farce, and theres a part in mine which
fits him like a glove. So hes going to
bring it out at the Imperial in the spring,
and by way of testing the piecetrying
it on the dog, as it werehe means to
tour with it. Now, heres the point of
this letter. We start at Eckleton next
Wednesday. We shall only be there one
night, for we go on to Southampton on
Thursday. I suppose you couldnt come
and see it? I remember Peter Brown,
who got the last place in the team the
year I got my cricket colours, cutting
out of his house (Kays, by the way)
and going down town to see a piece at
the theatre. Im bound to admit he got
sacked for it, but still, it shows that it
can be done. All the same, I shouldnt
try it on if I were you. Youll be able to
read all about the striking success and
unrestrained enthusiasm in the
Eckleton Mirror on Thursday. Mind
you buy a copy.
The rest of the letter was on other
subjects. It took Fenn less than a
minute to decide to patronise that
opening performance. He was never in
the habit of paying very much attention
to risks when he wished to do anything,
and now he felt as if he cared even less
than usual what might be the outcome
of the adventure. Since he had ceased
to be on speaking terms with Kennedy,
he had found life decidedly dull.
Kennedy had been his only intimate
friend. He had plenty of acquaintances,
as a first eleven and first fifteen man
usually has, but none of them were very
entertaining. Consequently he
welcomed the idea of a break in the
monotony of affairs. The only thing
that had broken it up to the present had
been a burglary at the school house.
Some enterprising marauder had broken
in a week before and gone off with a
few articles of value from the
headmasters drawing-room. But the
members of the school house had talked
about this episode to such an extent that
the rest of the school had dropped off
the subject, exhausted, and declined to
discuss it further. And things had
become monotonous once more.
Having decided to go, Fenn began to
consider how he should do it. And here
circumstances favoured him. It
happened that on the evening on which
his brothers play was to be produced
the headmaster was giving his once-a-
term dinner to the house-prefects. This
simplified matters wonderfully. The
only time when his absence from the
house was at all likely to be discovered
would be at prayers, which took place at
half-past nine. The prefects dinner
solved this difficulty for him. Kay
would not expect him to be at prayers,
thinking he was over at the Heads,
while the Head, if he noticed his
absence at all, would imagine that he
was staying away from the dinner
owing to a headache or some other
malady. It seemed tempting Providence
not to take advantage of such an
excellent piece of luck. For the rest,
detection was practically impossible.
Kennedys advent to the house had
ousted Fenn from the dormitory in
which he had slept hitherto, and, there
 FENN RECEIVES A LETTER
being no bed available in any of the
other dormitories, he had been put into
the spare room usually reserved for
invalids whose invalidism was not of a
sufficiently infectious kind to demand
their removal to the infirmary. As for
getting back into the house, he would
leave the window of his study
unfastened. He could easily climb on to
the window-ledge, and so to bed
without let or hindrance.
The distance from Kays to the town
was a mile and a half. If he started at
the hour when he should have been
starting for the school house, he would
arrive just in time to see the curtain go
up.
Having settled these facts definitely
in his mind, he got his books together
and went over to school.
DOWN TOWN
Fenn arrived at the theatre a quarter
of an hour before the curtain rose.
Going down a gloomy alley of the High
Street, he found himself at the stage
door, where he made inquiries of a
depressed-looking man with a bad cold
in the head as to the whereabouts of his
brother. It seemed that he was with Mr
Higgs. If he would wait, said the door-
keeper, his name should be sent up.
Fenn waited, while the door-keeper
made polite conversation by describing
his symptoms to him in a hoarse growl.
Presently the minion who had been
despatched to the upper regions with
Fenns message returned. Would he go
upstairs, third door on the left. Fenn
followed the instructions, and found
himself in a small room, a third of
which was filled by a huge iron-bound
chest, another third by a very stout man
and a dressing-table, while the rest of
the space was comparatively empty,
283
being occupied by a wooden chair with
three legs. On this seat his brother was
trying to balance himself, giving what
part of his attention was not required for
this feat to listening to some story the
fat man was telling him. Fenn had
heard his deep voice booming as he
went up the passage.
His brother did the honours.
Glad to see you, glad to see you,
said Mr Higgs, for the fat man was none
other than that celebrity. Take a seat.
Fenn sat down on the chest and
promptly tore his trousers on a jagged
piece of iron.
These provincial dressing-rooms!
said Mr Higgs, by way of comment.
No room! Never any room! No
chairs! Nothing!
He spoke in short, quick sentences,
and gasped between each. Fenn said it
really didnt matterhe was quite
comfortable.
Havent they done anything about
it? asked Fenns brother, resuming the
conversation which Fenns entrance had
interrupted. Weve been having a
burglary here, he explained.
Somebody got into the theatre last
night through a window. I dont know
what they expected to find.
Why, said Fenn, weve had a
burglar up our way too. Chap broke
into the school house and went through
the old mans drawing-room. The
school house men have been talking
about nothing else ever since. I wonder
if its the same crew.
Mr Higgs turned in his chair, and
waved a stick of grease paint
impressively to emphasise his point.
There, he said. There! What Ive
been saying all along. No doubt of it.
Organised gang. And what are the
police doing? Nothing, sir, nothing.
Making inquiries. Rot! Whats the
good of inquiries?
284 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Fenns brother suggested mildly that
inquiries were a good beginning. You
must start somehow. Mr Higgs scouted
the idea.
There ought not to be any doubt,
sir. They ought to know. To KNOW,
he added, with firmness.
At this point there filtered through
the closed doors the strains of the
opening chorus.
By Jove, its begun! said Fenns that just the part for him? Its just like
brother. Come on, Bob.
Where are we going to? asked
Fenn, as he followed. The wings?
But it seemed that the rules of Mr
Higgs company prevented any outsider
taking up his position in that desirable
quarter. The only place from which it
was possible to watch the performance,
except by going to the front of the
house, was the flies, situated near the
roof of the building.
Fenn found all the pleasures of
novelty in watching the players from
this lofty position. Judged by the cold
light of reason, it was not the best place
from which to see a play. It was
possible to gain only a very
foreshortened view of the actors. But it
was a change after sitting in front.
The piece was progressing merrily.
The gifted author, at first silent and
pale, began now to show signs of
gratification. Now and again he
chuckled as some jeu de mots hit the
mark and drew a quick gust of laughter
from the unseen audience.
Occasionally he would nudge Fenn to
draw his attention to some good bit of
dialogue which was approaching. He
was obviously enjoying himself.
The advent of Mr Higgs completed
his satisfaction, for the audience greeted
the comedian with roars of applause.
As a rule Eckleton took its drama
through the medium of third-rate
touring companies, which came down
with plays that had not managed to
attract London to any great extent, and
were trying to make up for failures in
the metropolis by long tours in the
provinces. It was seldom that an actor
of the Higgs type paid the town a visit,
and in a play, too, which had positively
never appeared before on any stage.
Eckleton appreciated the compliment.
Listen, said Fenns brother. Isnt
he was in the dressing-room, eh? Short
sentences and everything. The funny
part of it is that I didnt know the man
when I wrote the play. It was all luck.
Mr Higgs performance sealed the
success of the piece. The house
laughed at everything he said. He sang
a song in his gasping way, and they
laughed still more. Fenns brother
became incoherent with delight. The
verdict of Eckleton was hardly likely to
affect London theatre-goers, but it was
very pleasant notwithstanding. Like
every playwright with his first piece, he
had been haunted by the idea that his
dialogue would not act, that, however
humorous it might be to a reader, it
would fall flat when spoken. There was
no doubt now as to whether the lines
sounded well.
At the beginning of the second act
the great Higgs was not on the stage,
Fenns brother knowing enough of the
game not to bring on his big man too
soon. He had not to enter for ten
minutes or so. The author, who had
gone down to see him during the
interval, stayed in the dressing-room.
Fenn, however, who wanted to see all
of the piece that he could, went up to
the flies again.
It occurred to him when he got there
that he would see more if he took the
seat which his brother had been
occupying. It would give him much the
same view of the stage, and a wider
 DOWN TOWN
view of the audience. He thought it
would be amusing to see how the
audience looked from the flies.
Mr W. S. Gilbert once wrote a poem
about a certain bishop who, while fond
of amusing himself, objected to his
clergy doing likewise. And the
consequence was that whenever he did
so amuse himself, he was always
haunted by a phantom curate, who
joined him in his pleasures, much to his
dismay. On one occasion he stopped to
watch a Punch and Judy show,
And heard, as Punch was being
treated penally,
That phantom curate laughing all
hyaenally.
The disgust and panic of this
eminent cleric was as nothing compared
with that of Fenn, when, shifting to his
brothers seat, he got the first clear view
he had had of the audience. In a box to
the left of the dress-circle sat, laughing
all hyaenally, the following
distinguished visitors:
Mr Mulholland of No. 7 College
Buildings.
Mr Raynes of No. 4 ditto,
and
Mr Kay.
Fenn drew back like a flash,
knocking his chair over as he did so.
Giddy, sir? said a stage hand,
pleasantly. Bless you, lots of gents is
like that when they comes up here.
Cant stand the eight, they cant.
Youll be all right in a jiffy.
Yes. Itit is rather high, isnt it? seemed to him now to have a more
said Fenn. Awful glare, too.
He picked up his chair and sat down
well out of sight of the box. Had they
seen him? he wondered. Then common
sense returned to him. They could not
possibly have seen him. Apart from
any other reasons, he had only been in
his brothers seat for half-a-dozen
seconds. No. He was all right so far.
285
But he would have to get back to the
house, and at once. With three of the
staff, including his own house-master,
ranging the town, things were a trifle
too warm for comfort. He wondered it
had not occurred to him that, with a big
attraction at the theatre, some of the
staff might feel an inclination to visit it.
He did not stop to say goodbye to his
brother. Descending from his perch, he
hurried to the stage door.
Its in the toobs that I feel it, sir.
said the door-keeper, as he let him out,
resuming their conversation as if they
had only just parted. Fenn hurried off
without waiting to hear more.
It was drizzling outside, and there
was a fog. Not a London particular,
but quite thick enough to make it
difficult to see where one was going.
People and vehicles passed him, vague
phantoms in the darkness. Occasionally
the former collided with him. He began
to wish he had not accepted his
brothers invitation. The unexpected
sight of the three masters had shaken
his nerve. Till then only the romantic,
adventurous side of the expedition had
struck him. Now the risks began to
loom larger in his mind. It was all very
well, he felt, to think, as he had done,
that he would be expelled if found out,
but that all the same he would risk it.
Detection then had seemed a remote
contingency. With three masters in the
offing it became at least a possibility.
The melancholy case of Peter Brown
personal significance for him.
Wrapped in these reflections, he lost
his way.
He did not realise this for some
time. It was borne in upon him when
the road he was taking suddenly came
to an abrupt end in a blank wall.
Instead of being, as he had fancied, in
the High Street, he must have branched
286 THE HEAD OF KAY'S

off into some miserable blind alley. when somebody, walking unexpectedly
More than ever he wished he had not out of the corner house, stood directly
come. Eckleton was not a town that in his path. Fenn could not stop
took up a great deal of room on the map himself. He charged the man squarely,
of England, but it made up for small clutched him to save himself, and they
dimensions by the eccentricity with fell in a heap on the pavement.
which it had been laid out. On a dark
and foggy night, to one who knew little
of its geography, it was a perfect maze. WHAT HAPPENED TO
Fenn had wandered some way when
the sound of someone whistling a FENN
popular music-hall song came to him
Fenn was up first. Many years
through the gloom. He had never heard
experience of being tackled at full speed
anything more agreeable.
on the football field had taught him how
I say, he shouted at a venture, can
to fall. The stranger, whose football
you tell me the way to the High Street?
days, if he had ever had any, were long
The whistler stopped in the middle
past, had gone down with a crash, and
of a bar, and presently Fenn saw a
remained on the pavement, motionless.
figure sidling towards him in what
Fenn was conscious of an ignoble
struck him as a particularly furtive
impulse to fly without stopping to chat
manner.
about the matter. Then he was seized
Wots thet, gavnor?
with a gruesome fear that he had injured
Can you tell me where the High
the man seriously, which vanished
Street is? Ive lost my way.
when the stranger sat up. His first
The vague figure came closer.
words were hardly of the sort that one
Igh Street? Yus; yer go
would listen to from choice. His first
A hand shot out, Fenn felt a sharp
printable expression, which did not
wrench in the region of his waistcoat,
escape him until he had been speaking
and a moment later the stranger had
some time, was in the nature of an
vanished into the fog with the prefects
official bulletin.
watch and chain.
Youve broken my neck, said he.
Fenn forgot his desire to return to the
Fenn renewed his apologies and
High Street. He forgot everything
explanations.
except that he wished to catch the
Your watch! cried the man in a
fugitive, maltreat him, and retrieve his
high, cracked voice. Dont stand there
property. He tore in the direction
talking about your watch, but help me
whence came the patter of retreating
up. What do I care about your watch?
foot-steps.
Why dont you look where you are
There were moments when he
going to? Now then, now then, dont
thought he had him, when he could hear
hoist me as if I were a hod of bricks.
the sound of his breathing. But the fog
Thats right. Now help me indoors, and
was against him. Just as he was almost
go away.
on his mans heels, the fugitive turned
Fenn supported him while he walked
sharply into a street which was
lamely into the house. He was relieved
moderately well lighted. Fenn turned
to find that there was nothing more the
after him. He had just time to recognise
matter with him than a shaking and a
the street as his goal, the High Street,
few bruises.
 WHAT HAPPENED TO FENN
Door on the left, said the injured
one.
Fenn led him down the passage and
into a small sitting-room. The gas was
lit, and as he turned it up he saw that the
stranger was a man well advanced in
years. He had grey hair that was almost
white. His face was not a pleasant one.
It was a mass of lines and wrinkles from
which a physiognomist would have
deduced uncomplimentary conclusions
as to his character. Fenn had little skill
in that way, but he felt that for some
reason he disliked the man, whose eyes,
which were small and extraordinarily
bright, gave rather an eerie look to his
face.
Go away, go away, he kept
repeating savagely from his post on the
shabby sofa on which Fenn had
deposited him.
But are you all right? Cant I get
you something? asked the Eckletonian.
Go away, go away, repeated the
man.
Conversation on these lines could
never be really attractive. Fenn turned
to go. As he closed the door and began
to feel his way along the dark passage,
he heard the key turn in the lock behind
him. The man could not, he felt, have
been very badly hurt if he were able to
get across the room so quickly. The
thought relieved him somewhat.
Nobody likes to have the maiming even
of the most complete stranger on his
mind. The sensation of relief lasted
possibly three seconds. Then it flashed
upon him that in the excitement of the
late interview he had forgotten his cap.
That damaging piece of evidence lay on
the table in the sitting-room, and
between him and it was a locked door.
He groped his way back, and
knocked. No sound came from the
room.
I say, he cried, you might let me
287
have my cap. I left it on the table.
No reply.
Fenn half thought of making a
violent assault on the door. He
refrained on reflecting that it would be
useless. If he could break it open-
which, in all probability, he could not
there would be trouble such as he had
never come across in his life. He was
not sure it would not be an offence for
which he would be rendered liable to
fine or imprisonment. At any rate, it
would mean the certain detection of his
visit to the town. So he gave the thing
up, resolving to return on the morrow
and reopen negotiations. For the
present, what he had to do was to get
safely back to his house. He had lost
his watch, his cap with his name in it
was in the hands of an evil old man who
evidently bore him a grudge, and he had
to run the gauntlet of three house-
masters and get to bed via a study-
window. Few people, even after the
dullest of plays, have returned from the
theatre so disgusted with everything as
did Fenn. Reviewing the situation as he
ran with long, easy strides over the road
that led to Kays, he found it devoid of
any kind of comfort. Unless his
mission in quest of the cap should prove
successful, he was in a tight place.
It is just as well that the gift of
second sight is accorded to but few. If
Fenn could have known at this point
that his adventures were only
beginning, that what had taken place
already was but as the overture to a
drama, it is possible that he would have
thrown up the sponge for good and all,
entered Kays by way of the front door
after knocking up the entire
householdand remarked, in answer to
his house-masters excited questions,
Enough! Enough! I am a victim of
Fate, a Toad beneath the Harrow. Sack
me tomorrow, if you like, but for
288 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
goodness sake let me get quietly to bed
now.
As it was, not being able to peep
with security into futurity, he imagined
that the worst was over.
He began to revise this opinion
immediately on turning in at Kays
gate. He had hardly got half-way down
the drive when the front door opened
and two indistinct figures came down
the steps. As they did so his foot
slipped off the grass border on which he
was running to deaden the noise of his
steps, and grated sharply on the gravel.
Whats that? said a voice. The
speaker was Mr Kay.
Whats what? replied a second
voice which he recognised as Mr
Mulhollands.
Didnt you hear a noise?
I heard the water lapping on the
crag, replied Mr Mulholland,
poetically.
It was over there, persisted Mr
Kay. I am certain I heard something
positively certain, Mulholland. And
after that burglary at the school house
He began to move towards the spot
where Fenn lay crouching behind a
bush. Mr Mulholland followed, mildly
amused. They were a dozen yards away
when Fenn, debating in his mind
whether it would not be betteras it
would certainly be more dignifiedfor
him to rise and deliver himself up to
justice instead of waiting to be
discovered wallowing in the damp grass
behind a laurel bush, was aware of
something soft and furry pressing
against his knuckles. A soft purring
sound reached his ears.
He knew at once who it was-
Thomas Edward, the matrons cat, ever
a staunch friend of his. Many a time
had they taken tea together in his study
in happier days. The friendly animal
had sought him out in his hiding-place,
and was evidently trying to intimate that
the best thing they could do now would
be to make a regular night of it.
Fenn, as I have said, liked and
respected Thomas. In ordinary
circumstances he would not have
spoken an unfriendly word to him. But
things were desperate now, and needed
remedies to match.
Very softly he passed his hand down
the delighted animals back until he
reached his tail. Then, stifling with an
effort all the finer feelings which should
have made such an act impossible, he
administered so vigorous a tweak to that
appendage that Thomas, with one
frenzied yowl, sprang through the bush
past the two masters and vanished at
full speed into the opposite hedge.
My goodness! said Mr Kay,
starting back.
It was a further shock to Fenn to find
how close he was to the laurel.
Goodness me,
Why, what was that?
Silent be,
It was the cat,
chanted Mr Mulholland, who was in
poetical vein after the theatre.
It was a cat! gasped Mr Kay.
So I am disposed to imagine. What
lungs! We shall be having the
R.S.P.C.A. down on us if we arent
careful. They must have heard that
noise at the headquarters of the Society,
wherever they are. Well, if your zeal
for big game hunting is satisfied, and
you dont propose to follow the vocalist
through that hedge, I think I will be off.
Good night. Good piece, wasnt it?
Excellent. Good night,
Mulholland.
By the way, I wonder if the man
who wrote it is a relation of our Fenn.
It may be his brotherI believe he
writes. You probably remember him
 WHAT HAPPENED TO FENN
when he was here. He was before my
time. Talking of Fenn, how do you find
the new arrangement answer? Is
Kennedy an improvement?
Kennedy, said Mr Kay, is a well-
meaning boy, I think. Quite well-
meaning. But he lacks ability, in my
opinion. I have had to speak to him on
several occasions on account of
disturbances amongst the juniors. Once
I found two boys actually fighting in the
junior dayroom. I was very much
annoyed about it.
And where was Kennedy while this
was going on? Was he holding the
watch?
The watch? said Mr Kay, in a
puzzled tone of voice. Kennedy was
over at the gymnasium when it
occurred.
Then it was hardly his fault that the
fight took place.
My dear Mulholland, if the head of
a house is efficient, fights should be
impossible. Even when he is not
present, his influence, his prestige, so to
speak, should be sufficient to restrain
the boys under him.
Mr Mulholland whistled softly.
So thats your idea of what the head
of your house should be like, is it?
Well, I know of one fellow who would
have been just your man.
Unfortunately, he is never likely to
come to school at Eckleton.
Indeed? said Mr Kay, with
interest. Who is that? Where did you
meet him? What school is he at?
I never said I had met him. I only
go by what I have heard of him. And as
far as I know, he is not at any school.
He was a gentleman of the name of
Napoleon Bonaparte. He might just
have been equal to the arduous duties
which devolve upon the head of your
house. Goodnight.
And Fenn heard his footsteps crunch
289
the gravel as he walked away. A
minute later the front door shut, and
there was a rattle. Mr Kay had put the
chain up and retired for the night.
Fenn lay where he was for a short
while longer. Then he rose, feeling
very stiff and wet, and crept into one of
the summer-houses which stood in Mr
Kays garden. Here he sat for an hour
and a half, at the end of which time,
thinking that Mr Kay must be asleep, he
started out to climb into the house.
His study was on the first floor. A
high garden-seat stood directly beneath
the window and acted as a convenient
ladder. It was easy to get from this on
to the window-ledge. Once there he
could open the window, and the rest
would be plain sailing.
Unhappily, there was one flaw in his
scheme. He had conceived that scheme
in the expectation that the window
would be as he had left it.
But it was not.
During his absence somebody had
shot the bolt. And, try his hardest, he
could not move the sash an inch.
FENN HUNTS FOR
HIMSELF
Nobody knows for certain the
feelings of the camel when his
proprietor placed that last straw on his
back. The incident happened so long
ago. If it had occurred in modern times,
he would probably have contributed a
first-hand report to the Daily Mail. But
it is very likely that he felt on that
occasion exactly as Fenn felt when,
after a night of unparalleled
misadventure, he found that somebody
had cut off his retreat by latching the
window. After a gruelling race Fate
had just beaten him on the tape.
There was no doubt about its being
290 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
latched. The sash had not merely
stuck. He put all he knew into the effort
to raise it, but without a hint of success.
After three attempts he climbed down
again and, sitting on the garden-seat,
began to review his position.
If one has an active mind and a fair
degree of optimism, the effect of the
staggerers administered by Fate
passes off after a while. Fenn had both.
The consequence was that, after ten
minutes of grey despair, he was relieved
by a faint hope that there might be some
other way into the house than through
his study. Anyhow, it would be worth
while to investigate.
His study was at the side of the
house. At the back were the kitchen,
the scullery, and the dining-room, and
above these more studies and a couple
of dormitories. As a last resort he
might fling rocks and other solids at the
windows until he woke somebody up.
But he did not feel like trying this plan
until every other had failed. He had no
desire to let a garrulous dormitory into
the secret of his wanderings. What he
hoped was that he might find one of the
lower windows open.
And so he did.
As he turned the corner of the house
he saw what he had been looking for.
The very first window was wide open.
His spirits shot up, and for the first time
since he had left the theatre he was
conscious of taking a pleasure in his
adventurous career. Fate was with him
after all. He could not help smiling as
he remembered how he had felt during
that ten minutes on the garden-seat,
when the future seemed blank and
devoid of any comfort whatsoever.
And all the time he could have got in
without an effort, if he had only thought
of walking half a dozen yards.
Now that the way was open to him,
he wasted no time. He climbed through
into the dark room. He was not certain
which room it was, in spite of his
lengthy residence at Kays.
He let himself down softly till his
foot touched the floor. After a
moments pause he moved forward a
step. Then another. At the third step
his knee struck the leg of a table. He
must be in the dining-room. If so, he
was all right. He could find his way up
to his room with his eyes shut. It was
easy to find out for certain. The walls
of the dining-room at Kays, as in the
other houses, were covered with
photographs. He walked gingerly in the
direction in which he imagined the
nearest wall to be, reached it, and
passed his hand along it. Yes, there
were photographs. Then all he had to
do was to find the table again, make his
way along it, and when he got to the
end the door would be a yard or so to
his left. The programme seemed simple
and attractive. But it was added to in a
manner which he had not foreseen.
Feeling his way back to the table, he
upset a chair. If he had upset a cart-
load of coal on to a sheet of tin it could
not, so it seemed to him in the
disordered state of his nerves, have
made more noise. It went down with an
appalling crash, striking the table on its
way. This, thought Fenn, savagely,
as he waited, listening, is where I get
collared. What a fool I am to barge
about like this.
He felt that the echoes of that crash
must have penetrated to every corner of
the house. But no one came. Perhaps,
after all, the noise had not been so
great. He proceeded on his journey
down the table, feeling every inch of the
way. The place seemed one bristling
mass of chairs. But, by the exercise of
consummate caution, he upset no more
and won through at last in safety to the
door.
 FENN HUNTS FOR HIMSELF
It was at this point that the really
lively and exciting part of his adventure
began. Compared with what was to
follow, his evening had been up to the
present dull and monotonous.
As he opened the door there was a
sudden stir and crash at the other end of
the room. Fenn had upset one chair and
the noise had nearly deafened him.
Now chairs seemed to be falling in
dozens. Bang! Bang! Crash!! (two
that time). And then somebody shot
through the window like a harlequin
and dashed away across the lawn. Fenn
could hear his footsteps thudding on the
soft turf. And at the same moment
other footsteps made themselves heard.
Somebody was coming downstairs.
Who is that? Is anybody there?
It was Mr Kays voice, unmistakably
nervous. Fenn darted from the door and
across the passage. At the other side
was a boot-cupboard. It was his only
refuge in that direction. What he ought
to have done was to leave the dining-
room by the opposite door, which led
via a corridor to the junior dayroom.
But he lost his head, and instead of
bolting away from the enemy, went
towards him.
The stairs down which Mr Kay was
approaching were at the end of the
passage. To reach the dining-room one
turned to the right. Beyond the stairs on
the left the passage ended in a wall, so
that Mr Kay was bound to take the right
direction in the search. Fenn wondered
if he had a pistol. Not that he cared
very much. If the house-master was
going to find him, it would be very little
extra discomfort to be shot at. And Mr
Kays talents as a marksman were in all
probability limited to picking off sitting
haystacks. The important point was
that he had a candle. A faint yellow
glow preceded him down the stairs.
Playing hide-and-seek with him in the
291
dark, Fenn might have slipped past in
safety; but the candle made that
impossible.
He found the boot-room door and
slipped through just as Mr Kay turned
the corner. With a thrill of pleasure he
found that there was a key inside. He
turned it as quietly as he could, but
nevertheless it grated. Having done
this, and seeing nothing else that he
could do except await developments, he
sat down on the floor among the boots.
It was not a dignified position for a man
who had played for his county while
still at school, but just then he would
not have exchanged it for a throneif
the throne had been placed in the
passage or the dining-room.
The only question washad he been
seen or heard? He thought not; but his
heart began to beat furiously as the
footsteps stopped outside the cupboard
door and unseen fingers rattled the
handle.
Twice Mr Kay tried the handle, but,
finding the cupboard locked, passed on
into the dining-room. The light of the
candle ceased to shine under the door,
and Fenn was once more in inky
darkness.
He listened intently. A minute later
he had made his second mistake.
Instead of waiting, as he should have
done, until Mr Kay had retired for good,
he unlocked the door directly he had
passed, and when a muffled crash told
him that the house-master was in the
dining-room among the chairs, out he
came and fled softly upstairs towards
his bedroom. He thought that Mr Kay
might possibly take it into his head to
go round the dormitories to make
certain that all the members of his
house were in. In which case all would
be discovered.
When he reached his room he began
to fling off his clothes with feverish
292 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
haste. Once in bed all would be well.
He had got out of his boots, his coat,
and his waistcoat, and was beginning to
feel that electric sensation of triumph
which only conies to the man who just
pulls through, when he heard Mr Kay
coming down the corridor towards his
room. The burglar-hunter, returning
from the dining-room in the full belief
that the miscreant had escaped through
the open window, had had all his ardour
for the chase redoubled by the sight of
the cupboard door, which Fenn in his
hurry had not remembered to close. Mr
Kay had made certain by two separate
trials that that door had been locked.
And now it was wide open. Ergo, the
apostle of the jemmy and the skeleton
key must still be in the house. Mr Kay,
secure in the recollection that burglars
never show fight if they can possibly
help it, determined to search the house.
Fenn made up his mind swiftly.
There was no time to finish dressing.
Mr Kay, peering round, might note the
absence of the rest of his clothes from
their accustomed pegs if he got into bed
as he was. There was only one thing to
be done. He threw back the bed-
clothes, ruffled the sheets till the bed
looked as if it had been slept in, and
opened the door just as Mr Kay reached
the threshold.
Anything the matter, sir? asked
Fenn, promptly. I heard a noise
downstairs. Can I help you?
Mr Kay looked carefully at the ex-
head of his house. Fenn was a finely-
developed youth. He stood six feet, and
all of him that was not bone was
muscle. A useful colleague to have by
one in a hunt for a possibly ferocious
burglar.
So thought Mr Kay.
So you heard the noise? he said.
Well, perhaps you had better come
with me. There is no doubt that a
burglar has entered the house tonight, in
spite of the fact that I locked all the
windows myself. Your study window
was unlocked, Fenn. It was extremely
careless of you to leave it in such a
condition, and I hope you will be more
careful in future. Why, somebody
might have got in through it.
Fenn thought it was not at all
unlikely.
Come along, then. I am sure the
man is still in the house. He was hiding
in the cupboard by the dining-room. I
know it. I am sure he is still in the
house.
But, in spite of the fact that Fenn
was equally sure, half an hours search
failed to discover any lurking evil-doer.
You had better go to bed, Fenn,
said Mr Kay, disgustedly, at the end of
that period. He must have got back in
some extraordinary manner.
Yes, sir, agreed Fenn.
He himself had certainly got back in
a very extraordinary manner.
However, he had got back, which
was the main point.
A VAIN QUEST
After all he had gone through that
night, it disturbed Fenn very little to
find on the following morning that the
professional cracksman had gone off
with one of the cups in his study.
Certainly, it was not as bad as it might
have been, for he had only abstracted
one out of the half dozen that decorated
the room. Fenn was a fine runner, and
had won the sprint events at the
sports for two years now.
The news of the burglary at Kays
soon spread about the school. Mr Kay
mentioned it to Mr Mulholland, and Mr
Mulholland discussed it at lunch with
the prefects of his house. The juniors of
 A VAIN QUEST
Kays were among the last to hear of it,
but when they did, they made the most
of it, to the disgust of the School House
fags, to whom the episode seemed in
the nature of an infringement of
copyright. Several spirited by-battles
took place that day owing to this, and at
the lower end of the table of Kays
dining-room at tea that evening there
could be seen many swollen
countenances. All, however, wore
pleased smiles. They had proved to the
School House their right to have a
burglary of their own if they liked. It
was the first occasion since Kennedy
had become head of the house that
Kays had united in a common and
patriotic cause.
Directly afternoon school was over
that day, Fenn started for the town. The
only thing that caused him any anxiety
now was the fear lest the cap which he
had left in the house in the High Street
might rise up as evidence against him
later on. Except for that, he was safe.
The headmaster had evidently not
remembered his absence from the
festive board, or he would have spoken
to him on the subject before now. If he
could but recover the lost cap, all would
be right with the world. Give him back
that cap, and he would turn over a new
leaf with a rapidity and emphasis which
would lower the worlds record for that
performance. He would be a reformed
character. He would even go to the
extent of calling a truce with Mr Kay,
climbing down to Kennedy, and
offering him his services in his attempt
to lick the house into shape.
As a matter of fact, he had had this
idea before. Jimmy Silver, who was in
the positioncommon at schoolof
being very friendly with two people
who were not on speaking terms, had
been at him on the topic.
Its rot, James had said, with attractions of Kays were small, and he
293
perfect truth, to see two chaps like you
making idiots of themselves over a
house like Kays. And its all your
fault, too, he had added frankly. You
know jolly well you arent playing the
game. You ought to be backing
Kennedy up all the time. Instead of
which, you go about trying to look like
a Christian martyr
I dont, said Fenn, indignantly.
Well, like a stuffed frog, thenits
all the same to me. Its perfect rot. If
Im walking with Kennedy, you stalk
past as if wed both got the plague or
something. And if Im with you,
Kennedy suddenly remembers an
appointment, and dashes off at a gallop
in the opposite direction. If I had to
award the bronze medal for drivelling
lunacy in this place, you would get it by
a narrow margin, and Kennedy would
be proxime, and honourably
mentioned. Silly idiots!
Dont stop, Jimmy. Keep it up,
said Fenn, settling himself in his chair.
The dialogue was taking place in
Silvers study.
My dear chap, you didnt think Id
finished, surely! I was only trying to
find some description that would suit
you. But its no good. I cant. Look
here, take my advicethe advice, he
added, in the melodramatic voice he
was in the habit of using whenever he
wished to conceal the fact that he was
speaking seriously, of an old man who
wishes ye both well. Go to Kennedy,
fling yourself on his chest, and say, We
have done those things which we ought
not to have done No. As you were!
Compny, shun! Say J. Silver says
that I am a rotter. I am a worm. I have
made an ass of myself. But I will be
good. Shake, pard! Thats what youve
got to do. Come in.
And in had come Kennedy. The
294 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
usually looked in on Jimmy Silver in
the afternoons.
Oh, sorry, he said, as he saw
Fenn. I thought you were alone,
Jimmy.
I was just going, said Fenn,
politely.
Oh, dont let me disturb you,
protested Kennedy, with winning
courtesy.
Not at all, said Fenn.
Oh, if you really were
Oh, yes, really.
Get out, then, growled Jimmy,
who had been listening in speechless
disgust to the beautifully polite
conversation just recorded. Ill
forward that bronze medal to you,
Fenn.
And as the door closed he had turned
to rend Kennedy as he had rent Fenn;
while Fenn walked back to Kays
feeling that there was a good deal in
what Jimmy had said.
So that when he went down town
that afternoon in search of his cap, he
pondered as he walked over the
advisability of making a fresh start. It
would not be a bad idea. But first he
must concentrate his energies on
recovering what he had lost.
He found the house in the High
Street without a great deal of difficulty,
for he had marked the spot carefully as
far as that had been possible in the fog.
The door was opened to him, not by
the old man with whom he had
exchanged amenities on the previous
night, but by a short, thick fellow, who
looked exactly like a picture of a loafer
from the pages of a comic journal. He
eyed Fenn with what might have been
meant for an inquiring look. To Fenn it
seemed merely menacing.
Wodyer want? he asked, abruptly.
Eckleton was not a great distance
from London, and, as a consequence,
many of Londons choicest blackguards
migrated there from time to time.
During the hopping season, and while
the local races were on, one might meet
with two Cockney twangs for every
country accent.
I want to see the old gentleman who
lives here, said Fenn.
Wot old gentleman?
Im afraid I dont know his name.
Is this a home for old gentlemen? If
youll bring out all youve got, Ill find
my one.
Wodyer want see the old gentleman
for?
To ask for my cap. I left it here last
night.
Oh, yer left it ere last night! Well,
yer cawnt see im.
Not from here, no, agreed Fenn.
Being only eyes, you see, he quoted
happily, my wisions limited. But if
you wouldnt mind moving out of the
way
Yer cawnt see im. Blimey, ow
much more of it, I should like to know.
Gerroutovit, cawnt yer! You and yer
caps.
And he added a searching expletive
by way of concluding the sentence
fittingly. After which he slipped back
and slammed the door, leaving Fenn
waiting outside like the Peri at the gate
of Paradise.
His resemblance to the Peri ceased
after the first quarter of a minute. That
lady, we read, took her expulsion lying
down. Fenn was more vigorous. He
seized the knocker, and banged lustily
on the door. He had given up all hope
of getting back the cap. All he wanted
was to get the doorkeeper out into the
open again, when he would proceed to
show him, to the best of his ability,
what was what. It would not be the first
time he had taken on a gentleman of the
same class and a similar type of
 A VAIN QUEST
conversation.
But the man refused to be drawn.
For all the reply Fenns knocking
produced, the house might have been
empty. At last, having tired his wrist
and collected a small crowd of Young
Eckleton, who looked as if they
expected him to proceed to further
efforts for their amusement, he gave it
up, and retired down the High Street
with what dignity he could command
which, as he was followed for the
first fifty yards by the silent but
obviously expectant youths, was not a
great deal.
They left him, disappointed, near the
Town Hall, and Fenn continued on his
way alone. The window of the grocers
shop, with its tins of preserved apricots
and pots of jam, recalled to his mind
what he had forgotten, that the food at
Kays, though it might be wholesome
(which he doubted), was undeniably
plain, and, secondly, that he had run out
of jam. Now that he was here he might
as well supply that deficiency.
Now it chanced that Master Wren, of
Kays, was down townwithout leave,
as was his habiton an errand of a very
similar nature. Walton had found that
he, like Fenn, lacked those luxuries of
life which are so much more necessary
than necessities, and, being unable to go
himself, owing to the unfortunate
accident of being kept in by his form-
master, had asked Wren to go for him.
Wrens visit to the grocers was just
ending when Fenns began.
They met in the doorway.
Wren looked embarrassed, and
nearly dropped a pot of honey, which he
secured low down after the manner of a
catch in the slips. Fenn, on the other
hand, took no notice of his fellow-
Kayite, but walked on into the shop and
began to inspect the tins of biscuits
which were stacked on the floor by the
295
counter.
THE GUILE OF WREN
Wren did not quite know what to
make of this. Why had not Fenn said a
word to him? There were one or two
prefects in the school whom he might
have met even at such close quarters
and yet have cherished a hope that they
had not seen him. Once he had run
right into Drew, of the School House,
and escaped unrecognised. But with
Fenn it was different. Compared to
Fenn, lynxes were astigmatic. He must
have spotted him.
There was a vein of philosophy in
Wrens composition. He felt that he
might just as well be hanged for a sheep
as a lamb. In other words, having been
caught down town without leave, he
might as well stay there and enjoy
himself a little while longer before
going back to be executed. So he
strolled off down the High Street,
bought a few things at a stationers, and
wound up with an excellent tea at the
confectioners by the post-office.
It was as he was going to this meal
that Kennedy caught sight of him.
Kennedy had come down town to visit
the local photographer, to whom he had
entrusted a fortnight before the pleasant
task of taking his photograph. As he
had heard nothing from him since, he
was now coming to investigate. He
entered the High Street as Wren was
turning into the confectioners, saw
him, and made a note of it for future
reference.
When Wren returned to the house
just before lock-up, he sought counsel
of Walton.
I say, he said, as he handed over
the honey he had saved so neatly from
destruction, what would you do? Just
296 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
as I was coming out of the shop, I
barged into Fenn. He must have
twigged me.
Didnt he say anything?
Not a word. I couldnt make it out,
because he must have seen me. We
werent a yard away from one another.
Its dark in the shop, suggested
Walton.
Not at the door; which is where we
met.
Before Walton could find anything
to say in reply to this, their conversation
was interrupted by Spencer.
Kennedy wants you, Wren, said
Spencer. Youd better buck up; hes in
an awful wax.
Next to Walton, the vindictive
Spencer objected most to Wren, and he
did not attempt to conceal the pleasure
he felt in being the bearer of this
ominous summons.
The group broke up. Wren went
disconsolately upstairs to Kennedys
study; Walton smacked Spencers head
more as a matter of form than
because he had done anything special to
annoy himand retired to the senior
dayroom; while Spencer, muttering
darkly to himself, avoided a second
smack and took cover in the junior
room, where he consoled himself by
toasting a piece of india-rubber in the
gas till it made the atmosphere painful
to breathe in, and recalling with
pleasure the condition Waltons face
had been in for the day or two following
his encounter with Kennedy in the
dormitory.
Kennedy was working when Wren
knocked at his door.
He had not much time to spare on a
bounds-breaking fag; and his manner
was curt.
I saw you going into Roses, in the
High Street, this afternoon, Wren, he
said, looking up from his Greek prose.
I didnt give you leave. Come up here
after prayers tonight. Shut the door.
Wren went down to consult Walton
again. His attitude with regard to a
licking from the head of the house was
much like that of the other fags.
Custom had, to a certain extent, inured
him to these painful interviews, but still,
if it was possible, he preferred to keep
out of them. Under Fenns rule he had
often found a tolerably thin excuse
serve his need. Fenn had so many other
things to do that he was not unwilling to
forego an occasional licking, if the
excuse was good enough. And he never
took the trouble to find out whether the
ingenious stories Wren was wont to
serve up to him were true or not.
Kennedy, Wren reflected
uncomfortably, had given signs that this
easy-going method would not do for
him. Still, it might be possible to hunt
up some story that would meet the
case. Walton had a gift in that
direction.
He says Im to go to his study after
prayers, reported Wren. Cant you
think of any excuse that would do?
Cant understand Fenn running you
in, said Walton. I thought he never
spoke to Kennedy.
Wren explained.
It wasnt Fenn who ran me in.
Kennedy was down town, too, and
twigged me going into Roses. I went
there and had tea after I got your things
at the grocers.
Oh, he spotted you himself, did
he? said Walton. And he doesnt
know Fenn saw you?
I dont think so.
Then Ive got a ripping idea. When
he has you up tonight, swear that you
got leave from Fenn to go down town.
But hell ask him.
The odds are that he wont. He and
Fenn had a row at the beginning of
 THE GUILE OF WREN
term, and never speak to one another if
they can help it. Its ten to one that he
will prefer taking your yarn to going
and asking Fenn if its true or not. Then
hes bound to let you off.
Wren admitted that the scheme was
sound.
At the conclusion of prayers,
therefore, he went up again to
Kennedys study, with a more hopeful
air than he had worn on his previous
visit.
Come in, said Kennedy, reaching
for the swagger-stick which he was
accustomed to use at these ceremonies.
Please, Kennedy, said Wren,
glibly. I did get leave to go down
town this afternoon.
What!
Wren repeated the assertion.
Who gave you leave?
Fenn.
The thing did not seem to be
working properly. When he said the
word Fenn, Wren expected to see
Kennedy retire baffled, conscious that
there was nothing more to be said or
done. Instead of this, the remark
appeared to infuriate him.
Its just like your beastly cheek, he
said, glaring at the red-headed
delinquent, to ask Fenn for leave
instead of me. You know perfectly well
that only the head of the house can give
leave to go down town. I dont know
how often you and the rest of the junior
dayroom have played this game, but its
going to stop now. Youd better
remember another time when you want
to go to Roses that Ive got to be
consulted first.
With which he proceeded to ensure
to the best of his ability that the
memory of Master Wren should not
again prove treacherous in this respect.
How did it work? asked Walton,
when Wren returned.
297
It didnt, said Wren, briefly.
Walton expressed an opinion that
Kennedy was a cad; which, however
sound in itself, did little to improve the
condition of Wren.
Having disposed of Wren, Kennedy
sat down seriously to consider this new
development of a difficult situation.
Hitherto he had imagined Fenn to be
merely a sort of passive resister who
confined himself to the Achilles-in-his-
tent business, and was only a nuisance
because he refused to back him up. To
find him actually aiding and abetting
the house in its opposition to its head
was something of a shock. And yet, if
he had given Wren leave to go down
town, he had probably done the same
kind office by others. It irritated
Kennedy more than the most overt act
of enmity would have done. It was not
good form. It was hitting below the
belt. There was, of course, the chance
that Wrens story had not been true.
But he did not build much on that. He
did not yet know his Wren well, and
believed that such an audacious lie
would be beyond the daring of a fag.
But it would be worth while to make
inquiries. He went down the passage to
Fenns study. Fenn, however, had gone
to bed, so he resolved to approach him
on the subject next day. There was no
hurry.
He went to his dormitory, feeling
very bitter towards Fenn, and rehearsing
home truths with which to confound
him on the morrow.
JIMMY THE
PEACEMAKER
In these hustling times it is not
always easy to get ten minutes
conversation with an acquaintance in
private. There was drill in the dinner
298 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
hour next day for the corps, to which
Kennedy had to go directly after lunch.
It did not end till afternoon school
began. When afternoon school was
over, he had to turn out and practise
scrummaging with the first fifteen, in
view of an important school match
which was coming off on the following
Saturday. Kennedy had not yet
received his cap, but he was playing
regularly for the first fifteen, and was
generally looked upon as a certainty for
one of the last places in the team. Fenn,
being a three-quarter, had not to
participate in this practice. While the
forwards were scrummaging on the
second fifteen ground, the outsides ran
and passed on the first fifteen ground
over at the other end of the field.
Fenns training for the day finished
earlier than Kennedys, the captain of
the Eckleton fifteen, who led the scrum,
not being satisfied with the way in
which the forwards wheeled. He kept
them for a quarter of an hour after the
outsides had done their days work, and
when Kennedy got back to the house
and went to Fenns study, the latter was
not there. He had evidently changed
and gone out again, for his football
clothes were lying in a heap in a corner
of the room. Going back to his own
study, he met Spencer.
Have you seen Fenn? he asked.
No, said the fag. He hasnt come and reply Yes or No, as the
in.
Hes come in all right, but hes
gone out again. Go and ask Taylor if he
knows where he is.
Taylor was Fenns fag.
Spencer went to the junior dayroom,
and returned with the information that
Taylor did not know.
Oh, all right, thenit doesnt
matter, said Kennedy, and went into
his study to change.
He had completed this operation, and
was thinking of putting his kettle on for
tea, when there was a knock at the door.
It was Baker, Jimmy Silvers fag.
Oh, Kennedy, he said, Silver
says, if you arent doing anything
special, will you go over to his study to
tea?
Why, is there anything on?
It struck him as curious that Jimmy
should take the trouble to send his fag
over to Kays with a formal invitation.
As a rule the head of Blackburns kept
open house. His friends were given to
understand that they could drop in
whenever they liked. Kennedy looked
in for tea three times a week on an
average.
I dont think so, said Baker.
Who else is going to be there?
Jimmy Silver sometimes took it into
his head to entertain weird beings from
other houses whose brothers or cousins
he had met in the holidays. On such
occasions he liked to have some trusty
friend by him to help the conversation
along. It struck Kennedy that this might
be one of those occasions. If so, he
would send back a polite but firm
refusal of the invitation. Last time he
had gone to help Jimmy entertain a
guest of this kind, conversation had
come to a dead standstill a quarter of an
hour after his arrival, the guest refusing
to do anything except eat prodigiously,
question might demand, when spoken
to. Also he had declined to stir from his
seat till a quarter to seven. Kennedy
was not going to be let in for another
orgy of that nature if he knew it.
Whos with Silver? he asked.
Only Fenn, said Baker.
Kennedy pondered for a moment.
All right, he said, at last, tell him
Ill be round in a few minutes.
He sat thinking the thing over after
Baker had gone back to Blackburns
 JIMMY THE PEACEMAKER
with the message. He saw Silvers
game, of course. Jimmy had made no
secret for some time of his disgust at the
coolness between Kennedy and Fenn.
Not knowing all the circumstances, he
considered it absolute folly. If only he
could get the two together over a quiet
pot of tea, he imagined that it would not
be a difficult task to act effectively as a
peacemaker.
Kennedy was sorry for Jimmy. He
appreciated his feelings in the matter.
He would not have liked it himself if his
two best friends had been at daggers
drawn. Still, he could not bring himself
to treat Fenn as if nothing had
happened, simply to oblige Silver.
There had been a time when he might
have done it, but now that Fenn had
started a deliberate campaign against
him by giving Wrenand probably,
thought Kennedy, half the other fags in
the houseleave down town when he
ought to have sent them on to him,
things had gone too far. However, he
could do no harm by going over to
Jimmys to tea, even if Fenn was there.
He had not looked to interview Fenn
before an audience, but if that audience
consisted only of Jimmy, it would not
matter so much.
His advent surprised Fenn. The
astute James, fancying that if he
mentioned that he was expecting
Kennedy to tea, Fenn would make a
bolt for it, had said nothing about it.
When Kennedy arrived there was
one of those awkward pauses which are
so difficult to fill up in a satisfactory
manner.
Now youre up, Fenn, said Jimmy,
as the latter rose, evidently with the
intention of leaving the study, you
might as well reach down that toasting-
fork and make some toast.
Im afraid I must be off now,
Jimmy, said Fenn.
299
No you arent, said Silver. You
bustle about and make yourself useful,
and dont talk rot. Youll find your cup
on that shelf over there, Kennedy. Itll
want a wipe round. Better use the
table-cloth.
There was silence in the study until
tea was ready. Then Jimmy Silver
spoke.
Long time since we three had tea
together, he said, addressing the
remark to the teapot.
Kennedys a busy man, said Fenn,
suavely. Hes got a house to look
after.
And Im going to look after it, said
Kennedy, as youll find.
Jimmy Silver put in a plaintive
protest.
I wish you two men wouldnt talk
shop, he said. Its bad enough having
Kays next door to one, without your
dragging it into the conversation. How
were the forwards this evening,
Kennedy?
Not bad, said Kennedy, shortly.
I wonder if we shall lick
Tuppenham on Saturday?
I dont know, said Kennedy; and
there was silence again.
Look here, Jimmy, said Kennedy,
after a long pause, during which the
head of Blackburns tried to fill up the
blank in the conversation by toasting a
piece of bread in a way which was
intended to suggest that if he were not
so busy, the talk would be unchecked
and animated, its no good. We must
have it out some time, so it may as well
be here as anywhere else. Ive been
looking for Fenn all day.
Sorry to give you all that trouble,
said Fenn, with a sneer. Got
something important to say?
Yes.
Go ahead, then.
Jimmy Silver stood between them
300 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
with the toasting-fork in his hand, as if
he meant to plunge it into the one who
first showed symptoms of flying at the
others throat. He was unhappy. His
peace-making tea-party was not proving
a success.
I wanted to ask you, said Kennedy,
quietly, what you meant by giving the
fags leave down town when you knew
that they ought to come to me?
The gentle and intelligent reader will
remember (though that miserable worm,
the vapid and irreflective reader, will
have forgotten) that at the beginning of
the term the fags of Kays had
endeavoured to show their approval of
Fenn and their disapproval of Kennedy
by applying to the former for leave
when they wished to go to the town;
and that Fenn had received them in the
most ungrateful manner with blows
instead of exeats. Strong in this
recollection, he was not disturbed by
Kennedys question. Indeed, it gave
him a comfortable feeling of rectitude.
There is nothing more pleasant than to
be accused to your face of something
which you can deny on the spot with an
easy conscience. It is like getting a
very loose ball at cricket. Fenn felt
almost friendly towards Kennedy.
I meant nothing, he replied, for
the simple reason that I didnt do it.
I caught Wren down town
yesterday, and he said you had given
him leave.
Then he lied, and I hope you licked
him.
There you are, you see, broke in
Jimmy Silver triumphantly, its all a
misunderstanding. You two have got
no right to be cutting one another. Why
on earth cant you stop all this rot, and
behave like decent members of society
again?
As a matter of fact, said Fenn,
they did try it on earlier in the term. I
wasted a lot of valuable time pointing
out to them with a swagger-stickthat I
was the wrong person to come to. Im
sorry you should have thought I could
play it as low down as that.
Kennedy hesitated. It is not very
pleasant to have to climb down after
starting a conversation in a stormy and
wrathful vein. But it had to be done.
Im sorry, Fenn, he said; I was an
idiot.
Jimmy Silver cut in again.
You were, he said, with
enthusiasm. You both were. I used to
think Fenn was a bigger idiot than you,
but now Im inclined to call it a dead
heat. Whats the good of going on
trying to see which of you can make the
bigger fool of himself? Youve both
lowered all previous records.
I suppose we have, said Fenn. At
least, I have.
No, I have, said Kennedy.
You both have, said Jimmy
Silver. Another cup of tea, anybody?
Say when.
Fenn and Kennedy walked back to
Kays together, and tea-d together in
Fenns study on the following
afternoon, to the amazementand even
scandalof Master Spencer, who
discovered them at it. Spencer liked
excitement; and with the two leaders of
the house at logger-heads, things could
never be really dull. If, as appearances
seemed to suggest, they had agreed to
settle their differences, life would
become monotonous againpossibly
even unpleasant.
This thought flashed through
Spencers brain (as he called it) when
he opened Fenns door and found him
helping Kennedy to tea.
Oh, the headmaster wants to see
you, please, Fenn, said Spencer,
recovering from his amazement, and
told me to give you this.
 JIMMY THE PEACEMAKER 301

This was a prefects cap. Fenn himself, with a yawn. It never struck
recognised it without difficulty. It was him that Fenn could be in any serious
the cap he had left in the sitting-room of trouble. Fenn was a prefect; and when
the house in the High Street. the headmaster sent for a prefect, it was
generally to tell him that he had got a
split infinitive in his English Essay that
IN WHICH AN EPISODE week.
Glad Im not you, he added, as a
IS CLOSED gust of wind rattled the sash, and the
rain dashed against the pane. Beastly
Thanks, said Fenn.
evening to have to go out.
He stood twirling the cap round in
It isnt the rain I mind, said Fenn;
his hand as Spencer closed the door.
its whats going to happen when I get
Then he threw it on to the table. He did
indoors again, and refused to explain
not feel particularly disturbed at the
further. There would be plenty of time
thought of the interview that was to
to tell Kennedy the whole story when
come. He had been expecting the cap to
he returned. It was better not to keep
turn up, like the corpse of Eugene
the headmaster waiting.
Arams victim, at some inconvenient
The first thing he noticed on
moment. It was a pity that it had come
reaching the School House was the
just as things looked as if they might be
strange demeanour of the butler.
made more or less tolerable in Kays.
Whenever Fenn had had occasion to
He had been looking forward with a
call on the headmaster hitherto, Watson
grim pleasure to the sensation that
had admitted him with the air of a high
would be caused in the house when it
priest leading a devotee to a shrine of
became known that he and Kennedy
which he was the sole managing
had formed a combine for its moral and
director. This evening he seemed
physical benefit. But that was all over.
restless, excited.
He would be sacked, beyond a doubt.
Good evening, Mr Fenn, he said.
In the history of Eckleton, as far as he
This way, sir.
knew it, there had never been a case of
Those were his actual words. Fenn
a fellow breaking out at night and not
had not known for certain until now that
being expelled when he was caught. It
he could talk. On previous occasions
was one of the cardinal sins in the
their conversations had been limited to
school code. There had been the case
an Is the headmaster in? from Fenn,
of Peter Brown, which his brother had
and a stately inclination of the head
mentioned in his letter. And in his own
from Watson. The man was getting a
time he had seen three men vanish from
positive babbler.
Eckleton for the same offence. He did
With an eager, springy step, distantly
not flatter himself that his record at the
reminiscent of a shopwalker heading a
school was so good as to make it likely
procession of customers, with a touch
that the authorities would stretch a point
of the style of the winner in a walking-
in his favour.
race to Brighton, the once slow-moving
So long, Kennedy, he said.
butler led the way to the headmasters
Youll be here when I get back, I
study.
suppose?
For the first time since he started out,
What does he want you for, do you
Fenn was conscious of a tremor. There
think? asked Kennedy, stretching
302 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
is something about a closed door,
behind which somebody is waiting to
receive one, which appeals to the
imagination, especially if the ensuing
meeting is likely to be an unpleasant
one.
Ah, Fenn, said the headmaster.
Come in.
Fenn wondered. It was not in this
tone of voice that the Head was wont to
begin a conversation which was going
to prove painful.
Youve got your cap, Fenn? I gave
it to a small boy in your house to take to
you.
Yes, sir.
He had given up all hope of
understanding the Heads line of
action. Unless he was playing a deep
game, and intended to flash out
suddenly with a keen question which it
would be impossible to parry, there
seemed nothing to account for the
strange absence of anything unusual in
his manner. He referred to the cap as if
he had borrowed it from Fenn, and had
returned it by bearer, hoping that its loss
had not inconvenienced him at all.
I daresay, continued the Head,
that you are wondering how it came
into my possession. You missed it, of
course?
Very much, sir, said Fenn, with
perfect truth.
It has just been brought to my
house, together with a great many other
things, more valuable, perhaps,here
he smiled a head-magisterial smile-
by a policeman from Eckleton.
Fenn was still unequal to the
intellectual pressure of the
conversation. He could understand, in a
vague way, that for some unexplained
reason things were going well for him,
but beyond that his mind was in a whirl.
You will remember the unfortunate
burglary of Mr Kays house and mine.
Your cap was returned with the rest of
the stolen property.
Just so, thought Fenn. The rest of
the stolen property? Exactly. Go on.
Dont mind me. I shall begin to
understand soon, I suppose.
He condensed these thoughts into the
verbal reply, Yes, sir.
I sent for you to identify your own
property. I see there is a silver cup
belonging to you. Perhaps there are
also other articles. Go and see. You
will find them on that table. They are in
a hopeless state of confusion, having
been conveyed here in a sack.
Fortunately, nothing is broken.
He was thinking of certain valuables
belonging to himself which had been
abstracted from his drawing-room on
the occasion of the burglars visit to the
School House.
Fenn crossed the room, and began to
inspect the table indicated. On it was as
mixed a collection of valuable and
useless articles as one could wish to
see. He saw his cup at once, and
attached himself to it. But of all the
other exhibits in this private collection,
he could recognise nothing else as his
property.
There is nothing of mine here
except the cup, sir, he said.
Ah. Then that is all, I think. You
are going back to Mr Kays. Then
please send Kennedy to me. Good
night, Fenn.
Good night, sir.
Even now Fenn could not understand
it. The more he thought it over, the
more his brain reeled. He could grasp
the fact that his cap and his cup were
safe again, and that there was evidently
going to be no sacking for the moment.
But how it had all happened, and how
the police had got hold of his cap, and
why they had returned it with the loot
gathered in by the burglar who had
 IN WHICH AN EPISODE IS CLOSED
visited Kays and the School House,
were problems which, he had to
confess, were beyond him.
He walked to Kays through the rain
with the cup under his mackintosh, and
freely admitted to himself that there
were things in heaven and earthand
particularly earthwhich no fellow
could understand.
I dont know, he said, when
Kennedy pressed for an explanation of
the reappearance of the cup. Its no
good asking me. Im going now to
borrow the matrons smelling-salts: I
feel faint. After that I shall wrap a wet
towel round my head, and begin to
think it out. Meanwhile, youre to go
over to the Head. Hes had enough of
me, and he wants to have a look at
you.
Me? said Kennedy. Why?
Now, is it any good asking me??
said Fenn. If you can find out what
its all about, Ill thank you if youll
come and tell me.
Ten minutes later Kennedy returned.
He carried a watch and chain.
I couldnt think what had happened
to my watch, he said. I missed it on
the day after that burglary here, but I
never thought of thinking it had been
collared by a professional. I thought I
must have lost it somewhere.
Well, have you grasped whats been
happening?
Ive grasped my ticker, which is
good enough for me. Half a second.
The old man wants to see the rest of the
prefects. Hes going to work through
the house in batches, instead of man by
man. Ill just go round the studies and
rout them out, and then Ill come back
and explain. Its perfectly simple.
Glad you think so, said Fenn.
Kennedy went and returned.
Now, he said, subsiding into a
deck-chair, what is it you dont
303
understand?
I dont understand anything. Begin
at the beginning.
I got the yarn from the butler-
whats his name?
Those who know him well enough
to venture to give him a nameIve
never dared to myselfcall him
Watson, said Fenn.
I got the yarn from Watson. He
was as excited as anything about it. I
never saw him like that before.
I noticed something queer about
him.
Hes awfully bucked, and is doing
the Ancient Mariner business all over
the place. Wants to tell the story to
everyone he sees.
Well, suppose you follow his
example. I want to hear about it.
Well, it seems that the police have
been watching a house at the corner of
the High Street for some timewhats
up?
Nothing. Go on.
But you said, By Jove!
Well, why shouldnt I say By
Jove? When you are telling
sensational yarns, its my duty to say
something of the sort. Buck along.
Its a house not far from the Town
Hall, at the corner of Pegwell Street-
youve probably been there scores of
times.
Once or twice, perhaps, said
Fenn. Well?
About a month ago two suspicious-
looking bounders went to live there.
Watson says their faces were enough to
hang them. Anyhow, they must have
been pretty bad, for they made even the
Eckleton police, who are pretty
average-sized rotters, suspicious, and
they kept an eye on them. Well, after a
bit there began to be a regular epidemic
of burglary round about here. Watson
says half the houses round were broken
304 THE HEAD OF KAY'S

into. The police thought it was getting KAYS CHANGES ITS

a bit too thick, but they didnt like to
raid the house without some jolly good NAME
evidence that these two men were the
For the remaining weeks of the
burglars, so they lay low and waited till
winter term, things went as smoothly in
they should give them a decent excuse
Kays as Kay would let them. That
for jumping on them. They had had a
restless gentleman still continued to
detective chap down from London, by
burst in on Kennedy from time to time
the way, to see if he couldnt do
with some sensational story of how he
something about the burglaries, and he
had found a fag doing what he ought
kept his eye on them, too.
not to have done. But there was a world
They had quite a gallery. Didnt
of difference between the effect these
they notice any of the eyes?
visits had now and that which they had
No. Then after a bit one of them
had when Kennedy had stood alone in
nipped off to London with a big bag.
the house, his hand against all men.
The detective chap was after him like a
Now that he could work off the effects
shot. He followed him from the station,
of such encounters by going straight to
saw him get into a cab, got into another
Fenns study and picking the house-
himself, and stuck to him hard. The
master to pieces, the latters peculiar
front cab stopped at about a dozen
methods ceased to be irritating, and
pawnbrokers shops. The detective
became funny. Mr Kay was always
Johnny took the names and addresses,
ferreting out the weirdest misdoings on
and hung on to the burglar man all day,
the part of the members of his house,
and finally saw him return to the
and rushing to Kennedys study to tell
station, where he caught a train back to
him about them at full length, like a
Eckleton. Directly he had seen him off,
rather indignant dog bringing a rat he
the detective got into a cab, called on
has hunted down into a drawing-room,
the dozen pawnbrokers, showed his
to display it to the company. On one
card, with Scotland Yard on it, I
occasion, when Fenn and Jimmy Silver
suppose, and asked to see what the
were in Kennedys study, Mr Kay
other chap had pawned. He identified
dashed in to complain bitterly that he
every single thing as something that had
had discovered that the junior dayroom
been collared from one of the houses
kept mice in their lockers. Apparently
round Eckleton way. So he came back
this fact seemed to him enough to cause
here, told the police, and they raided the
an epidemic of typhoid fever in the
house, and there they found stacks of
place, and he hauled Kennedy over the
loot of all descriptions.
coals, in a speech that lasted five
Including my cap, said Fenn,
minutes, for not having detected this
thoughtfully. I see now.
plague-spot in the house.
Rummy the man thinking it worth
So thats the celebrity at home, is
his while to take an old cap, said
it? said Jimmy Silver, when he had
Kennedy.
gone. I now begin to understand more
Very, said Fenn. But its been a
or less why this house wants a new
rum business all along.
Head every two terms. Is he often
taken like that?
Hes never anything else, said
Kennedy. Fenn keeps a list of the
 KAYS CHANGES ITS NAME
things he rags me about, and we have
an even shilling on, each week, that he
will beat the record of the previous
week. At first I used to get the shilling
if he lowered the record; but after a bit
it struck us that it wasnt fair, so now
we take it on alternate weeks. This is
my week, by the way. I think I can
trouble you for that bob, Fenn?
I wish I could make it more, said
Fenn, handing over the shilling.
What sort of things does he rag you
about generally? inquired Silver.
Fenn produced a slip of paper.
Here are a few, he said, for this
month. He came in on the 10th because
he found two kids fighting. Kennedy
was down town when it happened, but
that made no difference. Then he
caught the senior dayroom making a
row of some sort. He said it was
perfectly deafening; but we couldnt
hear it in our studies. I believe he goes
round the house, listening at keyholes.
That was on the 16th. On the 22nd he
found a chap in Kennedys dormitory
wandering about the house at one in the
morning. He seemed to think that
Kennedy ought to have sat up all night
on the chance of somebody cutting out
of the dormitory. At any rate, he ragged
him. I won the weekly shilling on that;
and deserved it, too.
Fenn had to go over to the
gymnasium shortly after this. Jimmy
Silver stayed on, talking to Kennedy.
And bar Kay, said Jimmy, how do quite decently on the track, if they
do you find the house doing? Any
better?
Better! Its getting a sort of model
establishment. I believe, if we keep
pegging away at them, we may win
some sort of a cup sooner or later.
Well, Kays very nearly won the
cricket cup last year. You ought to get
it next season, now that you and Fenn
are both in the team.
305
Oh, I dont know. Itll be a fluke if
we do. Still, were hoping. It isnt
every house thats got a county man in
it. But were breaking out in another
place. Dont let it get about, for
goodness sake, but were going for the
sports cup.
Hope youll get it. Blackburns
wont have a chance, anyhow, and I
should like to see somebody get it away
from the School House. Theyve had it
much too long. Theyre beginning to
look on it as their right. But who are
your men?
Well, Fenn ought to be a cert for
the hundred and the quarter, to start
with.
But the School House must get the
long run, and the mile, and the half, too,
probably.
Yes. We havent anyone to beat
Milligan, certainly. But there are the
second and third places. Dont forget
those. Thats where were going to
have a look in. Theres all sorts of
unsuspected talent in Kays. To look at
Peel, for instance, you wouldnt think
he could do the hundred in eleven,
would you? Well, he can, only hes
been too slack to go in for the race at
the sports, because it meant training. I
had him up here and reasoned with him,
and hes promised to do his best.
Eleven is good enough for second place
in the hundred, dont you think? There
are lots of others in the house who can
try. Ive been making strict inquiries.
Kays are hot stuff, Jimmy. Heap big
medicine. Thats what they are.
Youre a wonderful man,
Kennedy, said Jimmy Silver. And he
meant it. Kennedys uphill fight at
Kays had appealed to him strongly. He
himself had never known what it meant
to have to manage a hostile house. He
had stepped into his predecessors shoes
306 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
at Blackburns much as the heir to a
throne becomes king. Nobody had
thought of disputing his right to the
place. He was next man in; so, directly
the departure of the previous head of
Blackburns left a vacancy, he stepped
into it, and the machinery of the house
had gone on as smoothly as if there had
been no change at all. But Kennedy had
gone in against a slack and antagonistic
house, with weak prefects to help him,
and a fussy house-master; and he had
fought them all for a term, and looked
like winning. Jimmy admired his friend
with a fervour which nothing on earth
would have tempted him to reveal.
Like most people with a sense of
humour, he had a fear of appearing
ridiculous, and he hid his real feelings
as completely as he was able.
How is the footer getting on?
inquired Jimmy, remembering the
difficulties Kennedy had encountered
earlier in the term in connection with
his house team.
Its better, said Kennedy. life Walton would have gone to the
Keener, at any rate. We shall do our
best in the house-matches. But we
arent a good team.
Any more trouble about your being
captain instead of Fenn?
No. We both sign the lists now.
Fenn didnt want to, but I thought it
would be a good idea, so we tried it. It
seems to have worked all right.
Of course, your getting your first
has probably made a difference.
A bit, perhaps.
Well, I hope you wont get the
footer cup, because I want it for
Blackburns. Or the cricket cup. I want
that, too. But you can have the sports
cup with my blessing.
Thanks, said Kennedy. Its very
generous of you.
Dont mention it, said Jimmy.
From which conversation it will be
seen that Kays was gradually pulling
itself together. It had been asleep for
years. It was now waking up.
When the winter term ended, there
were distinct symptoms of an outbreak
of public spirit in the house.
The Easter term opened auspiciously
in one way. Neither Walton nor Perry
returned. The former had been snapped
up in the middle of the holidaysto his
enormous disgustby a bank, which
wanted his services so much that it was
prepared to pay him 40 pounds a year
simply to enter the addresses of its
outgoing letters in a book, and post
them when he had completed this
ceremony. After a spell of this he
might hope to be transferred to another
sphere of bank life and thought, and at
the end of his first year he might even
hope for a rise in his salary of ten
pounds, if his conduct was good, and he
had not been late on more than twenty
mornings in the year. I am aware that
in a properly-regulated story of school-
Eckleton races, returned in a state of
speechless intoxication, and been
summarily expelled; but facts are facts,
and must not be tampered with. The
ingenious but not industrious Perry had
been superannuated. For three years he
had been in the Lower Fourth.
Probably the master of that form went
to the Head, and said that his
constitution would not stand another
year of him, and that either he or Perry
must go. So Perry had departed. Like a
poor play, he had failed to attract, and
was withdrawn. There was also another
departure of an even more momentous
nature.
Mr Kay had left Eckleton.
Kennedy was no longer head of
Kays. He was now head of Dencrofts.
Mr Dencroft was one of the most
popular masters in the school. He was a
 KAYS CHANGES ITS NAME
keen athlete and a tactful master. Fenn
and Kennedy knew him well, through
having played at the nets and in scratch
games with him. They both liked him.
If Kennedy had had to select a house-
master, he would have chosen Mr
Blackburn first. But Mr Dencroft
would have been easily second.
Fenn learned the facts from the
matron, and detailed them to Kennedy.
Kay got the offer of a
headmastership at a small school in the
north, and jumped at it. I pity the
fellows there. They are going to have a
lively time.
Im jolly glad Dencroft has got the
house, said Kennedy. We might have
had some awful rotter put in. Dencroft
will help us buck up the house games.
The new house-master sent for
Kennedy on the first evening of term.
He wished to find out how the Head of
the house and the ex-Head stood with
regard to one another. He knew the
circumstances, and comprehended
vaguely that there had been trouble.
I hope we shall have a good term,
he said.
I hope so, sir, said Kennedy.
Youeryou think the house is
keener, Kennedy, than when you first
came in?
Yes, sir. They are getting quite
keen now. We might win the sports.
I hope we shall. I wish we could
win the football cup, too, but I am
afraid Mr Blackburns are very heavy
metal.
Its hardly likely we shall have very
much chance with them; but we might
get into the final!
It would be an excellent thing for
the house if we could. I hope Fenn is
helping you get the team into shape?
he added.
Oh, yes, sir, said Kennedy. We
share the captaincy. We both sign the
307
lists.
A very good idea, said Mr
Dencroft, relieved. Good night,
Kennedy.
Good night, sir, said Kennedy.
THE HOUSE-MATCHES
The chances of Kays in the inter-
house Football Competition were not
thought very much of by their rivals.
Of late years each of the other houses
had prayed to draw Kays for the first
round, it being a certainty that this
would mean that they got at least into
the second round, and so a step nearer
the cup. Nobody, however weak
compared to Blackburns, which was at
the moment the crack football house,
ever doubted the result of a match with
Kays. It was looked on as a sort of
gentle trial trip.
But the efforts of the two captains
during the last weeks of the winter term
had put a different complexion on
matters. Football is not like cricket. It
is a game at which anybody of average
size and a certain amount of pluck can
make himself at least moderately
proficient. Kennedy, after consultations
with Fenn, had picked out what he
considered the best fifteen, and the two
set themselves to knock it into shape.
In weight there was not much to
grumble at. There were several heavy
men in the scrum. If only these could
be brought to use their weight to the last
ounce when shoving, all would be well
as far as the forwards were concerned.
The outsides were not so satisfactory.
With the exception, of course, of Fenn,
they lacked speed. They were well-
meaning, but they could not run any
faster by virtue of that. Kays would
have to trust to its scrum to pull it
through. Peel, the sprinter whom
308 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
Kennedy had discovered in his search
for athletes, had to be put in the pack on
account of his weight, which deprived
the three-quarter line of what would
have been a good man in that position.
It was a drawback, too, that Fenn was
accustomed to play on the wing. To be
of real service, a wing three-quarter
must be fed by his centres, and,
unfortunately, there was no centre in
Kaysor Dencrofts, as it should now
be calledwho was capable of making
openings enough to give Fenn a
chance. So he had to play in the centre,
where he did not know the game so
well.
Kennedy realised at an early date
that the one chance of the house was to
get together before the house-matches
and play as a coherent team, not as a
collection of units. Combination will
often make up for lack of speed in a
three-quarter line. So twice a week
Dencrofts turned out against scratch
teams of varying strength.
It delighted Kennedy to watch their
improvement. The first side they
played ran through them to the tune of
three goals and four tries to a try, and it
took all the efforts of the Head of the
house to keep a spirit of pessimism
from spreading in the ranks. Another
frost of this sort, and the sprouting
keenness of the house would be nipped
in the bud. He conducted himself with
much tact. Another captain might have
made the fatal error of trying to stir his
team up with pungent abuse. He
realised what a mistake this would be.
It did not need a great deal of
discouragement to send the house back
to its old slack ways. Another such
defeat, following immediately in the
footsteps of the first, and they would
begin to ask themselves what was the
good of mortifying the flesh simply to
get a licking from a scratch team by
twenty-four points. Kays, they would
feel, always had got beaten, and they
always would, to the end of time. A
house that has once got thoroughly
slack does not change its views of life
in a moment.
Kennedy acted craftily.
You played jolly well, he told his
despondent team, as they trooped off
the field. We havent got together yet,
thats all. And it was a hot side we
were playing today. They would have
licked Blackburns.
A good deal more in the same strain
gave the house team the comfortable
feeling that they had done uncommonly
well to get beaten by only twenty-four
points. Kennedy fostered the delusion,
and in the meantime arranged with Mr
Dencroft to collect fifteen innocents and
lead them forth to be slaughtered by the
house on the following Friday. Mr
Dencroft entered into the thing with a
relish. When he showed Kennedy the
list of his team on the Friday morning,
that diplomatist chuckled. He foresaw a
good time in the near future. You
must play up like the dickens, he told
the house during the dinner-hour.
Dencroft is bringing a hot lot this
afternoon. But I think we shall lick
them.
They did. When the whistle blew for
No-side, the house had just finished
scoring its fourteenth try. Six goals and
eight tries to nil was the exact total.
Dencrofts returned to headquarters,
asking itself in a dazed way if these
things could be. They saw that cup on
their mantelpiece already. Keenness
redoubled. Football became the fashion
in Dencrofts. The play of the team
improved weekly. And its spirit
improved too. The next scratch team
they played beat them by a goal and a
try to a goal. Dencrofts was not
depressed. It put the result down to a
 THE HOUSE-MATCHES
fluke. Then they beat another side by a
try to nothing; and by that time they had
got going as an organised team, and
their heart was in the thing.
They had improved out of all
knowledge when the house-matches
began. Blairs was the lucky house that
drew against them in the first round.
Good business, said the men of
Blair. Wonder who well play in the
second round.
They left the field marvelling. For
some unaccountable reason, Dencrofts
had flatly refused to act in the good old
way as a doormat for their opponents.
Instead, they had played with a dash
and knowledge of the game which for
the first quarter of an hour quite
unnerved Blairs. In that quarter of an
hour they scored three times, and
finished the game with two goals and
three tries to their name.
The School looked on it as a huge
joke. Heard the latest? friends would
say on meeting one another the day
after the game. KaysI mean
Dencroftshave won a match. They
simply sat on Blairs. First time theyve
ever won a house-match, I should
think. Blairs are awfully sick. We
shall have to be looking out.
Whereat the friend would grin
broadly. The idea of Dencrofts making
a game of it with his house tickled him.
When Dencrofts took fifteen points
off Mulhollands, the joke began to lose
its humour.
Why, they must be some good,
said the public, startled at the novelty of
the idea. If they win another match,
theyll be in the final!
Kays in the final! Cricket? Oh,
yes, they had got into the final at
cricket, of course. But that wasnt the
house. It was Fenn. Footer was
different. One man couldnt do
everything there. The only possible
309
explanation was that they had improved
to an enormous extent.
Then people began to remember that
they had played in scratch games
against the house. There seemed to be a
tremendous number of fellows who had
done this. At one time or another, it
seemed, half the School had opposed
Dencrofts in the ranks of a scratch
side. It began to dawn on Eckleton that
in an unostentatious way Dencrofts had
been putting in about seven times as
much practice as any other three houses
rolled together. No wonder they
combined so well.
When the School House, with three
first fifteen men in its team, fell before
them, the reputation of Dencrofts was
established. It had reached the final,
and only Blackburns stood now
between it and the cup.
All this while Blackburns had been
doing what was expected of them by
beating each of their opponents with
great ease. There was nothing
sensational about this as there was in
the case of Dencrofts. The latter were,
therefore, favourites when the two
teams lined up against one another in
the final. The School felt that a house
that had had such a meteoric flight as
Dencrofts mustby all that was
dramaticcarry the thing through to its
obvious conclusion, and pull off the
final.
But Fenn and Kennedy were not so
hopeful. A certain amount of science, a
great deal of keenness, and excellent
condition, had carried them through the
other rounds in rare style, but, though
they would probably give a good
account of themselves, nobody who
considered the two teams impartially
could help seeing that Dencrofts was a
weaker side than Blackburns. Nothing
but great good luck could bring them
out victorious today.
310 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
And so it proved. Dencrofts played
up for all they were worth from the
kick-off to the final solo on the whistle,
but they were over-matched.
Blackburns scrum was too heavy for
them, with its three first fifteen men and
two seconds. Dencrofts pack were
shoved off the ball time after time, and
it was only keen tackling that kept the
score down. By half-time Blackburns
were a couple of tries ahead. Fenn
scored soon after the interval with a
great run from his own twenty-five, and
for a quarter of an hour it looked as if it
might be anybodys game. Kennedy
converted the try, so that Blackburns
only led by a single point. A fluky kick
or a mistake on the part of a
Blackburnite outside might give
Dencrofts the cup.
But the Blackburn outsides did not
make mistakes. They played a strong,
sure game, and the forwards fed them
well. Ten minutes before No-side,
Jimmy Silver ran in, increasing the lead
to six points. And though Dencrofts
never went to pieces, and continued to
show fight to the very end, Blackburns
were not to be denied, and Challis
scored a final try in the corner.
Blackburns won the cup by the
comfortable, but not excessive, margin
of a goal and three tries to a goal.
Dencrofts had lost the cup; but they
had lost it well. Their credit had
increased in spite of the defeat.
I thought we shouldnt be able to
manage Blackburns, said Kennedy,
What we must do now is win that
sports cup.
THE SPORTS
There were certain houses at
Eckleton which had, as it were,
specialised in certain competitions.
Thus, Gays, who never by any chance
survived the first two rounds of the
cricket and football housers, invariably
won the shooting shield. All the other
houses sent their brace of men to the
range to see what they could do, but
every year it was the same. A pair of
weedy obscurities from Gays would
take the shield by a comfortable
margin. In the same way Mulhollands
had only won the cricket cup once since
they had become a house, but they had
carried off the swimming cup three
years in succession, and six years in all
out of the last eight. The sports had
always been looked on as the perquisite
of the School House; and this year, with
Milligan to win the long distances, and
Maybury the high jump and the weight,
there did not seem much doubt at their
success. These two alone would pile up
fifteen points. Three points were given
for a win, two for second place, and one
for third. It was this that encouraged
Kennedy in the hope that Dencrofts
might have a chance. Nobody in the
house could beat Milligan or Maybury,
but the School House second and third
strings were not so invincible. If
Dencrofts, by means of second and
third places in the long races and the
other events which were certainties for
their opponents, could hold the School
House, Fenns sprinting might just give
them the cup. In the meantime they
trained hard, but in an unobtrusive
fashion which aroused no fear in School
House circles.
The sports were fixed for the last
Saturday of term, but not all the races
were run on that day. The half-mile
came off on the previous Thursday, and
the long steeplechase on the Monday
after.
The School House won the half-
mile, as they were expected to do.
Milligan led from the start, increased
 THE SPORTS
his lead at the end of the first lap,
doubled it half-way through the second,
and finally, with a dazzling sprint in the
last seventy yards, lowered the Eckleton
record by a second and three-fifths, and
gave his house three points. Kennedy,
who stuck gamely to his man for half
the first lap, was beaten on the tape by
Crake, of Mulhollands. When sports
day came, therefore, the score was
School House three points,
Mulhollands two, Dencrofts one. The
success of Mulhollands in the half was
to the advantage of Dencrofts.
Mulhollands was not likely to score
many more points, and a place to them
meant one or two points less to the
School House.
The sports opened all in favour of
Dencrofts, but those who knew drew
no great consolation from this. School
sports always begin with the sprints,
and these were Dencrofts certainties.
Fenn won the hundred yards as easily as
Milligan had won the half. Peel was
second, and a Beddells man got third
place. So that Dencrofts had now six
points to their rivals three. Ten
minutes later they had increased their
lead by winning the first two places at
throwing the cricket ball, Fenns throw
beating Kennedys by ten yards, and
Kennedys being a few feet in front of
Jimmy Silvers, which, by gaining third
place, represented the only point
Blackburns managed to amass during
the afternoon.
It now began to dawn upon the
School House that their supremacy was
seriously threatened. Dencrofts, by its
success in the football competition, had
to a great extent lived down the
reputation the house had acquired when
it had been Kays, but even now the
notion of its winning a cup seemed
somehow vaguely improper. But the
fact had to be faced that it now led by
311
eleven points to the School Houses
three.
Its all right, said the School
House, our spot events havent come
off yet. Dencrofts cant get much more
now.
And, to prove that they were right,
the gap between the two scores began
gradually to be filled up. Dencrofts
struggled hard, but the School House
total crept up and up. Maybury brought
it to six by winning the high jump. This
was only what had been expected of
him. The discomforting part of the
business was that the other two places
were filled by Morrell, of Mulhollands,
and Smith, of Dalys. And when,
immediately afterwards, Maybury won
the weight, with another School House
man second, leaving Dencrofts with
third place only, things began to look
black for the latter. They were now
only one point ahead, and there was the
mile to come: and Milligan could give
any Dencroftian a hundred yards at that
distance.
But to balance the mile there was the
quarter, and in the mile Kennedy
contrived to beat Crake by much the
same number of feet as Crake had
beaten him by in the half. The scores of
the two houses were now level, and a
goodly number of the School House
certainties were past.
Dencrofts forged ahead again by
virtue of the quarter-mile. Fenn won it;
Peel was second; and a dark horse from
Dennys got in third. With the greater
part of the sports over, and a lead of
five points to their name, Dencrofts
could feel more comfortable. The
hurdle-race was productive of some
discomfort. Fenn should have won it,
as being blessed with twice the pace of
any of his opponents. But Maybury, the
jumper, made up for lack of pace by the
scientific way in which he took his
312 THE HEAD OF KAY'S
hurdles, and won off him by a couple of
feet. Smith, Dencrofts second string,
finished third, thus leaving the totals
unaltered by the race.
By this time the public had become
alive to the fact that Dencrofts were
making a great fight for the cup. They
had noticed that Dencrofts colours
always seemed to be coming in near the
head of the procession, but the School
House had made the cup so much their
own, that it took some time for the
school to realise that another house-
especially the late Kayswas running
them hard for first place. Then, just
before the hurdle-race, fellows with
correct cards hastily totted up the
points each house had won up-to-date.
To the general amazement it was found
that, while the School House had
fourteen, Dencrofts had reached
nineteen, and, barring the long run to be
decided on the Monday, there was
nothing now that the School House
must win without dispute.
A house that will persist in winning
a cup year after year has to pay for it
when challenged by a rival. Dencrofts
instantly became warm favourites.
Whenever Dencrofts brown and gold
appeared at the scratch, the school
shouted for it wildly till the event was
over. By the end of the day the totals
were more nearly even, but Dencrofts
were still ahead. They had lost on the
long jump, but not unexpectedly. The
totals at the finish were, School House
twenty-three, Dencrofts twenty-five.
Everything now depended on the long
run.
We might do it, said Kennedy to
Fenn, as they changed. Milligans a
cert for three points, of course, but if we
can only get two we win the cup.
Theres one thing about the long
run, said Fenn; you never quite know
whats going to happen. Milligan might
break down over one of the hedges or
the brook. Theres no telling.
Kennedy felt that such a remote
possibility was something of a broken
reed to lean on. He had no expectation
of beating the School House long
distance runner, but he hoped for
second place; and second place would
mean the cup, for there was nobody to
beat either himself or Crake.
The distance of the long run was as
nearly as possible five miles. The
course was across country to the village
of Ledby in a sort of semicircle of three
and a half miles, and then back to the
school gates by road. Every
Eckletonian who ran at all knew the
route by heart. It was the recognised
training run if you wanted to train
particularly hard. If you did not, you
took a shorter spin. At the milestone
nearest the schoolit was about half a
mile from the gatesa good number of
fellows used to wait to see the first of
the runners and pace their men home.
But, as a rule, there were few really hot
finishes in the long run. The man who
got to Ledby first generally kept the
advantage, and came in a long way
ahead of the field.
On this occasion the close fight
Kennedy and Crake had had in the mile
and the half, added to the fact that
Kennedy had only to get second place
to give Dencrofts the cup, lent a greater
interest to the race than usual. The
crowd at the milestone was double the
size of the one in the previous year,
when Milligan had won for the first
time. And when, amidst howls of
delight from the School House, the
same runner ran past the stone with his
long, effortless stride, before any of the
others were in sight, the crowd settled
down breathlessly to watch for the
second man.
Then a yell, to which the other had
 THE SPORTS
been nothing, burst from the School
House as a white figure turned the
corner. It was Crake. Waddling rather
than running, and breathing in gasps;
but still Crake. He toiled past the
crowd at the milestone.
By Jove, he looks bad, said
someone.
And, indeed, he looked very bad.
But he was ahead of Kennedy. That
was the great thing.
He had passed the stone by thirty
yards, when the cheering broke out
again. Kennedy this time, in great
straits, but in better shape than Crake.
Dencrofts in a body trotted along at the
side of the road, shouting as they went.
Crake, hearing the shouts, looked
round, almost fell, and then pulled
himself together and staggered on
again. There were only a hundred yards
to go now, and the school gates were in
sight at the end of a long lane of
spectators. They looked to Kennedy
like two thick, black hedges. He could
not sprint, though a hundred voices
were shouting to him to do so. It was as
much as he could do to keep moving.
Only his will enabled him to run now.
He meant to get to the gates, if he had
to crawl.
The hundred yards dwindled to fifty,
313
and he had diminished Crakes lead by
a third. Twenty yards from the gates,
and he was only half-a-dozen yards
behind.
Crake looked round again, and this
time did what he had nearly done
before. His legs gave way; he rolled
over; and there he remained, with the
School House watching him in silent
dismay, while Kennedy went on and
pitched in a heap on the other side of
the gates.
*****
Feeling bad? said Jimmy Silver,
looking in that evening to make
inquiries.
Im feeling good, said Kennedy.
That the cup? asked Jimmy.
Kennedy took the huge cup from the
table.
Thats it. Milligan has just brought
it round. Well, they cant say they
havent had their fair share of it. Look
here. School House. School House.
School House. School House. Dalys.
School House. Dennys. School
House. School House. Ad infinitum.
They regarded the trophy in silence.
First pot the house has won, said
Kennedy at length. The very first.
It wont be the last, returned
Jimmy Silver, with decision.
314 THE WHITE FEATHER

THE WHITE FEATHER

By P. G. Wodehouse
1907
 THE WHITE FEATHER 315

[Dedication]
To
MY BROTHER DICK

The time of this story is a year and a term later than that of The Gold
Bat. The history of Wrykyn in between these two books is dealt with
in a number of short stories, some of them brainy in the extreme,
which have appeared in various magazines. I wanted Messrs Black
to publish these, but they were light on their feet and kept awaya
painful exhibition of the White Feather.

P. G. Wodehouse
316 THE WHITE FEATHER

CONTENTS
I EXPERT OPINIONS
II SHEEN AT HOME
III SHEEN RECEIVES VISITORS AND ADVICE
IV THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR
V THE WHITE FEATHER
VI ALBERT REDIVIVUS
VII MR JOE BEVAN
VIII A NAVAL BATTLE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
IX SHEEN BEGINS HIS EDUCATION
X SHEENS PROGRESS
XI A SMALL INCIDENT
XII DUNSTABLE AND LINTON GO UP THE RIVER
XIII DEUS EX MACHINA
XIV A SKIRMISH
XV THE ROUT AT RIPTON
XVI DRUMMOND GOES INTO RETIREMENT
XVII SEYMOURS ONE SUCCESS
XVIII MR BEVAN MAKES A SUGGESTION
XIX PAVING THE WAY
XX SHEEN GOES TO ALDERSHOT
XXI A GOOD START
XXII A GOOD FINISH
XXIII A SURPRISE FOR SEYMOURS
XXIV BRUCE EXPLAINS
 EXPERT OPINIONS
EXPERT OPINIONS
With apologies to gent opposite,
said Clowes, I must say I dont think
much of the team.
Dont apologise to me, said
Allardyce disgustedly, as he filled the
teapot, I think theyre rotten.
They ought to have got into form
by now, too, said Trevor. Its not as
if this was the first game of the term.
First game! Allardyce laughed
shortly. Why, weve only got a couple
of club matches and the return match
with Ripton to end the season. It is
about time they got into form, as you
say.
Clowes stared pensively into the fire.
They struck me, he said, as the
sort of team whod get into form
somewhere in the middle of the cricket
season.
Thats about it, said Allardyce.
Try those biscuits, Trevor. Theyre
about the only good thing left in the
place.
School isnt what it was? inquired
Trevor, plunging a hand into the tin that
stood on the floor beside him.
No, said Allardyce, not only in
footer but in everything. The place
seems absolutely rotten. Its bad
enough losing all our matches, or nearly
all. Did you hear that Ripton took
thirty-seven points off us last term?
And we only just managed to beat
Greenburgh by a try to nil.
We got thirty points last year, he
went on. Thirty-three, and forty-two
the year before. Why, weve always
simply walked them. Its an understood
thing that we smash them. And this
year they held us all the time, and it was
only a fluke that we scored at all. Their
back miskicked, and let Barry in.
Barry struck me as the best of the
outsides today, said Clowes. Hes
317
heavier than he was, and faster.
Hes all right, agreed Allardyce.
If only the centres would feed him, we
might do something occasionally. But
did you ever see such a pair of rotters?
The man who was marking me
certainly didnt seem particularly
brilliant. I dont even know his name.
He didnt do anything at footer in my
time, said Trevor.
Hes a chap called Attell. He
wasnt here with you. He came after
the summer holidays. I believe he was
sacked from somewhere. Hes no good,
but theres nobody else. Colours have
been simply a gift this year to anyone
who can do a thing. Only Barry and
myself left from last years team. I
never saw such a clearance as there was
after the summer term.
Where are the boys of the Old
Brigade? sighed Clowes.
I dont know. I wish they were
here, said Allardyce.
Trevor and Clowes had come down,
after the Easter term had been in
progress for a fortnight, to play for an
Oxford A team against the school. The
match had resulted in an absurdly easy
victory for the visitors by over forty
points. Clowes had scored five tries off
his own bat, and Trevor, if he had not
fed his wing so conscientiously, would
probably have scored an equal number.
As it was, he had got through twice, and
also dropped a goal. The two were now
having a late tea with Allardyce in his
study. Allardyce had succeeded Trevor
as Captain of Football at Wrykyn, and
had found the post anything but a
sinecure.
For Wrykyn had fallen for the time
being on evil days. It was experiencing
the reaction which so often takes place
in a school in the year following a
season of exceptional athletic
prosperity. With Trevor as captain of
318 THE WHITE FEATHER
football, both the Ripton matches had
been won, and also three out of the four
other school matches. In cricket the
eleven had had an even finer record,
winning all their school matches, and
likewise beating the M.C.C. and Old
Wrykinians. It was too early to
prophesy concerning the fortunes of
next terms cricket team, but, if they
were going to resemble the fifteen,
Wrykyn was doomed to the worst
athletic year it had experienced for a
decade.
Its a bit of a come-down after last
season, isnt it? resumed Allardyce,
returning to his sorrows. It was a relief
to him to discuss his painful case
without restraint.
We were a fine team last year,
agreed Clowes, and especially strong
on the left wing. By the way, I see
youve moved Barry across.
Yes. Attell cant pass much, but he
passes better from right to left than
from left to right; so, Barry being our
scoring man, I shifted him across. The
chap on the other wing, Stanning, isnt
bad at times. Do you remember him?
Hes in Applebys. Then Drummonds
useful at half.
Jolly useful, said Trevor. I
thought he would be. I recommended
you last year to keep your eye on him.
Decent chap, Drummond, said
Clowes.
About the only one there is left in
the place, observed Allardyce
gloomily.
Our genial host, said Clowes,
sawing at the cake, appears to have
that tired feeling. He seems to have lost
that joie de vivre of his, what?
It must be pretty sickening, said
Trevor sympathetically. Im glad I
wasnt captain in a bad year.
The rummy thing is that the worse
they are, the more side they stick on.
You see chaps who wouldnt have been
in the third in a good year walking
about in first fifteen blazers, and first
fifteen scarves, and first fifteen
stockings, and sweaters with first fifteen
colours round the edges. I wonder they
dont tattoo their faces with first fifteen
colours.
It would improve some of them,
said Clowes.
Allardyce resumed his melancholy
remarks. But, as I was saying, its not
only that the footers rotten. That you
cant help, I suppose. Its the general
beastliness of things that I bar. Rows
with the town, for instance. Weve
been having them on and off ever since
you left. And itll be worse now,
because theres an election coming off
soon. Are you fellows stopping for the
night in the town? If so, I should advise
you to look out for yourselves.
Thanks, said Clowes. I shouldnt
like to see Trevor sand-bagged. Nor
indeed, should Ifor choicecare to
be sand-bagged myself. But, as it
happens, the good Donaldson is putting
us up, so we escape the perils of the
town.
Everybody seems so beastly slack
now, continued Allardyce. Its
considered the thing. Youre looked on
as an awful blood if you say you
havent done a stroke of work for a
week. I shouldnt mind that so much if
they were some good at anything. But
they cant do a thing. The footers
rotten, the gymnasium six is made up of
kids an inch highwe shall probably be
about ninetieth at the Public Schools
Competitionand there isnt any one
who can play racquets for nuts. The
only thing that Wrykynll do this year is
to get the Light-Weights at Aldershot.
Drummond ought to manage that. He
won the Feathers last time. Hes nearly
a stone heavier now, and awfully good.
 EXPERT OPINIONS
But hes the only man we shall send up,
I expect. Now that OHara and
Moriarty are both gone, hes the only
chap we have whos up to Aldershot
form. And nobody elsell take the
trouble to practice. Theyre all too
slack.
In fact, said Clowes, getting up,
as was only to be expected, the school
started going to the dogs directly I left.
We shall have to be pushing on now,
Allardyce. We promised to look in on
Seymour before we went to bed. Friend
let us away.
Good night, said Allardyce.
What you want, said Clowes
solemnly, is a liver pill. You are
looking on life too gloomily. Take a
pill. Let there be no stint. Take two.
Then we shall hear your merry laugh
ringing through the old cloisters once
more. Buck up and be a bright and
happy lad, Allardyce.
Take more than a pill to make me
that, growled that soured footballer.
Mr Seymours views on the school
resembled those of Allardyce. Wrykyn,
in his opinion, was suffering from a
reaction.
Its always the same, he said,
after a very good year. Boys leave,
and its hard to fill their places. I must
say I did not expect quite such a
clearing out after the summer. We have
had bad luck in that way. Maurice, for
instance, and Robinson both ought to
have had another year at school. It was
quite unexpected, their leaving. They
would have made all the difference to
the forwards. You must have
somebody to lead the pack who has had
a little experience of first fifteen
matches.
But even then said Clowes, they
oughtnt to be so rank as they were this
afternoon. They seemed such slackers.
Im afraid thats the failing of the
319
school just now, agreed Mr Seymour.
They dont play themselves out. They
dont put just that last ounce into their
work which makes all the difference.
Clowes thought of saying that, to
judge by appearances, they did not put
in even the first ounce; but refrained.
However low an opinion a games
master may haveand even express-
of his team, he does not like people to
agree too cordially with his criticisms.
Allardyce seems rather sick about
it, said Trevor.
I am sorry for Allardyce. It is
always unpleasant to be the only
survivor of an exceptionally good team.
He cant forget last years matches, and
suffers continual disappointments
because the present team does not play
up to the same form.
He was saying something about
rows with the town, said Trevor, after
a pause.
Yes, there has certainly been some
unpleasantness lately. It is the penalty
we pay for being on the outskirts of a
town. Four years out of five nothing
happens. But in the fifth, when the
school has got a little out of hand
Oh, then it really has got out of
hand? asked Clowes.
Between ourselves, yes, admitted
Mr Seymour.
What sort of rows? asked Trevor.
Mr Seymour couldnt explain
exactly. Nothing, as it were, definite-
as yet. No actual complaints so far.
But stillwell, troubleyes, trouble.
For instance, he said, a boy in my
house, Lintonyou remember him?-
is moving in society at this moment
with a swollen lip and minus a front
tooth. Of course, I know nothing about
it, but I fancy he got into trouble in the
town. That is merely a straw which
shows how the wind is blowing, but if
you lived on the spot you would see
320 THE WHITE FEATHER
more what I mean. There is trouble in
the air. And now that this election is
coming on, I should not wonder if
things came to a head. I cant
remember a single election in Wrykyn
when there was not disorder in the
town. And if the school is going to join
in, as it probably will, I shall not be
sorry when the holidays come. I know
the headmaster is only waiting for an
excuse to put the town out of bounds.
But the kids have always had a few
rows on with that school in the High
Streetwhats its nameSt Hullo!
Something? said Clowes.
Judes, supplied Trevor.
St Judes! said Mr Seymour.
Have they? I didnt know that.
Oh yes. I dont know how it
started, but its been going on for two or
three years now. Its a School House
feud really, but Dexters are mixed up
in it somehow. If a School House fag
goes down town he runs like an
antelope along the High Street, unless
hes got one or two friends with him. I
saved dozens of kids from destruction
when I was at school. The St Judes
fellows lie in wait, and dash out on
them. I used to find School House fags
fighting for their lives in back alleys.
The enemy fled on my approach. My
air of majesty overawed them.
But a junior school feud matters
very little, said Mr Seymour. You
say it has been going on for three years;
and I have never heard of it till now. It
is when the bigger fellows get mixed up
with the town that we have to interfere.
I wish the headmaster would put the
place out of bounds entirely until the
election is over. Except at election
time, the town seems to go to sleep.
Thats what we ought to be doing,
said Clowes to Trevor. I think we had
better be off now, sir. We promised Mr
Donaldson to be in some time tonight.
Its later than I thought, said Mr
Seymour. Good night, Clowes. How
many tries was it that you scored this
afternoon? Five? I wish you were still
here, to score them for instead of
against us. Good night, Trevor. I was
glad to see they tried you for Oxford,
though you didnt get your blue. Youll
be in next year all right. Good night.
The two Old Wrykinians walked
along the road towards Donaldsons. It
was a fine night, but misty.
Jove, Im quite tired, said Clowes.
Whats up?
They were opposite Applebys at the
moment. Clowes drew him into the
shadow of the fence.
Theres a chap breaking out. I saw
him shinning down a rope. Lets wait,
and see who it is.
A moment later somebody ran softly
through the gateway and disappeared
down the road that led to the town.
Who was it? said Trevor. I
couldnt see.
I spotted him all right. It was that
chap who was marking me today,
Stanning. Wonder what hes after.
Perhaps hes gone to tar the statue, like
OHara. Rather a sportsman.
Rather a silly idiot, said Trevor. I
hope he gets caught.
You always were one of those kind
sympathetic chaps, said Clowes.
Come on, or Donaldsonll be locking
us out.
SHEEN AT HOME
On the afternoon following the
Oxford A match, Sheen, of Seymours,
was sitting over the gas-stove in his
study with a Thucydides. He had been
staying in that day with a cold. He was
always staying in. Everyone has his
hobby. That was Sheens.
Nobody at Wrykyn, even at
 SHEEN AT HOME
Seymours, seemed to know Sheen very
well, with the exception of Drummond;
and those who troubled to think about
the matter at all rather wondered what
Drummond saw in him. To the
superficial observer the two had nothing
in common. Drummond was good at
gameshe was in the first fifteen and
the second eleven, and had won the
Feather Weights at Aldershotand
seemed to have no interests outside
them. Sheen, on the other hand, played
fives for the house, and that was all. He
was bad at cricket, and had given up
football by special arrangement with
Allardyce, on the plea that he wanted all
his time for work. He was in for an in-
school scholarship, the Gotford.
Allardyce, though professing small
sympathy with such a degraded
ambition, had given him a special
dispensation, and since then Sheen had
retired from public life even more than
he had done hitherto. The examination
for the Gotford was to come off towards
the end of the term.
The only other Wrykinians with
whom Sheen was known to be friendly
were Stanning and Attell, of
Applebys. And here those who
troubled to think about it wondered still
more, for Sheen, whatever his other
demerits, was not of the type of
Stanning and Attell. There are certain
members of every public school, just as
there are certain members of every
college at the universities, who are
marked men. They have never been
detected in any glaring breach of the
rules, and their manner towards the
powers that be is, as a rule, suave, even
deferential. Yet it is one of the things
which everybody knows, that they are
in the black books of the authorities,
and that sooner or later, in the
picturesque phrase of the New Yorker,
they will get it in the neck. To this
321
class Stanning and Attell belonged. It
was plain to all that the former was the
leading member of the firm. A glance
at the latter was enough to show that,
whatever ambitions he may have had in
the direction of villainy, he had not the
brains necessary for really satisfactory
evildoing. As for Stanning, he pursued
an even course of life, always rigidly
obeying the eleventh commandment,
thou shalt not be found out. This kept
him from collisions with the authorities;
while a ready tongue and an excellent
knowledge of the art of boxinghe
was, after Drummond, the best Light-
Weight in the placesecured him at
least tolerance at the hand of the
school: and, as a matter of fact, though
most of those who knew him disliked
him, and particularly those who, like
Drummond, were what Clowes had
called the Old Brigade, he had,
nevertheless, a tolerably large
following. A first fifteen man, even in a
bad year, can generally find boys
anxious to be seen about with him.
That Sheen should have been
amongst these surprised one or two
people, notably Mr Seymour, who,
being games master had come a good
deal into contact with Stanning, and had
not been favourably impressed. The
fact was that the keynote of Sheens
character was a fear of giving offence.
Within limits this is not a reprehensible
trait in a persons character, but Sheen
overdid it, and it frequently complicated
his affairs. There come times when one
has to choose which of two people one
shall offend. By acting in one way, we
offend A. By acting in the opposite
way, we annoy B. Sheen had found
himself faced by this problem when he
began to be friendly with Drummond.
Their acquaintance, begun over a game
of fives, had progressed. Sheen
admired Drummond, as the type of
322 THE WHITE FEATHER
what he would have liked to have been,
if he could have managed it. And
Drummond felt interested in Sheen
because nobody knew much about him.
He was, in a way, mysterious. Also, he
played the piano really well; and
Drummond at that time would have
courted anybody who could play for his
benefit Mumblin Mose, and didnt
mind obliging with unlimited encores.
So the two struck up an alliance, and
as Drummond hated Stanning only a
shade less than Stanning hated him,
Sheen was under the painful necessity
of choosing between them. He chose
Drummond. Whereby he undoubtedly
did wisely.
Sheen sat with his Thucydides over
the gas-stove, and tried to interest
himself in the doings of the Athenian
expedition at Syracuse. His brain felt
heavy and flabby. He realised dimly
that this was because he took too little
exercise, and he made a resolution to
diminish his hours of work per diem by
one, and to devote that one to fives. He
would mention it to Drummond when
he came in. He would probably come
in to tea. The board was spread in
anticipation of a visit from him.
Herbert, the boot-boy, had been
despatched to the town earlier in the
afternoon, and had returned with certain
food-stuffs which were now stacked in
an appetising heap on the table.
Sheen was just making something
more or less like sense out of an
involved passage of Nikias speech, in
which that eminent general himself
seemed to have only a hazy idea of
what he was talking about, when the
door opened.
He looked up, expecting to see
Drummond, but it was Stanning. He
felt instantly that warm shooting
sensation from which David
Copperfield suffered in moments of
embarrassment. Since the advent of
Drummond he had avoided Stanning,
and he could not see him without
feeling uncomfortable. As they were
both in the sixth form, and sat within a
couple of yards of one another every
day, it will be realised that he was
frequently uncomfortable.
Great Scott! said Stanning,
swotting?
Sheen glanced almost guiltily at his
Thucydides. Still, it was something of a
relief that the other had not opened the
conversation with an indictment of
Drummond.
You see, he said apologetically,
Im in for the Gotford.
So am I. Whats the good of
swotting, though? Im not going to do a
stroke.
As Stanning was the only one of his
rivals of whom he had any real fear,
Sheen might have replied with justice
that, if that was the case, the more he
swotted the better. But he said nothing.
He looked at the stove, and dogs-eared
the Thucydides.
What a worm you are, always
staying in! said Stanning.
I caught a cold watching the match
yesterday.
Youre as flabby as Stanning
looked round for a simile, as a dough-
nut. Why dont you take some
exercise?
Im going to play fives, I think. I
do need some exercise.
Fives? Why dont you play
footer?
I havent time. I want to work.
What rot. Im not doing a stroke.
Stanning seemed to derive a spiritual
pride from this admission.
Tell you what, then, said Stanning,
Ill play you tomorrow after school.
Sheen looked a shade more
uncomfortable, but he made an effort,
 SHEEN AT HOME
and declined the invitation.
I shall probably be playing
Drummond, he said.
Oh, all right, said Stanning. I
dont care. Play whom you like.
There was a pause.
As a matter of fact, resumed
Stanning, what I came here for was to
tell you about last night. I got out, and
went to Mitchells. Why didnt you
come? Didnt you get my note? I sent
a kid with it.
Mitchell was a young gentleman of
rich but honest parents, who had left the
school at Christmas. He was in his
fathers office, and lived in his fathers
house on the outskirts of the town.
From time to time his father went up to
London on matters connected with
business, leaving him alone in the
house. On these occasions Mitchell the
younger would write to Stanning, with
whom when at school he had been on
friendly terms; and Stanning, breaking
out of his house after everybody had
gone to bed, would make his way to the
Mitchell residence, and spend a pleasant
hour or so there. Mitchell senior owned
Turkish cigarettes and a billiard table.
Stanning appreciated both. There was
also a piano, and Stanning had brought
Sheen with him one night to play it.
The getting-out and the subsequent
getting-in had nearly whitened Sheens
hair, and it was only by a series of
miracles that he had escaped detection.
Once, he felt, was more than enough;
and when a fag from Applebys had
brought him Stannings note, containing
an invitation to a second jaunt of the
kind, he had refused to be lured into the
business again.
Yes, I got the note, he said.
Then why didnt you come?
Mitchell was asking where you were.
Its so beastly risky.
Risky! Rot.
323
We should get sacked if we were
caught.
Well, dont get caught, then.
Sheen registered an internal vow that
he would not.
He wanted us to go again on
Monday. Will you come?
Idont think I will, Stanning,
said Sheen. It isnt worth it.
You mean you funk it. Thats
whats the matter with you.
Yes, I do, admitted Sheen.
As a rulein storiesthe person
who owns that he is afraid gets
unlimited applause and adulation, and
feels a glow of conscious merit. But
with Sheen it was otherwise. The
admission made him if possible, more
uncomfortable than he had been before.
Mitchell will be sick, said
Stanning.
Sheen said nothing.
Stanning changed the subject.
Well, at anyrate, he said, give us
some tea. You seem to have been
victualling for a siege.
Im awfully sorry, said Sheen,
turning a deeper shade of red and
experiencing a redoubled attack of the
warm shooting, but the fact is, Im
waiting for Drummond.
Stanning got up, and expressed his
candid opinion of Drummond in a few
words.
He said more. He described Sheen,
too in unflattering terms.
Look here, he said, you may
think it jolly fine to drop me just
because youve got to know Drummond
a bit, but youll be sick enough that
youve done it before youve finished.
It isnt that began Sheen.
I dont care what it is. You slink
about trying to avoid me all day, and
you wont do a thing I ask you to do.
But you see
Oh, shut up, said Stanning.
324 THE WHITE FEATHER

SHEEN RECEIVES about, and be the dashing host.

I wasnt expecting you.
VISITORS AND ADVICE I cant help your troubles, said
Dunstable.
While Sheen had been interviewing
Ive not got anything. I was
Stanning, in study twelve, farther down
thinking of coming to you, Linton.
the passage, Linton and his friend
Wheres that cake?
Dunstable, who was in Days house,
Finished. My brother simply
were discussing ways and means. Like
walked into it.
Stanning, Dunstable had demanded tea,
Greed, said Dunstable unkindly,
and had been informed that there was
seems to be the besetting sin of the
none for him.
Menzies. Well, what are you going to
Well, you are a bright specimen,
do about it? I dont wish to threaten,
arent you? said Dunstable, seating
but Im a demon when Im roused.
himself on the table which should have
Being done out of my tea is sure to
been groaning under the weight of cake
rouse me. And owing to unfortunate
and biscuits. I should like to know
accident of being stonily broken, I cant
where you expect to go to. You lure me
go to the shop. Youre responsible for
in here, and then have the cheek to tell
the slump in provisions, Menzies, and
me you havent got anything to eat.
you must see us through this. What are
What have you done with it all?
you going to do about it?
There was half a cake
Do either of you chaps know Sheen
Bring it on.
at all?
Young Menzies bagged it after the
I dont, said Linton. Not to speak
match yesterday. His brother came
to.
down with the Oxford A team, and he
You cant expect us to know all
had to give him tea in his study. Then
your shady friends, said Dunstable.
there were some biscuits
Why?
Whats the matter with biscuits?
Hes got a tea on this evening. If
Theyre all right. Bring them on.
you knew him well enough, you might
Biscuits forward. Show biscuits.
borrow something from him. I met
Menzies took them as well.
Herbert in the dinner-hour carrying in
Dunstable eyed him sorrowfully.
all sorts of things to his study. Still, if
You always were a bit of a
you dont know him
maniac, he said, but I never thought
Dont let a trifle of that sort stand in
you were quite such a complete
the way, said Dunstable. Which is
gibberer as to let Menzies get away
his study?
with all your grub. Well, the only thing
Come on, Linton, said Dunstable.
to do is to touch him for tea. He owes
Be a man, and lead the way. Go in as
us one. Come on.
if hed invited us. Ten to one hell
They proceeded down the passage
think he did, if you dont spoil the thing
and stopped at the door of study three.
by laughing.
Hullo! said Menzies, as they
What, invite ourselves to tea?
entered.
asked Linton, beginning to grasp the
Weve come to tea, said
idea.
Dunstable. Cut the satisfying
Thats it. Sheens the sort of ass
sandwich. Lets see a little more of that
who wont do a thing. Anyhow, its
hissing urn of yours, Menzies. Bustle
 SHEEN RECEIVES VISITORS AND ADVICE
worth trying. Smith in our house got a
tea out of him that way last term.
Coming, Menzies?
Not much. I hope he kicks you
out.
Come on, then, Linton. If Menzies
cares to chuck away a square meal, let
him.
Thus, no sooner had the door of
Sheens study closed upon Stanning
than it was opened again to admit
Linton and Dunstable.
Well, said Linton, affably, here
we are.
Hope were not late, said
Dunstable. You said somewhere about
five. Its just struck. Shall we start?
He stooped, and took the kettle from
the stove.
Dont you bother, he said to
Sheen, who had watched this
manoeuvre with an air of amazement,
Ill do all the dirty work.
But began Sheen.
Thats all right, said Dunstable
soothingly. I like it.
The intellectual pressure of the affair
was too much for Sheen. He could not
recollect having invited Linton, with
whom he had exchanged only about a
dozen words that term, much less
Dunstable, whom he merely knew by
sight. Yet here they were, behaving
like honoured guests. It was plain that
there was a misunderstanding
somewhere, but he shrank from
grappling with it. He did not want to
hurt their feelings. It would be
awkward enough if they discovered
their mistake for themselves.
So he exerted himself nervously to
play the host, and the first twinge of
remorse which Linton felt came when
Sheen pressed upon him a bag of
biscuits which, he knew, could not have
cost less than one and sixpence a
pound. His heart warmed to one who
325
could do the thing in such style.
Dunstable, apparently, was worried
by no scruples. He leaned back easily
in his chair, and kept up a bright flow of
conversation.
Youre not looking well, Sheen, he
said. You ought to take more
exercise. Why dont you come down
town with us one of these days and do a
bit of canvassing? Its a rag. Linton
lost a tooth at it the other day. Were
going down on Saturday to do a bit
more.
Oh! said Sheen, politely.
We shall get one or two more chaps
to help next time. It isnt good enough,
only us two. We had four great beefy
hooligans on to us when Linton got his
tooth knocked out. We had to run.
Theres a regular gang of them going
about the town, now that the elections
on. A red-headed fellow, who looks
like a butcher, seems to boss the show.
They call him Albert. Hell have to be
slain one of these days, for the credit of
the school. I should like to get
Drummond on to him.
I was expecting Drummond to tea,
said Sheen.
Hes running and passing with the
fifteen, said Linton. He ought to be
in soon. Why, here he is. Hullo,
Drummond!
Hullo! said the newcomer, looking
at his two fellow-visitors as if he were
surprised to see them there.
How were the First? asked
Dunstable.
Oh, rotten. Any tea left?
Conversation flagged from this
point, and shortly afterwards Dunstable
and Linton went.
Come and tea with me some time,
said Linton.
Oh, thanks, said Sheen. Thanks
awfully.
It was rather a shame, said Linton
326 THE WHITE FEATHER
to Dunstable, as they went back to their
study, rushing him like that. I
shouldnt wonder if hes quite a good
sort, when one gets to know him.
He must be a rotter to let himself be
rushed. By Jove, I should like to see
someone try that game on with me.
In the study they had left,
Drummond was engaged in pointing
this out to Sheen.
The First are rank bad, he said.
The outsides were passing rottenly
today. We shall have another forty
points taken off us when we play
Ripton. By the way, I didnt know you
were a pal of Lintons.
Im not, said Sheen.
Well, he seemed pretty much at
home just now.
I cant understand it. Im certain I
never asked him to tea. Or Dunstable
either. Yet they came in as if I had. I
didnt like to hurt their feelings by
telling them.
Drummond stared.
What, they came without being
asked! Heavens! man, you must buck
up a bit and keep awake, or youll have
an awful time. Of course those two
chaps were simply trying it on. I had an
idea it might be that when I came in.
Why did you let them? Why didnt you
scrag them?
Oh, I dont know, said Sheen
uncomfortably.
But, look here, its rot. You must
keep your end up in a place like this, or
everybody in the housell be ragging
you. Chaps will, naturally, play the
goat if you let them. Has this ever
happened before?
Sheen admitted reluctantly that it
had. He was beginning to see things. It
is never pleasant to feel one has been
bluffed.
Once last term, he said, Smith, a
chap in Days, came to tea like that. I
couldnt very well do anything.
And Dunstable is in Days. They
compared notes. I wonder you havent
had the whole school dropping in on
you, lining up in long queues down the
passage. Look here, Sheen, you really
must pull yourself together. Im not
ragging. Youll have a beastly time if
youre so feeble. I hope you wont be
sick with me for saying it, but I cant
help that. Its all for your own good.
And its really pure slackness thats the
cause of it all.
I hate hurting peoples feelings,
said Sheen.
Oh, rot. As if anybody here had
any feelings. Besides, it doesnt hurt a
chaps feelings being told to get out,
when he knows hes no business in a
place.
Oh, all right, said Sheen shortly.
Glad you see it, said Drummond.
Well, Im off. Wonder if theres
anybody in that bath.
He reappeared a few moments later.
During his absence Sheen overheard
certain shrill protestations which were
apparently being uttered in the
neighbourhood of the bathroom door.
There was, he said, putting his
head into the study and grinning
cheerfully at Sheen. There was young
Renford, who had no earthly business to
be there. Ive just looked in to point the
moral. Suppose youd have let him bag
all the hot water, which ought to have
come to his elders and betters, for fear
of hurting his feelings; and gone
without your bath. I went on my theory
that nobody at Wrykyn, least of all a
fag, has any feelings. I turfed him out
without a touch of remorse. You get
much the best results my way. So
long.
And the head disappeared; and
shortly afterwards there came from
across the passage muffled but cheerful
 SHEEN RECEIVES VISITORS AND ADVICE 327

sounds of splashing. engineering side. The school would

THE BETTER PART OF have liked to have made a popular hero
of Jack Bruce. If he had liked, he could
VALOUR have gone about with quite a suite of
retainers. But he was a quiet, self-
The borough of Wrykyn had been a
sufficing youth, and was rarely to be
little unfortunateor fortunate,
seen in public. The engineering side of
according to the point of viewin the
a public school has workshops and
matter of elections. The latter point of
other weirdnesses which keep it
view was that of the younger and more
occupied after the ordinary school
irresponsible section of the community,
hours. It was generally understood that
which liked elections because they were
Bruce was a good sort of chap if you
exciting. The former was that of the
knew him, but you had got to know him
tradespeople, who disliked them
first; brilliant at his work, and devoted
because they got their windows broken.
to it; a useful slow bowler; known to be
Wrykyn had passed through an
able to drive and repair the family
election and its attendant festivities in
motor-car; one who seldom spoke
the previous year, when Sir Eustace
unless spoken to, but who, when he did
Briggs, the mayor of the town, had been
speak, generally had something sensible
returned by a comfortable majority.
to say. Beyond that, report said little.
Since then ill-health had caused that
As he refused to allow the school to
gentleman to resign his seat, and the
work off its enthusiasm on him, they
place was once more in a state of
were obliged to work it off elsewhere.
unrest. This time the school was deeply
Hence the disturbances which had
interested in the matter. The previous
become frequent between school and
election had not stirred them. They did
town. The inflammatory speeches of
not care whether Sir Eustace Briggs
Mr Saul Pedder had caused a
defeated Mr Saul Pedder, or whether
swashbuckling spirit to spread among
Mr Saul Pedder wiped the political floor
the rowdy element of the town. Gangs
with Sir Eustace Briggs. Mr Pedder
of youths, to adopt the police-court
was an energetic Radical; but owing to
term, had developed a habit of parading
the fact that Wrykyn had always
the streets arm-in-arm, shouting Good
returned a Conservative member, and
old Pedder! When these met some
did not see its way to a change as yet,
person or persons who did not consider
his energy had done him very little
Mr Pedder good and old, there was
good. The school had looked on him as
generally what the local police-force
a sportsman, and read his speeches in
described as a frakkus.
the local paper with amusement; but
It was in one of these frakkuses that
they were not interested. Now,
Linton had lost a valuable tooth.
however, things were changed. The
Two days had elapsed since
Conservative candidate, Sir William
Dunstable and Linton had looked in on
Bruce, was one of themselvesan Old
Sheen for tea. It was a Saturday
Wrykinian, a governor of the school, a
afternoon, and roll-call was just over.
man who always watched school-
There was no first fifteen match, only a
matches, and the donor of the Bruce
rather uninteresting house-match,
Challenge Cup for the school mile. In
Templars versus Donaldsons, and
fine, one of the best. He was also the
existence in the school grounds showed
father of Jack Bruce, a day-boy on the
328 THE WHITE FEATHER
signs of becoming tame.
What a beastly term the Easter term
is, said Linton, yawning. There
wont be a thing to do till the house-
matches begin properly.
Seymours had won their first match,
as had Days. They would not be called
upon to perform for another week or
more.
Lets get a boat out, suggested
Dunstable.
Such a beastly day.
Lets have tea at the shop.
Rather slow. How about going to
Cooks?
All right. Toss you who pays.
Cooks was a shop in the town to
which the school most resorted when in
need of refreshment.
Wonder if we shall meet Albert.
Linton licked the place where his
tooth should have been, and said he
hoped so.
Sergeant Cook, the six-foot
proprietor of the shop, was examining a
broken window when they arrived, and
muttering to himself.
Hullo! said Dunstable, whats
this? New idea for ventilation? Golly,
massa, who frew dat brick?
Done it at ar-parse six last night, he
did, said Sergeant Cook, the
red-eaded young scallywag. Ketch im
Ill give im
Sounds like dear old Albert, said
Linton. Who did it, sergeant?
Red-headed young mongrel. Good
old Pedder, he says. Ill give you
Pedder, I says. Then bang it comes
right on top of the muffins, and when I
doubled out after im ed gone.
Mrs Cook appeared and corroborated
witnesss evidence. Dunstable ordered
tea.
We may meet him on our way
home, said Linton. If we do, Ill give
him something from you with your
love. I owe him a lot for myself.
Mrs Cook clicked her tongue
compassionately at the sight of the
obvious void in the speakers mouth.
Youll ave to ave a forlse one, Mr
Linton, said Sergeant Cook with
gloomy relish.
The back shop was empty.
Dunstable and Linton sat down and
began tea. Sergeant Cook came to the
door from time to time and dilated
further on his grievances.
Gentlemen from the school they
come in ere and says aint it all a joke
and exciting and what not. But I says to
them, you avent got to live in it, I
says. Thats what it is. You avent got
to live in it, I says. Glad when its all
over, thats what Ill be.
Nother jug of hot water, please,
said Linton.
The Sergeant shouted the order over
his shoulder, as if he were addressing a
half-company on parade, and returned
to his woes.
You avent got to live in it, I says.
Thats what it is. Its this everlasting
worry and flurry day in and day out,
and not knowing whats going to appen
next, and one man coming in and saying
Vote for Bruce, and another Vote for
Pedder, and another saying how its the
poor mans loaf hes fighting forif
hed only buy a loaf, nowullo, ullo,
wots this?
There was a confused noise
without, as Shakespeare would put it,
and into the shop came clattering Barry
and McTodd, of Seymours, closely
followed by Stanning and Attell.
This is getting a bit too thick, said
Barry, collapsing into a chair.
From the outer shop came the voice
of Sergeant Cook.
Let me jest come to you, you
red-eaded
Roars of derision from the road.
 THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR
Thats Albert, said Linton,
jumping up.
Yes, I heard them call him that,
said Barry. McTodd and I were
coming down here to tea, when they
started going for us, so we nipped in
here, hoping to find reinforcements.
We were just behind you, said
Stanning. I got one of them a beauty.
He went down like a shot.
Albert? inquired Linton.
No. A little chap.
Lets go out, and smash them up,
suggested Linton excitedly.
Dunstable treated the situation more
coolly.
Wait a bit, he said. No hurry.
Lets finish tea at any rate. Youd
better eat as much as you can now
Linton. You may have no teeth left to
do it with afterwards, he added
cheerfully.
Lets chuck things at them, said
McTodd.
Dont be an ass, said Barry.
What on earths the good of that?
Well, it would be something, said
McTodd vaguely.
Hit em with a muffin, suggested
Stanning. Dash, I barked my knuckles
on that man. But I bet he felt it.
Look here, Im going out, said
Linton. Come on, Dunstable.
Dunstable continued his meal
without hurry.
Whats the excitement? he said.
Theres plenty of time. Dear old
Alberts not the sort of chap to go away
when hes got us cornered here. The
first principle of warfare is to get a good
feed before you start.
And anyhow, said Barry, I came
here for tea, and Im going to have it.
Sergeant Cook was recalled from the
door, and received the orders.
Theyve just gone round the
corner, he said, and that red-eaded
329
one e says hes goin to wait if he as
to wait all night.
Quite right, said Dunstable,
approvingly. Sensible chap, Albert. If
you see him, you might tell him we
shant be long, will you?
A quarter of an hour passed.
Kerm out, shouted a voice from
the street.
Dunstable looked at the others.
Perhaps we might be moving now,
he said, getting up Ready?
We must keep together, said
Barry.
You goin out, Mr Dunstable?
inquired Sergeant Cook.
Yes. Good bye. Youll see that
were decently buried wont you?
The garrison made its sortie.
*****
It happened that Drummond and
Sheen were also among those whom it
had struck that afternoon that tea at
Cooks would be pleasant; and they
came upon the combatants some five
minutes after battle had been joined.
The town contingent were filling the air
with strange cries, Alberts voice being
easily heard above the din, while the
Wrykinians, as public-school men
should, were fighting quietly and
without unseemly tumult.
By Jove, said Drummond, heres
a row on.
Sheen stopped dead, with a queer,
sinking feeling within him. He gulped.
Drummond did not notice these
portents. He was observing the battle.
Suddenly he uttered an exclamation.
Why, its some of our chaps!
Theres a Seymours cap. Isnt that
McTodd? And, great Scott! theres
Barry. Come on, man!
Sheen did not move.
Ought we...to get...mixed up...? he
began.
Drummond looked at him with open
330 THE WHITE FEATHER
eyes. Sheen babbled on.
The old man might not likesixth
form, you seeoughtnt we to? and that which comes when one thinks
There was a yell of triumph from the
town army as the red-haired Albert,
plunging through the fray, sent Barry
staggering against the wall. Sheen
caught a glimpse of Alberts grinning
face as he turned. He had a cut over
one eye. It bled.
Come on, said Drummond,
beginning to run to the scene of action.
Sheen paused for a moment
irresolutely. Then he walked rapidly in
the opposite direction.
THE WHITE FEATHER
It was not until he had reached his
study that Sheen thoroughly realised
what he had done. All the way home he
had been defending himself eloquently
against an imaginary accuser; and he
had built up a very sound, thoughtful,
and logical series of arguments to show
that he was not only not to blame for
what he had done, but had acted in
highly statesmanlike and praiseworthy
manner. After all, he was in the sixth.
Not a prefect, it was true, but, still,
practically a prefect. The headmaster
disliked unpleasantness between school
and town, much more so between the
sixth form of the school and the town.
Therefore, he had done his duty in
refusing to be drawn into a fight with
Albert and friends. Besides, why
should he be expected to join in
whenever he saw a couple of fellows
fighting? It wasnt reasonable. It was
no business of his. Why, it was absurd.
He had no quarrel with those fellows. It
wasnt cowardice. It was simply that he
had kept his head better than
Drummond, and seen further into the
matter. Besides....
But when he sat down in his chair,
this mood changed. There is a vast
difference between the view one takes
of things when one is walking briskly,
the thing over coldly. As he sat there,
the wall of defence which he had built
up slipped away brick by brick, and
there was the fact staring at him,
without covering or disguise.
It was no good arguing against
himself. No amount of argument could
wipe away the truth. He had been
afraid, and had shown it. And he had
shown it when, in a sense, he was
representing the school, when Wrykyn
looked to him to help it keep its end up
against the town.
The more he reflected, the more he
saw how far-reaching were the
consequences of that failure in the hour
of need. He had disgraced himself. He
had disgraced Seymours. He had
disgraced the school. He was an
outcast.
This mood, the natural reaction from
his first glow of almost jaunty self-
righteousness, lasted till the lock-up bell
rang, when it was succeeded by
another. This time he took a more
reasonable view of the affair. It
occurred to him that there was a chance
that his defection had passed unnoticed.
Nothing could make his case seem
better in his own eyes, but it might be
that the thing would end there. The
house might not have lost credit.
An overwhelming curiosity seized
him to find out how it had all ended.
The ten minutes of grace which
followed the ringing of the lock-up bell
had passed. Drummond and the rest
must be back by now.
He went down the passage to
Drummonds study. Somebody was
inside. He could hear him.
He knocked at the door.
Drummond was sitting at the table
reading. He looked up, and there was a
 THE WHITE FEATHER
silence. Sheens mouth felt dry. He
could not think how to begin. He
noticed that Drummonds face was
unmarked. Looking down, he saw that
one of the knuckles of the hand that
held the book was swollen and cut.
Drummond, I
Drummond lowered the book.
Get out, he said. He spoke
without heat, calmly, as if he were
making some conventional remark by
way of starting a conversation.
I only came to ask
Get out, said Drummond again.
There was another pause.
Drummond raised his book and went on
reading.
Sheen left the room.
Outside he ran into Linton. Unlike
Drummond, Linton bore marks of the
encounter. As in the case of the hero of
Calverleys poem, one of his speaking
eyes was sable. The swelling of his lip
was increased. There was a deep red
bruise on his forehead. In spite of these
injuries, however, he was cheerful. He
was whistling when Sheen collided with
him.
Sorry, said Linton, and went on
into the study.
Well, he said, how are you
feeling, Drummond? Lucky beggar,
you havent got a mark. I wish I could
duck like you. Well, we have fought
the good fight. Exit Albertsweep him
up. You gave him enough to last him
for the rest of the term. I couldnt
tackle the brute. Hes as strong as a
horse. My word, it was lucky you
happened to come up. Albert was
making hay of us. Still, alls well that
ends well. We have smitten the
Philistines this day. By the way
Whats up now?
Who was that chap with you when
you came up?
Which chap?
331
I thought I saw some one.
You shouldnt eat so much tea.
You saw double.
There wasnt anybody?
No, said Drummond.
Not Sheen?
No, said Drummond, irritably.
How many more times do you want
me to say it?
All right, said Linton, I only
asked. I met him outside.
Who?
Sheen.
Oh!
You might be sociable.
I know I might. But I want to
read.
Lucky man. Wish I could. I can
hardly see. Well, good bye, then. Im
off.
Good, grunted Drummond. You
know your way out, dont you?
Linton went back to his own study.
Its all very well, he said to
himself, for Drummond to deny it, but
Ill swear I saw Sheen with him. So did
Dunstable. Ill cut out and ask him
about it after prep. If he really was
there, and cut off, something ought to
be done about it. The chap ought to be
kicked. Hes a disgrace to the house.
Dunstable, questioned after
preparation, refused to commit himself.
I thought I saw somebody with
Drummond, he said, and I had a sort
of idea it was Sheen. Still, I was pretty
busy at the time, and wasnt paying
much attention to anything, except that
long, thin bargee with the bowler. I
wish those men would hit straight. Its
beastly difficult to guard a round-arm
swing. My right ear feels like a
cauliflower. Does it look rum?
Beastly. But what about this? You
cant swear to Sheen then?
No. Better give him the benefit of
the doubt. What does Drummond say?
332 THE WHITE FEATHER
You ought to ask him.
I have. He says he was alone.
Well, that settles it. What an ass
you are. If Drummond doesnt know,
who does?
I believe hes simply hushing it
up.
Well, let us hush it up, too. Its no
good bothering about it. We licked
them all right.
But its such a beastly thing for the
house.
Then why the dickens do you want
it to get about? Surely the best thing
you can do is to dry up and say nothing
about it.
But something ought to be done.
Whats the good of troubling about
a man like Sheen? He never was any
good, and this doesnt make him very
much worse. Besides, hell probably be
sick enough on his own account. I
know I should, if Id done it. And,
anyway, we dont know that he did do
it.
Im certain he did. I could swear it
was him.
Anyhow, for goodness sake let the
thing drop.
All right. But I shall cut him.
Well, that would be punishment
enough for anybody, whatever hed
done. Fancy existence without your
bright conversation. It doesnt bear
thinking of. You do look a freak with
that eye and that lump on your
forehead. You ought to wear a mask.
That ear of yours, said Linton with
satisfaction, will be about three times
its ordinary size tomorrow. And it
always was too large. Good night.
On his way back to Seymours
Mason of Applebys, who was standing
at his house gate imbibing fresh air,
preparatory to going to bed, accosted
him.
I say, Linton, he said, hullo,
you look a wreck, dont you!I say,
whats all this about your house?
What about my house?
Funking, and all that. Sheen, you
know. Stanning has just been telling
me.
Then he saw him, too! exclaimed
Linton, involuntarily.
Oh, its true, then? Did he really
cut off like that? Stanning said he did,
but I wouldnt believe him at first. You
arent going? Good night.
So the thing was out. Linton had not
counted on Stanning having seen what
he and Dunstable had seen. It was
impossible to hush it up now. The
scutcheon of Seymours was definitely
blotted. The name of the house was
being held up to scorn in Applebys
probably everywhere else as well. It
was a nuisance, thought Linton, but it
could not be helped. After all, it was a
judgment on the house for harbouring
such a specimen as Sheen.
In Seymours there was tumult and
an impromptu indignation meeting.
Stanning had gone to work
scientifically. From the moment that,
ducking under the guard of a sturdy
town youth, he had caught sight of
Sheen retreating from the fray, he had
grasped the fact that here, ready-made,
was his chance of working off his
grudge against him. All he had to do
was to spread the news abroad, and the
school would do the rest. On his return
from the town he had mentioned the
facts of the case to one or two of the
more garrulous members of his house,
and they had passed it on to everybody
they met during the interval in the
middle of preparation. By the end of
preparation half the school knew what
had happened.
Seymours was furious. The senior
day-room to a man condemned Sheen.
The junior day-room was crimson in the
 THE WHITE FEATHER
face and incoherent. The demeanour of
a junior in moments of excitement
generally lacks that repose which marks
the philosopher.
He ought to be kicked, shrilled
Renford.
We shall get rotted by those kids in
Dexters, moaned Harvey.
Disgracing the house! thundered
Watson.
Lets go and chuck things at his
door, suggested Renford.
A move was made to the passage in
which Sheens study was situated, and,
with divers groans and howls, the junior
day-room hove football boots and
cricket stumps at the door.
The success of the meeting,
however, was entirely neutralised by the
fact that in the same passage stood the
study of Rigby, the head of the house.
Also Rigby was trying at the moment to
turn into idiomatic Greek verse the
words: The Days of Peace and
Slumberous calm have fled, and this
corroboration of the statement annoyed
him to the extent of causing him to dash
out and sow lines among the revellers
like some monarch scattering largesse.
The junior day-room retired to its lair to
inveigh against the brutal ways of those
in authority, and begin working off the
commission it had received.
The howls in the passage were the
first official intimation Sheen had
received that his shortcomings were
public property. The word Funk!
shouted through his keyhole, had not
unnaturally given him an inkling as to
the state of affairs.
So Drummond had given him away,
he thought. Probably he had told
Linton the whole story the moment after
he, Sheen, had met the latter at the door
of the study. And perhaps he was now
telling it to the rest of the house. Of all
the mixed sensations from which he
333
suffered as he went to his dormitory
that night, one of resentment against
Drummond was the keenest.
Sheen was in the fourth dormitory,
where the majority of the day-room
slept. He was in the position of a sort
of extra house prefect, as far as the
dormitory was concerned. It was a
large dormitory, and Mr Seymour had
fancied that it might, perhaps, be
something of a handful for a single
prefect. As a matter of fact, however,
Drummond, who was in charge, had
shown early in the term that he was
more than capable of managing the
place single handed. He was popular
and determined. The dormitory was
orderly, partly because it liked him,
principally because it had to be.
He had an opportunity of exhibiting
his powers of control that night. When
Sheen came in, the room was full.
Drummond was in bed, reading his
novel. The other ornaments of the
dormitory were in various stages of
undress.
As Sheen appeared, a sudden hissing
broke out from the farther corner of the
room. Sheen flushed, and walked to his
bed. The hissing increased in volume
and richness.
Shut up that noise, said
Drummond, without looking up from
his book.
The hissing diminished. Only two or
three of the more reckless kept it up.
Drummond looked across the room
at them.
Stop that noise, and get into bed,
he said quietly.
The hissing ceased. He went on with
his book again.
Silence reigned in dormitory four.
ALBERT REDIVIVUS
By murdering in cold blood a large
and respected family, and afterwards
334 THE WHITE FEATHER
depositing their bodies in a reservoir,
one may gain, we are told, much
unpopularity in the neighbourhood of
ones crime; while robbing a church
will get one cordially disliked especially
by the vicar. But, to be really an
outcast, to feel that one has no friend in
the world, one must break an important
public-school commandment.
Sheen had always been something of
a hermit. In his most sociable moments
he had never had more than one or two
friends; but he had never before known
what it meant to be completely
isolated. It was like living in a world of
ghosts, or, rather, like being a ghost in a
living world. That disagreeable
experience of being looked through, as
if one were invisible, comes to the
average person, it may be half a dozen
times in his life. Sheen had to put up
with it a hundred times a day. People
who were talking to one another
stopped when he appeared and waited
until he had passed on before beginning
again. Altogether, he was made to feel
that he had done for himself, that, as far
as the life of the school was concerned,
he did not exist.
There had been some talk,
particularly in the senior day-room, of
more active measures. It was thought
that nothing less than a court-martial
could meet the case. But the house
prefects had been against it. Sheen was
in the sixth, and, however monstrous
and unspeakable might have been his
acts, it would hardly do to treat him as
if he were a junior. And the scheme
had been definitely discouraged by
Drummond, who had stated, without
wrapping the gist of his remarks in
elusive phrases, that in the event of a
court-martial being held he would
interview the president of the same and
knock his head off. So Seymours had
fallen back on the punishment which
from their earliest beginnings the public
schools have meted out to their
criminals. They had cut Sheen dead.
In a way Sheen benefited from this
excommunication. Now that he could
not even play fives, for want of an
opponent, there was nothing left for him
to do but work. Fortunately, he had an
object. The Gotford would be coming
on in a few weeks, and the more work
he could do for it, the better. Though
Stanning was the only one of his rivals
whom he feared, and though he was
known to be taking very little trouble
over the matter, it was best to run as
few risks as possible. Stanning was one
of those people who produce great
results in their work without seeming to
do anything for them.
So Sheen shut himself up in his
study and ground grimly away at his
books, and for exercise went for cross-
country walks. It was a monotonous
kind of existence. For the space of a
week the only Wrykinian who spoke a
single word to him was Bruce, the son
of the Conservative candidate for
Wrykyn: and Bruces conversation had
been limited to two remarks. He had
said, You might play that again, will
you? and, later, Thanks. He had
come into the music-room while Sheen
was practising one afternoon, and had
sat down, without speaking, on a chair
by the door. When Sheen had played
for the second time the piece which had
won his approval, Bruce thanked him
and left the room. As the solitary break
in the monotony of the week, Sheen
remembered the incident rather vividly.
Since the great rout of Albert and his
minions outside Cooks, things, as far
as the seniors were concerned, had been
quiet between school and town. Linton
and Dunstable had gone to and from
Cooks two days in succession without
let or hindrance. It was generally
 ALBERT REDIVIVUS
believed that, owing to the unerring
way in which he had put his head in
front of Drummonds left on that
memorable occasion, the scarlet-haired
one was at present dry-docked for
repairs. The story in the schoolit had
grown with the dayswas that
Drummond had laid the enemy out on
the pavement with a sickening crash,
and that he had still been there at, so to
speak, the close of play. As a matter of
fact, Albert was in excellent shape, and
only an unfortunate previous
engagement prevented him from
ranging the streets near Cooks as
before. Sir William Bruce was
addressing a meeting in another part of
the town, and Albert thought it his duty
to be on hand to boo.
In the junior portion of the school
the feud with the town was brisk.
Mention has been made of a certain St
Judes, between which seat of learning
and the fags of Dexters and the School
House there was a spirited vendetta.
Jackson, of Dexters was one of the
pillars of the movement. Jackson was
a calm-browd lad,
Yet mad, at moments, as a hatter,
and he derived a great deal of
pleasure from warring against St
Judes. It helped him to enjoy his
meals. He slept the better for it. After a
little turn up with a Judy he was fuller
of that spirit of manly fortitude and
forbearance so necessary to those whom
Fate brought frequently into contact
with Mr Dexter. The Judies wore
mortar-boards, and it was an enjoyable
pastime sending these spinning into
space during one of the usual
rencontres in the High Street. From the
fact that he and his friends were
invariably outnumbered, there was a
sporting element in these affairs, though
occasionally this inferiority of numbers
was the cause of his executing a
335
scientific retreat with the enemy
harassing his men up to the very edge of
the town. This had happened on the last
occasion. There had been casualties.
No fewer than six house-caps had fallen
into the enemys hands, and he himself
had been tripped up and rolled in a
puddle.
He burned to avenge this disaster.
Corning down to Cooks? he said
to his ally, Painter. It was just a week
since the Sheen episode.
All right, said Painter.
Suppose we go by the High Street,
suggested Jackson, casually.
Then wed better get a few more
chaps, said Painter.
A few more chaps were collected,
and the party, numbering eight, set off
for the town. There were present such
stalwarts as Borwick and Crowle, both
of Dexters, and Tomlin, of the School
House, a useful man to have by you in
an emergency. It was Tomlin who, on
one occasion, attacked by two terrific
champions of St Judes in a narrow
passage, had vanquished them both, and
sent their mortar-boards miles into the
empyrean, so that they were never the
same mortar-boards again, but wore
ever after a bruised and draggled look.
The expedition passed down the
High Street without adventure, until, by
common consent, it stopped at the lofty
wall which bounded the playground of
St Judes.
From the other side of the wall came
sounds of revelry, shrill squealings and
shoutings. The Judies were disporting
themselves at one of their weird games.
It was known that they played touch-
last, and Scandal said that another of
their favourite recreations was marbles.
The juniors at Wrykyn believed that it
was to hide these excesses from the
gaze of the public that the playground
wall had been made so high. Eye-
336 THE WHITE FEATHER
witnesses, who had peeped through the
door in the said wall, reported that what
the Judies seemed to do mostly was to
chase one another about the playground,
shrieking at the top of their voices. But,
they added, this was probably a mere
ruse to divert suspicion.
They had almost certainly got the
marbles in their pockets all the time.
The expedition stopped, and looked
itself in the face.
How about buzzing something at
them? said Jackson earnestly.
You can get oranges over the road,
said Tomlin in his helpful way.
Jackson vanished into the shop
indicated, and reappeared a few
moments later with a brown paper bag.
It seems a beastly waste, suggested
the economical Painter.
Thats all right, said Jackson,
theyre all bad. The man thought I
was rotting him when I asked if hed
got any bad oranges, but I got them at
last. Give us a leg up, some one.
Willing hands urged him to the top
of the wall. He drew out a green
orange, and threw it.
There was a sudden silence on the
other side of the wall. Then a howl of
wrath went up to the heavens. Jackson
rapidly emptied his bag.
Got him! he exclaimed, as the last
orange sped on its way. Look out,
theyre coming!
The expedition had begun to move
off with quiet dignity, when from the
doorway in the wall there poured forth a
stream of mortar-boarded warriors,
shrieking defiance. The expedition
advanced to meet them.
As usual, the Judies had the
advantage in numbers, and, filled to the
brim with righteous indignation, they
were proceeding to make things
uncommonly warm for the invaders-
Painter had lost his cap, and Tomlin
three waistcoat buttonswhen the eye
of Jackson, roving up and down the
street, was caught by a Seymours cap.
He was about to shout for assistance
when he perceived that the newcomer
was Sheen, and refrained. It was no
use, he felt, asking Sheen for help.
But just as Sheen arrived and the
ranks of the expedition were beginning
to give way before the strenuous
onslaught of the Judies, the latter,
almost with one accord, turned and
bolted into their playground again.
Looking round, Tomlin, that first of
generals, saw the reason, and uttered a
warning.
A mutual foe had appeared. From a
passage on the left of the road there had
debouched on to the field of action
Albert himself and two of his band.
The expedition flew without false
shame. It is to be doubted whether one
of Alberts calibre would have troubled
to attack such small game, but it was
the firm opinion of the Wrykyn fags
and the Judies that he and his men were
to be avoided.
The newcomers did not pursue
them. They contented themselves with
shouting at them. One of the band
threw a stone.
Then they caught sight of Sheen.
Albert said, Oo er! and advanced
at the double. His companions
followed him.
Sheen watched them come, and
backed against the wall. His heart was
thumping furiously. He was in for it
now, he felt. He had come down to the
town with this very situation in his
mind. A wild idea of doing something
to restore his self-respect and his credit
in the eyes of the house had driven him
to the High Street. But now that the
crisis had actually arrived, he would
have given much to have been in his
study again.
 ALBERT REDIVIVUS
Albert was quite close now. Sheen
could see the marks which had resulted
from his interview with Drummond.
With all his force Sheen hit out, and
experienced a curious thrill as his fist
went home. It was a poor blow from a
scientific point of view, but Sheens
fives had given him muscle, and it
checked Albert. That youth, however,
recovered rapidly, and the next few
moments passed in a whirl for Sheen.
He received a stinging blow on his left
ear, and another which deprived him of
his whole stock of breath, and then he
was on the ground, conscious only of a
wish to stay there for ever.
MR JOE BEVAN
Almost involuntarily he staggered up
to receive another blow which sent him
down again.
Thatll do, said a voice.
Sheen got up, panting. Between him
and his assailant stood a short, sturdy
man in a tweed suit. He was waving
Albert back, and Albert appeared to be
dissatisfied. He was arguing hotly with
the newcomer.
Now, you go away, said that
worthy, mildly, just you go away.
Albert gave it as his opinion that the
speaker would do well not to come
interfering in what didnt concern him.
What he wanted, asserted Albert, was a
thick ear.
Coming pushing yourself in,
added Albert querulously.
You go away, repeated the
stranger. You go away. I dont want
to have trouble with you.
Alberts reply was to hit out with his
left hand in the direction of the
speakers face. The stranger, without
fuss, touched the back of Alberts wrist
gently with the palm of his right hand,
and Albert, turning round in a circle,
ended the manoeuvre with his back
337
towards his opponent. He faced round
again irresolutely. The thing had
surprised him.
You go away, said the other, as if
he were making the observation for the
first time.
Its Joe Bevan, said one of
Alberts friends, excitedly.
Alberts jaw fell. His freckled face
paled.
You go away, repeated the man in
the tweed suit, whose conversation
seemed inclined to run in a groove.
This time Albert took the advice.
His friends had already taken it.
Thanks, said Sheen.
Beware, said Mr Bevan oracularly,
of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
beart that th opposed may beware of
thee. Always counter back when you
guard. When a man shows you his right
like that, always push out your hand
straight. The straight left rules the
boxing world. Feeling better, sir?
Yes, thanks.
He got that right in just on the spot.
I was watching. When you see a man
coming to hit you with his right like
that, dont you draw back. Get on top
of him. He cant hit you then.
That feeling of utter collapse, which
is the immediate result of a blow in the
parts about the waistcoat, was
beginning to pass away, and Sheen now
felt capable of taking an interest in
sublunary matters once more. His ear
smarted horribly, and when he put up a
hand and felt it the pain was so great
that he could barely refrain from
uttering a cry. But, however physically
battered he might be, he was feeling
happier and more satisfied with himself
than he had felt for years. He had been
beaten, but he had fought his best, and
not given in. Some portion of his self-
respect came back to him as he
reviewed the late encounter.
338 THE WHITE FEATHER
Mr Bevan regarded him approvingly.
He was too heavy for you, he
said. Hes a good twelve stone, I make
it. I should put you at ten stonesay
ten stone three. Call it nine stone
twelve in condition. But youve got
pluck, sir.
Sheen opened his eyes at this
surprising statement.
Some Ive met would have laid
down after getting that first hit, but you
got up again. Thats the secret of
fighting. Always keep going on. Never
give in. You know what Shakespeare
says about the one who first cries,
Hold, enough! Do you read
Shakespeare, sir?
Yes, said Sheen.
Ah, now he knew his business,
said Mr Bevan enthusiastically. There
was ring-craft, as you may say. He
wasnt a novice.
Sheen agreed that Shakespeare had
written some good things in his time.
Thats what you want to
remember. Always keep going on, as
the saying is. I was fighting Dick
Roberts at the Nationalan American,
he was, from San Francisco. He come
at me with his right stretched out, and I
think hes going to hit me with it, when
blessed if his left dont come out
instead, and, my Golly! it nearly
knocked a passage through me. Just
where that fellow hit you, sir, he hit
me. It was just at the end of the round,
and I went back to my corner. Jim
Blake was seconding me. Whats this,
Jim? I says, is the man mad, or what?
Why, he says, hes left-handed, thats fighting the world and beating it. The
whats the matter. Get on top of him.
Get on top of him? I says. My Golly,
Ill get on top of the roof if hes going
to hit me another of those. But I kept
on, and got close to him, and he
couldnt get in another of them, and he
give in after the seventh round.
What competition was that? asked
Sheen.
Mr Bevan laughed. It was a
twenty-round contest, sir, for seven-
fifty aside and the Light Weight
Championship of the World.
Sheen looked at him in
astonishment. He had always imagined
professional pugilists to be bullet-
headed and beetle-browed to a man. He
was not prepared for one of Mr Joe
Bevans description. For all the marks
of his profession that he bore on his
face, in the shape of lumps and scars, he
might have been a curate. His face
looked tough, and his eyes harboured
always a curiously alert, questioning
expression, as if he were perpetually
sizing up the person he was
addressing. But otherwise he was like
other men. He seemed also to have a
pretty taste in Literature. This,
combined with his strong and capable
air, attracted Sheen. Usually he was
shy and ill at ease with strangers. Joe
Bevan he felt he had known all his life.
Do you still fight? he asked.
No, said Mr Bevan, I gave it up.
A man finds hes getting on, as the
saying is, and it dont do to keep at it
too long. I teach and I train, but I dont
fight now.
A sudden idea flashed across
Sheens mind. He was still glowing
with that pride which those who are
accustomed to work with their brains
feel when they have gone honestly
through some labour of the hands. At
that moment he felt himself capable of
small point, that Albert had knocked
him out of time in less than a minute,
did not damp him at all. He had started
on the right road. He had done
something. He had stood up to his man
till he could stand no longer. An
unlimited vista of action stretched
 MR JOE BEVAN
before him. He had tasted the pleasure
of the fight, and he wanted more.
Why, he thought, should he not avail
himself of Joe Bevans services to help
him put himself right in the eyes of the
house? At the end of the term, shortly
before the Public Schools
Competitions at Aldershot, inter-house
boxing cups were competed for at
Wrykyn. It would be a dramatic act of
reparation to the house if he could win
the Light-Weight cup for it. His
imagination, jumping wide gaps, did
not admit the possibility of his not
being good enough to win it. In the
scene which he conjured up in his mind
he was an easy victor. After all, there
was the greater part of the term to learn
in, and he would have a Champion of
the World to teach him.
Mr Bevan cut in on his reflections as
if he had heard them by some process of
wireless telegraphy.
Now, look here, sir, he said, you time you like to name, sir, and youll
should let me give you a few lessons.
Youre plucky, but you dont know the
game as yet. And boxings a thing
every one ought to know. Supposition
is, youre crossing a field or going
down a street with your sweetheart or
your wife
Sheen was neither engaged nor
married, but he let the point pass.
And up comes one of these
hooligans, as they call em. What are
you going to do if he starts his games?
Why, nothing, if you cant box. You
may be plucky, but you cant beat him.
And if you beat him, youll get half
murdered yourself. What you want to
do is to learn to box, and then what
happens? Why, as soon as he sees you
shaping, he says to himself, Hullo, this
chap knows too much for me. Im off,
and off he runs. Or supposition is, he
comes for you. You dont mind. Not
you. You give him one punch in the
339
right place, and then you go off to your
tea, leaving him lying there. He wont
get up.
Id like to learn, said Sheen. I
should be awfully obliged if youd
teach me. I wonder if you could make
me any good by the end of the term.
The House Competitions come off
then.
That all depends, sir. It comes
easier to some than others. If you know
how to shoot your left out straight,
thats as good as six months teaching.
After that its all ring-craft. The
straight left beats the world.
Where shall I find you?
Im training a young chapeight
stone seven, and hes got to get down to
eight stone four, for a bantam weight
matchat an inn up the river here. I
daresay you know it, sir. Or any one
would tell you where it is. The Blue
Boar, its called. You come there any
find me.
I should like to come every day,
said Sheen. Would that be too often?
Oftener the better, sir. You cant
practise too much.
Then Ill start next week. Thanks
very much. By the way, I shall have to
go by boat, I suppose. It isnt far, is it?
Ive not been up the river for some
time, The School generally goes down
stream.
Its not what youd call far, said
Bevan. But it would be easier for you
to come by road.
I havent a bicycle.
Wouldnt one of your friends lend
you one?
Sheen flushed.
No, Id better come by boat, I
think. Ill turn up on Tuesday at about
five. Will that suit you?
Yes, sir. That will be a good time.
Then Ill say good bye, sir, for the
340 THE WHITE FEATHER
present.
Sheen went back to his house in a
different mood from the one in which
he had left it. He did not care now
when the other Seymourites looked
through him.
In the passage he met Linton, and
grinned pleasantly at him.
What the dickens was that man
grinning at? said Linton to himself. I
must have a smut or something on my
face.
But a close inspection in the
dormitory looking-glass revealed no
blemish on his handsome features.
A NAVAL BATTLE AND
ITS CONSEQUENCES
What a go is life!
Let us examine the case of Jackson,
of Dexters. OHara, who had left
Dexters at the end of the summer term,
had once complained to Clowes of the
manner in which his house-master
treated him, and Clowes had remarked
in his melancholy way that it was
nothing less than a breach of the law
that Dexter should persist in leading a
fellow a dogs life without a dog licence
for him.
That was precisely how Jackson felt
on the subject.
Things became definitely unbearable
on the day after Sheens interview with
Mr Joe Bevan.
Twas mornto begin at the
beginningand Jackson sprang from
his little cot to embark on the labours of
the day. Unfortunately, he sprang ten
minutes too late, and came down to
breakfast about the time of the second
slice of bread and marmalade. Result, a
hundred lines. Proceeding to school, he
had again fallen foul of his house-
masterin whose form he wasover a
matter of unprepared Livy. As a matter
of fact, Jackson had prepared the Livy.
Or, rather, he had not absolutely
prepared it; but he had meant to. But it
was Mr Templars preparation, and Mr
Templar was short-sighted. Any one
will understand, therefore, that it would
have been simply chucking away the
gifts of Providence if he had not gone
on with the novel which he had been
reading up till the last moment before
prep-time, and had brought along with
him accidentally, as it were. It was a
book called A Spoiler of Men, by
Richard Marsh, and there was a
repulsive crime on nearly every page. It
was Hot Stuff. Much better than
Livy....
Lunch ScoreTwo hundred lines.
During lunch he had the misfortune
to upset a glass of water. Pure accident,
of course, but there it was, dont you
know, all over the table.
Mr Dexter had called him
(a) clumsy;
(b) a pig;
and had given him
(1) AdviceYou had better be
careful, Jackson.
(2) A presentTwo hundred lines,
Jackson.
On the match being resumed at two
oclock, with four hundred lines on the
score-sheet, he had played a fine, free
game during afternoon school, and Mr
Dexter, who objected to fine, free
gamesor, indeed, any gamesduring
school hours, had increased the total to
six hundred, when stumps were drawn
for the day.
So on a bright sunny Saturday
afternoon, when he should have been
out in the field cheering the house-team
on to victory against the School House,
Jackson sat in the junior day-room at
Dexters copying out portions of Virgil,
Aeneid Two.
To him, later on in the afternoon,
when he had finished half his task,
 A NAVAL BATTLE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
entered Painter, with the news that
Dexters had taken thirty points off the
School House just after half-time.
Mopped them up, said the terse
and epigrammatic Painter. Made rings
round them. Havent you finished yet?
Well, chuck it, and come out.
Whats on? asked Jackson.
Were going to have a boat race.
Pile it on.
We are, really. Fact. Some of
these School House kids are awfully
sick about the match, and challenged
us. That chap Tomlin thinks he can
row.
He cant row for nuts, said
Jackson. He doesnt know which end
of the oar to shove into the water. Ive
seen cats that could row better than
Tomlin.
Thats what I told him. At least, I
said he couldnt row for toffee, so he
said all right, I bet I can lick you, and I
said I betted he couldnt, and he said all
right, then, lets try, and then the other
chaps wanted to join in, so we made an
inter-house thing of it. And I want you
to come and stroke us.
Jackson hesitated. Mr Dexter,
setting the lines on Friday, had certainly
said that they were to be shown up
tomorrow evening. He had said it
very loud and clear. Still, in a case like
this....After all, by helping to beat the
School House on the river he would be
giving Dexters a leg-up. And what
more could the man want?
Right ho, said Jackson.
Down at the School boat-house the
enemy were already afloat when Painter
and Jackson arrived.
Buck up, cried the School House
crew.
Dexters embarked, five strong.
There was room for two on each seat.
Jackson shared the post of stroke with
Painter. Crowle steered.
341
Ready? asked Tomlin from the
other boat.
Half a sec., said Jackson. Whats
the course?
Oh, dont you know that yet? Up
to the town, round the island just below
the bridge,the island with the croquet
ground on it, you knowand back
again here. Ready?
In a jiffy. Look here, Crowle,
remember about steering. You pull the
right line if you want to go to the right
and the other if you want to go to the
left.
All right, said the injured Crowle.
As if I didnt know that.
Thought Id mention it. Its your
fault. Nobody could tell by looking at
you that you knew anything except how
to eat. Ready, you chaps?
When I say Three, said Tomlin.
It was a subject of heated discussion
between the crews for weeks afterwards
whether Dexters boat did or did not go
off at the word Two. Opinions were
divided on the topic. But it was certain
that Jackson and his men led from the
start. Pulling a good, splashing stroke
which had drenched Crowle to the skin
in the first thirty yards, Dexters boat
crept slowly ahead. By the time the
island was reached, it led by a length.
Encouraged by success, the leaders
redoubled their already energetic
efforts. Crowle sat in a shower-bath.
He was even moved to speech about it.
When youve finished, said
Crowle.
Jackson, intent upon repartee, caught
a crab, and the School House drew level
again. The two boats passed the island
abreast.
Just here occurred one of those
unfortunate incidents. Both crews had
quickened their stroke until the boats
had practically been converted into
submarines, and the rival coxswains
342 THE WHITE FEATHER
were observing bitterly to space that
this was jolly well the last time they
ever let themselves in for this sort of
thing, when round the island there hove
in sight a flotilla of boats, directly in the
path of the racers.
There were three of them, and not
even the spray which played over them
like a fountain could prevent Crowle
from seeing that they were manned by
Judies. Even on the river these outcasts
wore their mortar-boards.
Look out! shrieked Crowle,
pulling hard on his right line. Stop
rowing, you chaps. We shall be into
them.
At the same moment the School
House oarsmen ceased pulling. The
two boats came to a halt a few yards
from the enemy.
Whats up? panted Jackson,
crimson from his exertions. Hullo, its
the Judies!
Tomlin was parleying with the foe.
Why the dickens cant you keep out
of the way? Spoiling our race. Wait till
we get ashore.
But the Judies, it seemed, were not
prepared to wait even for that short
space of time. A miscreant, larger than
the common run of Judy, made a brief,
but popular, address to his men.
Splash them! he said.
Instantly, amid shrieks of approval,
oars began to strike the water, and the
water began to fly over the Wrykyn
boats, which were now surrounded.
The latter were not slow to join battle
with the same weapons. Homeric
laughter came from the bridge above.
The town bridge was a sort of loafers
club, to which the entrance fee was a
screw of tobacco, and the subscription
an occasional remark upon the weather.
Here gathered together day by day that
section of the populace which resented
it when they asked for employment,
and only got work instead. From morn
till eve they lounged against the
balustrades, surveying nature, and
hoping it would be kind enough to give
them some excitement that day. An
occasional dog-fight found in them an
eager audience. No runaway horse ever
bored them. A broken-down motor-car
was meat and drink to them. They had
an appetite for every spectacle.
When, therefore, the water began to
fly from boat to boat, kind-hearted men
fetched their friends from neighbouring
public houses and craned with them
over the parapet, observing the sport
and commenting thereon. It was these
comments that attracted Mr Dexters
attention. When, cycling across the
bridge, he found the south side of it
entirely congested, and heard raucous
voices urging certain unseen little
uns now to go it and anon to vote
for Pedder, his curiosity was aroused.
He dismounted and pushed his way
through the crowd until he got a clear
view of what was happening below.
He was just in time to see the most
stirring incident of the fight. The
biggest of the Judy boats had been
propelled by the current nearer and
nearer to the Dexter Argo. No sooner
was it within distance than Jackson,
dropping his oar, grasped the side and
pulled it towards him. The two boats
crashed together and rocked violently as
the crews rose from their seats and
grappled with one another. A hurricane
of laughter and applause went up from
the crowd upon the bridge.
The next moment both boats were
bottom upwards and drifting sluggishly
down towards the island, while the
crews swam like rats for the other boats.
Every Wrykinian had to learn to
swim before he was allowed on the
river; so that the peril of Jackson and
his crew was not extreme: and it was
 A NAVAL BATTLE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
soon speedily evident that swimming
was also part of the Judy curriculum,
for the shipwrecked ones were soon
climbing drippingly on board the
surviving ships, where they sat and
made puddles, and shrieked defiance at
their antagonists.
This was accepted by both sides as
the end of the fight, and the combatants
parted without further hostilities, each
fleet believing that the victory was with
them.
And Mr Dexter, mounting his
bicycle again, rode home to tell the
headmaster.
That evening, after preparation, the
headmaster held a reception. Among
distinguished visitors were Jackson,
Painter, Tomlin, Crowle, and six others.
On the Monday morning the
headmaster issued a manifesto to the
school after prayers. He had, he said,
for some time entertained the idea of
placing the town out of bounds. He
would do so now. No boy, unless he
was a prefect, would be allowed till
further notice to cross the town bridge.
As regarded the river, for the future
boating Wrykinians must confine their
attentions to the lower river. Nobody
must take a boat up-stream. The school
boatman would have strict orders to see
that this rule was rigidly enforced. Any
breach of these bounds would, he
concluded, be punished with the utmost
severity.
The headmaster of Wrykyn was not
a hasty man. He thought before he put
his foot down. But when he did, he put
it down heavily.
Sheen heard the ultimatum with
dismay. He was a law-abiding person,
and here he was, faced with a dilemma
that made it necessary for him to choose
between breaking school rules of the
most important kind, or pulling down
all the castles he had built in the air
343
before the mortar had had time to
harden between their stones.
He wished he could talk it over with
somebody. But he had nobody with
whom he could talk over anything. He
must think it out for himself.
He spent the rest of the day thinking
it out, and by nightfall he had come to
his decision.
Even at the expense of breaking
bounds and the risk of being caught at
it, he must keep his appointment with
Joe Bevan. It would mean going to the
town landing-stage for a boat, thereby
breaking bounds twice over.
But it would have to be done.
SHEEN BEGINS HIS
EDUCATION
The Blue Boar was a picturesque
inn, standing on the bank of the river
Severn. It was much frequented in the
summer by fishermen, who spent their
days in punts and their evenings in the
old oak parlour, where a picture in
boxing costume of Mr Joe Bevan,
whose brother was the landlord of the
inn, gazed austerely down on them, as if
he disapproved of the lamentable want
of truth displayed by the majority of
their number. Artists also congregated
there to paint the ivy-covered porch. At
the back of the house were bedrooms, to
which the fishermen would make their
way in the small hours of a summer
morning, arguing to the last as they
stumbled upstairs. One of these
bedrooms, larger than the others, had
been converted into a gymnasium for
the use of mine hosts brother. Thither
he brought pugilistic aspirants who
wished to be trained for various
contests, and it was the boast of the
Blue Boar that it had never turned out
a loser. A reputation of this kind is a
valuable asset to an inn, and the boxing
world thought highly of it, in spite of
344 THE WHITE FEATHER
the fact that it was off the beaten track.
Certainly the luck of the Blue Boar
had been surprising.
Sheen pulled steadily up stream on
the appointed day, and after half an
hours work found himself opposite the
little landing-stage at the foot of the inn
lawn.
His journey had not been free from
adventure. On his way to the town he
had almost run into Mr Templar, and
but for the lucky accident of that
gentlemans short sight must have been
discovered. He had reached the
landing-stage in safety, but he had not
felt comfortable until he was well out of
sight of the town. It was fortunate for
him in the present case that he was
being left so severely alone by the
school. It was an advantage that
nobody took the least interest in his
goings and comings.
Having moored his boat and
proceeded to the inn, he was directed
upstairs by the landlord, who was an
enlarged and coloured edition of his
brother. From the other side of the
gymnasium door came an unceasing
and mysterious shuffling sound.
He tapped at the door and went in.
He found himself in a large, airy
room, lit by two windows and a broad
skylight. The floor was covered with
linoleum. But it was the furniture that
first attracted his attention. In a farther
corner of the room was a circular
wooden ceiling, supported by four
narrow pillars. From the centre of this
hung a ball, about the size of an
ordinary football. To the left,
suspended from a beam, was an
enormous leather bolster. On the floor,
underneath a table bearing several pairs
of boxing-gloves, a skipping-rope, and
some wooden dumb-bells, was
something that looked like a dozen
Association footballs rolled into one.
All the rest of the room, a space some
few yards square, was bare of furniture.
In this space a small sweater-clad
youth, with a head of light hair cropped
very short, was darting about and
ducking and hitting out with both hands
at nothing, with such a serious, earnest
expression on his face that Sheen could
not help smiling. On a chair by one of
the windows Mr Joe Bevan was sitting,
with a watch in his hand.
As Sheen entered the room the
earnest young man made a sudden dash
at him. The next moment he seemed to
be in a sort of heavy shower of fists.
They whizzed past his ear, flashed up
from below within an inch of his nose,
and tapped him caressingly on the
waistcoat. Just as the shower was at its
heaviest his assailant darted away again,
side-stepped an imaginary blow, ducked
another, and came at him once more.
None of the blows struck him, but it
was with more than a little pleasure that
he heard Joe Bevan call Time! and
saw the active young gentleman sink
panting into a seat.
You and your games, Francis! said
Joe Bevan, reproachfully. This is a
young gentleman from the college come
for tuition.
Gentlemanwont mindlittle
joketake it in spirit which is-
meant, said Francis, jerkily.
Sheen hastened to assure him that he
had not been offended.
You take your two minutes,
Francis, said Mr Bevan, and then
have a turn with the ball. Come this
way, Mr
Sheen.
Come this way, Mr Sheen, and Ill
show you where to put on your things.
Sheen had brought his football
clothes with him. He had not put them
on for a year.
Thats the lad I was speaking of.
 SHEEN BEGINS HIS EDUCATION
Getting on prime, he is. Fit to fight for
his life, as the saying is.
What was he doing when I came
in?
Oh, he always has three rounds like
that every day. It teaches you to get
about quick. You try it when you get
back, Mr Sheen. Fancy youre fighting
me.
Are you sure Im not interrupting
you in the middle of your work? asked
Sheen.
Not at all, sir, not at all. I just have
to rub him down, and give him his
shower-bath, and then hes finished for
the day.
Having donned his football clothes
and returned to the gymnasium, Sheen
found Francis in a chair, having his left
leg vigorously rubbed by Mr Bevan.
You fon of dargs? inquired
Francis affably, looking up as he came
in.
Sheen replied that he was, and,
indeed, was possessed of one. The
admission stimulated Francis, whose
right leg was now under treatment, to a
flood of conversation. He, it appeared,
had always been one for dargs. Owned
two. Answering to the names of Tim
and Tom. Beggars for rats, yes. And
plucked uns? Wellhe would like to
see, would Francis, a dog that Tim or
Tom would not stand up to. Clever,
too. Why once
Joe Bevan cut his soliloquy short at
this point by leading him off to another
room for his shower-bath; but before he
went he expressed a desire to talk
further with Sheen on the subject of
dogs, and, learning that Sheen would be
there every day, said he was glad to
hear it. He added that for a brother dog-
lover he did not mind stretching a point,
so that, if ever Sheen wanted a couple
of rounds any day, he, Francis, would
see that he got them. This offer, it may
345
be mentioned, Sheen accepted with
gratitude, and the extra practice he
acquired thereby was subsequently of
the utmost use to him. Francis, as a
boxer, excelled in what is known in
pugilistic circles as shiftiness. That is
to say, he had a number of ingenious
ways of escaping out of tight corners;
and these he taught Sheen, much to the
latters profit.
But this was later, when the
Wrykinian had passed those preliminary
stages on which he was now to embark.
The art of teaching boxing really
well is a gift, and it is given to but a
few. It is largely a matter of personal
magnetism, and, above all, sympathy.
A man may be a fine boxer himself, up
to every move of the game, and a
champion of champions, but for all that
he may not be a good teacher. If he has
not the sympathy necessary for the
appreciation of the difficulties
experienced by the beginner, he cannot
produce good results. A boxing
instructor needs three qualitiesskill,
sympathy, and enthusiasm. Joe Bevan
had all three, particularly enthusiasm.
His heart was in his work, and he
carried Sheen with him. Beautiful, sir,
beautiful, he kept saying, as he
guarded the blows; and Sheen, though
too clever to be wholly deceived by the
praise, for he knew perfectly well that
his efforts up to the present had been
anything but beautiful, was nevertheless
encouraged, and put all he knew into his
hits. Occasionally Joe Bevan would
push out his left glove. Then, if
Sheens guard was in the proper place
and the push did not reach its
destination, Joe would mutter a word of
praise. If Sheen dropped his right hand,
so that he failed to stop the blow, Bevan
would observe, Keep that guard up,
sir! with almost a pained intonation, as
if he had been disappointed in a friend.
346 THE WHITE FEATHER
The constant repetition of this
maxim gradually drove it into Sheens
head, so that towards the end of the
lesson he no longer lowered his right
hand when he led with his left; and he
felt the gentle pressure of Joe Bevans
glove less frequently. At no stage of a
pupils education did Joe Bevan hit him
really hard, and in the first few lessons
he could scarcely be said to hit him at
all. He merely rested his glove against
the pupils face. On the other hand, he
was urgent in imploring the pupil to hit
him as hard as he could.
Dont be too kind, sir, he would
chant, I dont mind being hit. Let me
have it. Dont flap. Put it in with some
weight behind it. He was also fond of
mentioning that extract from Polonius
speech to Laertes, which he had quoted
to Sheen on their first meeting.
Sheen finished his first lesson,
feeling hotter than he had ever felt in
his life.
Hullo, sir, youre out of condition,
commented Mr Bevan. Have a bit of a
rest.
Once more Sheen had learnt the
lesson of his weakness. He could
hardly realise that he had only begun to
despise himself in the last fortnight.
Before then, he had been, on the whole,
satisfied with himself. He was brilliant
at work, and would certainly get a
scholarship at Oxford or Cambridge
when the time came; and he had
specialised in work to the exclusion of
games. It is bad to specialise in games
to the exclusion of work, but of the two
courses the latter is probably the less
injurious. One gains at least health by
it.
But Sheen now understood
thoroughly, what he ought to have
learned from his study of the Classics,
that the happy mean was the thing at
which to strive. And for the future he
meant to aim at it. He would get the
Gotford, if he could, but also would he
win the house boxing at his weight.
After he had rested he discovered the
use of the big ball beneath the table. It
was soft, but solid and heavy. By
throwing thisthe medicine-ball, as
they call it in the professionat Joe
Bevan, and catching it, Sheen made
himself very hot again, and did the
muscles of his shoulders a great deal of
good.
Thatll do for today, then, sir. said
Joe Bevan. Have a good rub down
tonight, or youll find yourself very stiff
in the morning.
Well, do you think I shall be any
good? asked Sheen.
Youll do fine, sir. But remember
what Shakespeare says.
About vaulting ambition?
No, sir, no. I meant what Hamlet
says to the players. Nor do not saw the
air too much, with your hand, thus, but
use all gently. Thats what youve got
to remember in boxing, sir. Take it
easy. Easy and cool does it, and the
straight left beats the world.
*****
Sheen paddled quietly back to the
town with the stream, pondering over
this advice. He felt that he had
advanced another step. He was not
foolish enough to believe that he knew
anything about boxing as yet, but he felt
that it would not be long before he did.
SHEENS PROGRESS
Sheen improved. He took to boxing
as he had taken to fives. He found that
his fives helped him. He could get
about on his feet quickly, and his eye
was trained to rapid work.
His second lesson was not
encouraging. He found that he had
learned just enough to make him stiff
and awkward, and no more. But he
 SHEENS PROGRESS
kept on, and by the end of the first week
Joe Bevan declared definitely that he
would do, that he had the root of the
matter in him, and now required only
practice.
I wish you could see like I can how
youre improving, he said at the end of
the sixth lesson, as they were resting
after five minutes exercise with the
medicine-ball. I get four blows in on
some of the gentlemen I teach to one
what I get in on you. But its like
riding. When you can trot, you look
forward to when you can gallop. And
when you can gallop, you cant see
yourself getting on any further. But
youre improving all the time.
But I cant gallop yet, said Sheen.
Well, no, not gallop exactly, but
youve only had six lessons. Why, in
another six weeks, if you come regular,
you wont know yourself. Youll be
making some of the young gentlemen at
the college wish they had never been
born. Youll make babies of them,
thats what youll do.
Ill bet I couldnt, if Id learnt with
some one else, said Sheen, sincerely.
I dont believe I should have learnt a
thing if Id gone to the school
instructor.
Who is your school instructor, sir?
A man named Jenkins. He used to
be in the army.
Well, there, you see, thats what it
is. I know old George Jenkins. He
used to be a pretty good boxer in his
time, but there! boxings a thing, like
everything else, that moves with the
times. We used to go about in iron
trucks. Now we go in motor-cars. Just
the same with boxing. What youre
learning now is the sort of boxing that
wins championship fights nowadays.
Old George, well, he teaches you how
to put your left out, but, my Golly, he
doesnt know any tricks. He hasnt
347
studied it same as I have. Its the ring-
craft that wins battles. Now sir, if
youre ready.
They put on the gloves again. When
the round was over, Mr Bevan had
further comments to make.
You dont hit hard enough, sir, he
said. Dont flap. Let it come straight
out with some weight behind it. You
want to be earnest in the ring. The
other mans going to do his best to hurt
you, and youve got to stop him. One
good punch is worth twenty taps. You
hit him. And when youve hit him,
dont you go back; you hit him again.
Theyll only give you three rounds in
any competition you go in for, so you
want to do the work you can while
youre at it.
As the days went by, Sheen began to
imbibe some of Joe Bevans rugged
philosophy of life. He began to
understand that the world is a place
where every man has to look after
himself, and that it is the stronger hand
that wins. That sentence from Hamlet
which Joe Bevan was so fond of
quoting practically summed up the
whole duty of manand boy too. One
should not seek quarrels, but, being
in, one should do ones best to ensure
that ones opponent thought twice in
future before seeking them. These
afternoons at the Blue Boar were
gradually giving Sheen what he had
never before possessedself-
confidence. He was beginning to find
that he was capable of something after
all, that in an emergency he would be
able to keep his end up. The feeling
added a zest to all that he did. His work
in school improved. He looked at the
Gotford no longer as a prize which he
would have to struggle to win. He felt
that his rivals would have to struggle to
win it from him.
After his twelfth lesson, when he had
348 THE WHITE FEATHER
learned the ground-work of the art, and
had begun to develop a style of his own,
like some nervous batsman at cricket
who does not show his true form till he
has been at the wickets for several
overs, the dog-loving Francis gave him
a trial. This was a very different affair
from his spars with Joe Bevan. Frank
Hunt was one of the cleverest boxers at
his weight in England, but he had not
Joe Bevans gift of hitting gently. He
probably imagined that he was merely
tapping, and certainly his blows were
not to be compared with those he
delivered in the exercise of his
professional duties; but, nevertheless,
Sheen had never felt anything so painful
before, not even in his passage of arms
with Albert. He came out of the
encounter with a swollen lip and a
feeling that one of his ribs was broken,
and he had not had the pleasure of
landing a single blow upon his slippery
antagonist, who flowed about the room
like quicksilver. But he had not
flinched, and the statement of Francis,
as they shook hands, that he had done
varry well, was as balm. Boxing is
one of the few sports where the loser
can feel the same thrill of triumph as the
winner. There is no satisfaction equal
to that which comes when one has
forced oneself to go through an ordeal
from which one would have liked to
have escaped.
Capital, sir, capital, said Joe
Bevan. I wanted to see whether you
would lay down or not when you began
to get a few punches. You did capitally,
Mr Sheen.
I didnt hit him much, said Sheen
with a laugh.
Never mind, sir, you got hit, which
was just as good. Some of the
gentlemen Ive taught wouldnt have
taken half that. Theyre all right when
theyre on top and winning, and to see
them shape youd say to yourself, By
George, heres a champion. But let em
get a punch or two, and hullo! says you,
whats this? They dont like it. They
lay down. But you kept on. Theres
one thing, though, you want to keep that
guard up when you duck. You slip him
that way once. Very well. Next time
hes waiting for you. He doesnt hit
straight. He hooks you, and you dont
want many of those.
Sheen enjoyed his surreptitious visits
to the Blue Boar. Twice he escaped
being caught in the most sensational
way; and once Mr Spence, who looked
after the Wrykyn cricket and
gymnasium, and played everything
equally well, nearly caused
complications by inviting Sheen to play
fives with him after school. Fortunately
the Gotford afforded an excellent
excuse. As the time for the examination
drew near, those who had entered for it
were accustomed to become hermits to
a great extent, and to retire after school
to work in their studies.
You mustnt overdo it, Sheen, said
Mr Spence. You ought to get some
exercise.
Oh, I do, sir, said Sheen. I still
play fives, but I play before breakfast
now.
He had had one or two games with
Harrington of the School House, who
did not care particularly whom he
played with so long as his opponent was
a useful man. Sheen being one of the
few players in the school who were up
to his form, Harrington ignored the
cloud under which Sheen rested. When
they met in the world outside the fives-
courts Harrington was polite, but made
no overtures of friendship. That, it may
be mentioned, was the attitude of every
one who did not actually cut Sheen.
The exception was Jack Bruce, who had
constituted himself audience to Sheen,
 SHEENS PROGRESS
when the latter was practising the piano,
on two further occasions. But then
Bruce was so silent by nature that for all
practical purposes he might just as well
have cut Sheen like the others.
We might have a game before
breakfast some time, then, said Mr
Spence.
He had noticed, being a master who
did notice things, that Sheen appeared
to have few friends, and had made up
his mind that he would try and bring
him out a little. Of the real facts of the
case, he knew of course, nothing.
I should like to, sir, said Sheen.
Next Wednesday?
All right, sir.
Ill be there at seven. If youre fine workman, I am but, as you would
before me, you might get the second
court, will you?
The second court from the end
nearest the boarding-house was the best
of the half-dozen fives-courts at
Wrykyn. After school sometimes you
would see fags racing across the gravel
to appropriate it for their masters. The
rule was that whoever first pinned to the
door a piece of paper with his name on
it was the legal owner of the court-and
it was a stirring sight to see a dozen
fags fighting to get at the door. But
before breakfast the court might be had
with less trouble.
*****
Meanwhile, Sheen paid his daily
visits to the Blue Boar, losing flesh
and gaining toughness with every
lesson. The more he saw of Joe Bevan
the more he liked him, and appreciated
his strong, simple outlook on life.
Shakespeare was a great bond between
them. Sheen had always been a student
of the Bard, and he and Joe would sit on
the little verandah of the inn, looking
over the river, until it was time for him
to row back to the town, quoting
passages at one another. Joe Bevans
349
knowledge, of the plays, especially the
tragedies, was wide, and at first
inexplicable to Sheen. It was strange to
hear him declaiming long speeches
from Macbeth or Hamlet, and to think
that he was by profession a pugilist.
One evening he explained his curious
erudition. In his youth, before he took
to the ring in earnest, he had travelled
with a Shakespearean repertory
company. I never played a star part,
he confessed, but I used to come on in
the Battle of Bosworth and in
Macbeths castle and what not. Ive
been First Citizen sometimes. I was the
carpenter in Julius Csar. That was my
biggest part. Truly sir, in respect of a
say, a cobbler. But somehow the stage
well..._you_ know what it is, sir.
Leeds one week, Manchester the next,
Brighton the week after, and travelling
all Sunday. It wasnt quiet enough for
me.
The idea of becoming a professional
pugilist for the sake of peace and quiet
tickled Sheen. But Ive always read
Shakespeare ever since then, continued
Mr Bevan, and I always shall read
him.
It was on the next day that Mr Bevan
made a suggestion which drew
confidences from Sheen, in his turn.
What you want now, sir, he said,
is to practise on someone of about
your own form, as the saying is. Isnt
there some gentleman friend of yours at
the college who would come here with
you?
They were sitting on the verandah
when he asked this question. It was
growing dusk, and the evening seemed
to invite confidences. Sheen, looking
out across the river and avoiding his
friends glance, explained just what it
was that made it so difficult for him to
produce a gentleman friend at that
350 THE WHITE FEATHER
particular time. He could feel Mr
Bevans eye upon him, but he went
through with it till the thing was told-
boldly, and with no attempt to smooth
over any of the unpleasant points.
Never you mind, sir, said Mr
Bevan consolingly, as he finished. We
all lose our heads sometimes. Ive seen
the way you stand up to Francis, and Ill
eatIll eat the medicine-ball if youre
not as plucky as anyone. Its simply a
question of keeping your head. You
wouldnt do a thing like that again, not
you. Dont you worry yourself, sir.
Were all alike when we get bustled.
We dont know what were doing, and
by the time weve put our hands up and
got into shape, why, its all over, and
there you are. Dont you worry
yourself, sir.
Youre an awfully good sort, Joe,
said Sheen gratefully.
A SMALL INCIDENT
Failing a gentleman friend, Mr
Bevan was obliged to do what he could
by means of local talent. On Sheens
next visit he was introduced to a burly
youth of his own age, very taciturn, and
apparently ferocious. He, it seemed,
was the knife and boot boy at the Blue
Boar, did a bit with the gloves, and
was willing to spar with Sheen provided
Mr Bevan made it all right with the
guvnor; saw, that is so say, that he did
not get into trouble for passing in
unprofessional frivolity moments which
should have been sacred to knives and
boots. These terms having been agreed
to, he put on the gloves.
For the first time since he had begun
his lessons, Sheen experienced an attack
of his old shyness and dislike of hurting
other peoples feelings. He could not
resist the thought that he had no grudge
against the warden of the knives and
boots. He hardly liked to hit him.
The other, however, did not share
this prejudice. He rushed at Sheen with
such determination, that almost the first
warning the latter had that the contest
had begun was the collision of the back
of his head with the wall. Out in the
middle of the room he did better, and
was beginning to hold his own, in spite
of a rousing thump on his left eye, when
Joe Bevan called Time! A second
round went off in much the same way.
His guard was more often in the right
place, and his leads less wild. At the
conclusion of the round, pressure of
business forced his opponent to depart,
and Sheen wound up his lesson with a
couple of minutes at the punching-ball.
On the whole, he was pleased with his
first spar with someone who was really
doing his best and trying to hurt him.
With Joe Bevan and Francis there was
always the feeling that they were
playing down to him. Joe Bevans
gentle taps, in particular, were a little
humiliating. But with his late opponent
all had been serious. It had been a real
test, and he had come through it very
fairly. On the whole, he had taken more
than he had givenhis eye would look
curious tomorrowbut already he had
thought out a way of foiling the burly
youths rushes. Next time he would
really show his true form.
The morrow, on which Sheen
expected his eye to look curious, was
the day he had promised to play fives
with Mr Spence. He hoped that at the
early hour at which they had arranged
to play it would not have reached its
worst stage; but when he looked in the
glass at a quarter to seven, he beheld a
small ridge of purple beneath it. It was
not large, nor did it interfere with his
sight, but it was very visible. Mr
Spence, however, was a sportsman, and
had boxed himself in his time, so there
was a chance that nothing would be
 A SMALL INCIDENT
said.
It was a raw, drizzly morning. There
would probably be few fives-players
before breakfast, and the capture of the
second court should be easy. So it
turned out. Nobody was about when
Sheen arrived. He pinned his slip of
paper to the door, and, after waiting for
a short while for Mr Spence and finding
the process chilly, went for a trot round
the gymnasium to pass the time.
Mr Spence had not arrived during his
absence, but somebody else had. At the
door of the second court, gleaming in
first-fifteen blazer, sweater, stockings,
and honour-cap, stood Attell.
Sheen looked at Attell, and Attell
looked through Sheen.
It was curious, thought Sheen, that
Attell should be standing in the very
doorway of court two. It seemed to
suggest that he claimed some sort of
ownership. On the other hand, there
was his, Sheens, paper on the....His eye
happened to light on the cement
flooring in front of the court. There
was a crumpled ball of paper there.
When he had started for his run,
there had been no such ball of paper.
Sheen picked it up and straightened
it out. On it was written R. D.
Sheen.
He looked up quickly. In addition to
the far-away look, Attells face now
wore a faint smile, as if he had seen
something rather funny on the horizon.
But he spake no word.
A curiously calm and contented
feeling came upon Sheen. Here was
something definite at last. He could do
nothing, however much he might resent
it, when fellows passed him by as if he
did not exist; but when it came to
removing his landmark....
Would you mind shifting a bit? he
said very politely. I want to pin my
paper on the door again. It seems to
351
have fallen down.
Attells gaze shifted slowly from the
horizon and gradually embraced Sheen.
Ive got this court, he said.
I think not, said Sheen silkily. I
was here at ten to seven, and there was
no paper on the door then. So I put
mine up. If you move a little, Ill put it
up again.
Go and find another court, if you
want to play, said Attell, and if
youve got anybody to play with, he
added with a sneer. This is mine.
I think not, said Sheen.
Attell resumed his inspection of the
horizon.
Attell, said Sheen.
Attell did not answer.
Sheen pushed him gently out of the
way, and tore down the paper from the
door.
Their eyes met. Attell, after a
moments pause, came forward, half-
menacing, half irresolute; and as he
came Sheen hit him under the chin in
the manner recommended by Mr Bevan.
When you upper-cut, Mr Bevan
was wont to say, dont make it a
swing. Just a half-arm jolts all you
want.
It was certainly all Attell wanted.
He was more than surprised. He was
petrified. The sudden shock of the
blow, coming as it did from so
unexpected a quarter, deprived him of
speech: which was, perhaps, fortunate
for him, for what he would have said
would hardly have commended itself to
Mr Spence, who came up at this
moment.
Well, Sheen, said Mr Spence,
here you are. I hope I havent kept
you waiting. What a morning! Youve
got the court, I hope?
Yes, sir, said Sheen.
He wondered if the master had seen
the little episode which had taken place
352 THE WHITE FEATHER
immediately before his arrival. Then he
remembered that it had happened inside
the court. It must have been over by the
time Mr Spence had come upon the
scene.
Are you waiting for somebody,
Attell? asked Mr Spence. Stanning?
He will be here directly. I passed him
on the way.
Attell left the court, and they began
their game.
Youve hurt your eye, Sheen, said
Mr Spence, at the end of the first game.
How did that happen?
Boxing, sir, said Sheen.
Oh, replied Mr Spence, and to
Sheens relief he did not pursue his
inquiries.
Attell had wandered out across the
gravel to meet Stanning.
Got that court? inquired Stanning.
No.
You idiot, why on earth didnt
you? Its the only court worth playing
in. Whos got it?
Sheen.
Sheen! Stanning stopped dead.
Do you mean to say you let a fool like
Sheen take it from you! Why didnt
you turn him out?
I couldnt, said Attell. I was just win one of the cups, but, when this
going to when Spence came up. Hes
playing Sheen this morning. I couldnt
very well bag the court when a master
wanted it.
I suppose not, said Stanning.
What did Sheen say when you told
him you wanted the court?
This was getting near a phase of the
subject which Attell was not eager to
discuss.
Oh, he didnt say much, he said.
Did you do anything? persisted
Stanning.
Attell suddenly remembered having
noticed that Sheen was wearing a black
eye. This was obviously a thing to be
turned to account.
I hit him in the eye, he said. Ill
bet its coloured by school-time.
And sure enough, when school-tune
arrived, there was Sheen with his face
in the condition described, and Stanning
hastened to spread abroad this sequel to
the story of Sheens failings in the town
battle. By the end of preparation it had
got about the school that Sheen had
cheeked Attell, that Attell had hit
Sheen, and that Sheen had been afraid
to hit him back. At the precise moment
when Sheen was in the middle of a
warm two-minute round with Francis at
the Blue Boar, an indignation meeting
was being held in the senior day-room
at Seymours to discuss this latest
disgrace to the house.
This is getting a bit too thick, was
the general opinion. Moreover, it was
universally agreed that something ought
to be done. The feeling in the house
against Sheen had been stirred to a
dangerous pitch by this last episode.
Seymours thought more of their
reputation than any house in the school.
For years past the house had led on the
cricket and football field and off it.
Sometimes other houses would actually
happened, Seymours was always their
most dangerous rival. Other houses had
their ups and downs, were very good
one year and very bad the next; but
Seymours had always managed to
maintain a steady level of excellence. It
always had a man or two in the School
eleven and fifteen, generally supplied
one of the School Racquets pair for
Queens Club in the Easter vac., and
when this did not happen always had
one of two of the Gym. Six or Shooting
Eight, or a few men who had won
scholarships at the Varsities. The pride
of a house is almost keener than the
pride of a school. From the first minute
 A SMALL INCIDENT
he entered the house a new boy was
made to feel that, in coming to
Seymours, he had accepted a
responsibility that his reputation was
not his own, but belonged to the house.
If he did well, the glory would be
Seymours glory. If he did badly, he
would be sinning against the house.
This second story about Sheen,
therefore, stirred Seymours to the
extent of giving the house a
resemblance to a hornets nest into
which a stone had been hurled. After
school that day the house literally
hummed. The noise of the two day-
rooms talking it over could be heard in
the road outside. The only bar that
stood between the outraged
Seymourites and Sheen was
Drummond. As had happened before,
Drummond resolutely refused to allow
anything in the shape of an active
protest, and no argument would draw
him from this unreasonable attitude,
though why it was that he had taken it
up he himself could not have said.
Perhaps it was that rooted hatred a
boxer instinctively acquires of anything
in the shape of unfair play that
influenced him. He revolted against the
idea of a whole house banding together
against one of its members.
So even this fresh provocation did
not result in any active interference with
Sheen; but it was decided that he must
be cut even more thoroughly than
before.
And about the time when this was
resolved, Sheen was receiving the
congratulations of Francis on having
positively landed a blow upon him. It
was an event which marked an epoch in
his career.
353
DUNSTABLE AND
LINTON GO UP THE
RIVER
There are some proud, spirited
natures which resent rules and laws on
principle as attempts to interfere with
the rights of the citizen. As the
Duchess in the play said of her son,
who had had unpleasantness with the
authorities at Eton because they had
been trying to teach him things,
Silwood is a sweet boy, but he will not
stand the bearing-rein. Dunstable was
also a sweet boy, but he, too, objected
to the bearing-rein. And Linton was a
sweet boy, and he had similar
prejudices. And this placing of the
town out of bounds struck both of them
simultaneously as a distinct attempt on
the part of the headmaster to apply the
bearing-rein.
Its all very well to put it out of
bounds for the kids, said Dunstable,
firmly, but when it comes to Uswhy,
I never heard of such a thing.
Linton gave it as his opinion that
such conduct was quite in a class of its
own as regarded cool cheek.
It fairly sneaks, said Linton, with
forced calm, the Garibaldi.
Kids, proceeded Dunstable,
judicially, are idiots, and cant be
expected to behave themselves down
town. Put the show out of bounds to
them if you like. But We
We! echoed Linton.
The fact is, said Dunstable, its a
beastly nuisance, but we shall have to
go down town and up the river just to
assert ourselves. We cant have the thin
end of the wedge coming and spoiling
our liberties. We may as well chuck
life altogether if we arent able to go to
the town whenever we like.
And Albert will be pining away,
354 THE WHITE FEATHER
added Linton.
*****
Hullo, young gentlemen, said the
town boatman, when they presented
themselves to him, what can I do for
you?
I know it seems strange, said
Dunstable, but we want a boat. We are
the Down-trodden British Schoolboys
League for Demanding Liberty and
seeing that We Get It. Have you a
boat?
The man said he believed he had a
boat. In fact, now that he came to think
of it, he rather fancied he had one or
two. He proceeded to get one ready,
and the two martyrs to the cause
stepped in.
Dunstable settled himself in the
stern, and collected the rudder-lines.
Hullo, said Linton, arent you
going to row?
It may be only my foolish fancy,
replied Dunstable, but I rather think
youre going to do that. Ill steer.
Beastly slacker, said Linton.
Anyhow, how far are we going? Im
not going to pull all night.
If you row for about half an hour
without exerting yourselfand I can
trust you not to do thatand then look
to your left, youll see a certain
hostelry, if it hasnt moved since I was
last there. Its called the Blue Boar.
We will have tea there, and then Ill pull
gently back, and that will end the
programme.
Except being caught in the town by
half the masters, said Linton. Still,
Im not grumbling. This had to be
done. Ready?
Not just yet, said Dunstable,
looking past Linton and up the landing-
stage. Wait just one second. Here are
some friends of ours.
Linton looked over his shoulder.
Albert! he cried.
And the who struck me divers
blows in sundry places. Ah, theyve
sighted us.
What are you going to do? We
cant have another scrap with them.
Far from it, said Dunstable gently.
Hullo, Albert. And my friend in the
moth-eaten bowler! This is well met.
You come out here, said Albert,
pausing on the brink.
Why? asked Dunstable.
You see what youll get.
But we dont want to see what well
get. Youve got such a narrow mind,
Albertmay I call you Bertie? You
seem to think that nobody has any
pleasures except vulgar brawls. We are
going to row up river, and think
beautiful thoughts.
Albert was measuring with his eye
the distance between the boat and
landing-stage. It was not far. A sudden
spring....
If you want a fight, go up to the
school and ask for Mr Drummond.
Hes the gentlemen who sent you to
hospital last time. Any time youre
passing, Im sure hed
Albert leaped.
But Linton had had him under
observation, and, as he sprung, pushed
vigorously with his oar. The gap
between boat and shore widened in an
instant, and Albert, failing to obtain a
foothold on the boat, fell back, with a
splash that sent a cascade over his
friend and the boatman, into three feet
of muddy water. By the time he had
scrambled out, his enemies were
moving pensively up-stream.
The boatman was annoyed.
Makin me wet and spoilin my
paintwhat yer mean by it?
Me and my friend here we want a
boat, said Albert, ignoring the main
issue.
Want a boat! Then youll not get a
 DUNSTABLE AND LINTON GO UP THE RIVER
boat. Spoil my cushions, too, would
you? What next, I wonder! You go to
Smith and ask him for a boat. Perhaps
he aint so particular about having his
cushions
Orl right, said Albert, orl right.
Mr Smith proved more complaisant,
and a quarter of an hour after Dunstable
and Linton had disappeared, Albert and
his friend were on the water. Moist
outside, Albert burned with a desire for
Revenge. He meant to follow his men
till he found them. It almost seemed as
if there would be a repetition of the
naval battle which had caused the town
to be put out of bounds. Albert was a
quick-tempered youth, and he had
swallowed fully a pint of Severn water.
*****
Dunstable and Linton sat for some
time in the oak parlour of the Blue
Boar. It was late when they went out.
As they reached the waters edge Linton
uttered a cry of consternation.
Whats up? asked Dunstable. I
wish you wouldnt do that so suddenly.
It gives me a start. Do you feel bad?
Great Scott! its gone.
The pain?
Our boat. I tied it up to this post.
You cant have done. Whats that
boat over there! That looks like ours.
No, it isnt. That was there when
we came. I noticed it. I tied ours up
here, to this post.
This is a shade awkward, said
Dunstable thoughtfully. You must
have tied it up jolly rottenly. It must
have slipped away and gone down-
stream. This is where we find ourselves
in the cart. Right among the ribstons,
by Jove. I feel like that Frenchman in
the story, who lost his glasses just as he
got to the top of the mountain, and
missed the view. Altogezzer I do not
vish I ad kom.
Im certain I tied it up all right.
355
Andwhy, look! heres the rope still
on the pole, just as I left it.
For the first time Dunstable seemed
interested.
This is getting mysterious. Did we
hire a rowing-boat or a submarine?
Theres something on the end of this
rope. Give it a tug, and see. There,
didnt you feel it?
I do believe, said Linton in an
awed voice, the things sunk.
They pulled at the rope together.
The waters heaved and broke, and up
came the nose of the boat, to sink back
with a splash as they loosened their
hold.
There are more things in Heaven
and Earth said Dunstable, wiping his
hands. If you ask me, I should say an
enemy hath done this. A boat doesnt
sink of its own accord.
Albert! said Linton. The
blackguard must have followed us up
and done it while we were at tea.
Thats about it, said Dunstable.
And nowhow about getting home?
I suppose wed better walk. We
shall be hours late for lock-up.
You, said Dunstable, may walk if
you are fond of exercise and arent in a
hurry. Personally, Im going back by
river.
But
That looks a good enough boat over
there. Anyhow, we must make it do.
One mustnt be particular for once.
But it belongswhat will the other
fellow do?
I cant help his troubles, said
Dunstable mildly, having enough of
my own. Coming?
*****
It was about ten minutes later that
Sheen, approaching the waterside in
quest of his boat, found no boat there.
The time was a quarter to six, and lock-
up was at six-thirty.
356 THE WHITE FEATHER
DEUS EX MACHINA
It did not occur to Sheen
immediately that his boat had actually
gone. The full beauty of the situation
was some moments in coming home to
him. At first he merely thought that
somebody had moved it to another part
of the bank, as the authorities at the inn
had done once or twice in the past, to
make room for the boats of fresh
visitors. Walking along the lawn in
search of it, he came upon the stake to
which Dunstables submerged craft was
attached. He gave the rope a tentative
pull, and was surprised to find that there
was a heavy drag on the end of it.
Then suddenly the truth flashed
across him. Heavens! he cried, its
sunk.
Joe Bevan and other allies lent their
aid to the pulling. The lost boat came
out of the river like some huge fish, and
finally rested on the bank, oozing water
and drenching the grass in all
directions.
Joe Bevan stooped down, and
examined it in the dim light.
Whats happened here, sir, he said, away in a boat. Nobody else had come
is that theres a plank gone from the
bottom. Smashed clean out, it is. Not
started it isnt. Smashed clean out.
Thats what it is. Some one must have
been here and done it.
Sheen looked at the boat, and saw
that he was right. A plank in the middle
had been splintered. It looked as if
somebody had driven some heavy
instrument into it. As a matter of fact,
Albert had effected the job with the
butt-end of an oar.
The damage was not ruinous. A
carpenter could put the thing right at no
great expense. But it would take time.
And meanwhile the minutes were
flying, and lock-up was now little more
than half an hour away.
Whatll you do, sir? asked Bevan.
That was just what Sheen was asking
himself. What could he do? The road
to the school twisted and turned to such
an extent that, though the distance from
the Blue Boar to Seymours was only
a couple of miles as the crow flies, he
would have to cover double that
distance unless he took a short cut
across the fields. And if he took a short
cut in the dark he was certain to lose
himself. It was a choice of evils. The
Blue Boar possessed but one horse
and trap, and he had seen that driven
away to the station in charge of a
fishermans luggage half an hour
before.
I shall have to walk, he said.
Its a long way. Youll be late,
wont you? said Mr Bevan.
It cant be helped. I suppose I
shall. I wonder who smashed that
boat, he added after a pause.
Passing through the inn on his way
to the road, he made inquiries. It
appeared that two young gentlemen
from the school had been there to tea.
They had arrived in a boat and gone
into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested
upon them.
Do you remember anything about
them? asked Sheen.
Further details came out. One of the
pair had worn a cap like Sheens. The
others headgear, minutely described,
showed him that its owner was a
member of the school second eleven.
Sheen pursued the inquiry. He
would be so late in any case that a
minute or so more or less would make
no material difference; and he was very
anxious to find out, if possible, who it
was that had placed him in this
difficulty. He knew that he was
unpopular in the school, but he had not
looked for this sort of thing.
 DEUS EX MACHINA
Then somebody suddenly
remembered having heard one of the
pair address the other by name.
What name? asked Sheen.
His informant was not sure. Would
it be Lindon?
Linton, said Sheen.
That was it.
Sheen thanked him and departed,
still puzzled. Linton, as he knew him,
was not the sort of fellow to do a thing
like that. And the other, the second
eleven man, must be Dunstable. They
were always about together. He did not
know much about Dunstable, but he
could hardly believe that this sort of
thing was his form either. Well, he
would have to think of that later. He
must concentrate himself now on
covering the distance to the school in
the minimum of time. He looked at his
watch. Twenty minutes more. If he
hurried, he might not be so very late.
He wished that somebody would come
by in a cart, and give him a lift.
He stopped and listened. No sound
of horses hoof broke the silence. He
walked on again.
Then, faint at first, but growing
stronger every instant, there came from
some point in the road far behind him a
steady droning sound. He almost
shouted with joy. A motor! Even now
he might do it.
But could he stop it? Would the
motorist pay any attention to him, or
would he flash past and leave him in the
dust? From the rate at which the drone
increased the car seemed to be
travelling at a rare speed.
He moved to one side of the road,
and waited. He could see the lights
now, flying towards him.
Then, as the car hummed past, he
recognised its driver, and put all he
knew into a shout.
Bruce! he cried.
357
For a moment it seemed as if he had
not been heard. The driver paid not the
smallest attention, as far as he could
see. He looked neither to the left nor to
right. Then the car slowed down, and,
backing, came slowly to where he
stood.
Hullo, said the driver, whos
that?
Jack Bruce was alone in the car,
muffled to the eyes in an overcoat. It
was more by his general appearance
than his face that Sheen had recognised
him.
Its me, Sheen. I say, Bruce, I wish
youd give me a lift to Seymours, will
you?
There was never any waste of words
about Jack Bruce. Of all the six
hundred and thirty-four boys at Wrykyn
he was probably the only one whose
next remark in such circumstances
would not have been a question. Bruce
seldom asked questionsnever, if they
wasted time.
Hop in, he said.
Sheen consulted his watch again.
Lock-ups in a quarter of an hour,
he said, but they give us ten minutes
grace. That allows us plenty of time,
doesnt it?
Do it in seven minutes, if you like.
Dont hurry, said Sheen. Ive
never been in a motor before, and I
dont want to cut the experience short.
Its awfully good of you to give me a
lift.
Thats all right, said Bruce.
Were you going anywhere? Am I
taking you out of your way?
No. I was just trying the car. Its a
new one. The paters just got it.
Do you do much of this? said
Sheen.
Good bit. Im going in for the
motor business when I leave school.
So all this is training?
358 THE WHITE FEATHER
Thats it.
There was a pause.
You seemed to be going at a good
pace just now, said Sheen.
About thirty miles an hour. She can
move all right.
Thats faster than youre allowed to
go, isnt it?
Yes.
Youve never been caught, have
you?
Not yet. I want to see how much
pace I can get out of her, because shell
be useful when the election really
comes on. Bringing voters to the poll,
you know. Thats why the pater bought
this new car. Its a beauty. His others
only a little runabout.
Doesnt your father mind your
motoring?
Likes it, said Jack Bruce.
It seemed to Sheen that it was about
time that he volunteered some
information about himself, instead of
plying his companion with questions. It
was pleasant talking to a Wrykinian
again; and Jack Bruce had apparently
either not heard of the Albert incident,
or else he was not influenced by it in
any way.
Youve got me out of an awful
hole, Bruce, he began.
Thats all right. Been out for a
walk?
Id been to the Blue Boar.
Oh! said Bruce. He did not seem
to wish to know why Sheen had been
there.
Sheen proceeded to explain.
I suppose youve heard all about
me, he said uncomfortably. About
the town, you know. That fight. Not
joining in.
Heard something about it, said
Bruce.
I went down town again after that,
said Sheen, and met the same fellows
who were fighting Linton and the
others. They came for me, and I was
getting awfully mauled when Joe Bevan
turned up.
Oh, is Joe back again?
Do you know him? asked Sheen in
surprise.
Oh yes. I used to go to the Blue
Boar to learn boxing from him all last
summer holidays.
Did you really? Why, thats what
Im doing now.
Good man, said Bruce.
Isnt he a splendid teacher?
Ripping.
But I didnt know you boxed,
Bruce. You never went in for any of
the School competitions.
Im rather a rotten weight. Ten six.
Too heavy for the Light-Weights and
not heavy enough for the Middles.
Besides, the competitions here are
really inter-house. They dont want
day-boys going in for them. Are you
going to box for Seymours?
Thats what I want to do. You see,
it would be rather a score, wouldnt it?
After whats happened, you know.
I suppose it would.
I should like to do something. Its
not very pleasant, he added, with a
forced laugh, being considered a
disgrace to the house, and cut by
everyone.
Suppose not.
The difficulty is Drummond. You
see, we are both the same weight, and
hes much better than I am. Im hoping
that hell go in for the Middles and let
me take the Light-Weights. Theres
nobody he couldnt beat in the Middles,
though he would be giving away a
stone.
Have you asked him?
Not yet. I want to keep it dark that
Im learning to box, just at present.
Spring it on them suddenly?
 DEUS EX MACHINA
Yes. Of course, I cant let it get
about that I go to Joe Bevan, because I
have to break bounds every time I do
it.
The upper rivers out of bounds
now for boarders, isnt it?
Yes.
Jack Bruce sat in silence for a while,
his gaze concentrated on the road in
front of him.
Why go by river at all? he said at
last. If you like, Ill run you to the
Blue Boar in the motor every day.
Oh, I say, thats awfully decent of
you, said Sheen.
I should like to see old Joe again. I
think Ill come and spar, too. If youre
learning, what you want more than
anything is somebody your own size to
box with.
Thats just what Joe was saying.
Will you really? I should be awfully
glad if you would. Boxing with Joe is
all right, but you feel all the time hes
fooling with you. I should like to try
how I got on with somebody else.
Youd better meet me here, then, as
soon after school as you can.
As he spoke, the car stopped.
Where are we? asked Sheen.
Just at the corner of the road behind
the houses.
Oh, I know. Hullo, there goes the
lock-up bell. I shall do it comfortably.
He jumped down.
I say, Bruce, he said, I really am
most awfully obliged for the lift.
Something went wrong with my boat,
and I couldnt get back in it. I should
have been frightfully in the cart if you
hadnt come by.
Thats all right, said Jack Bruce.
I say, Sheen!
Hullo?
Are you going to practise in the
music-room after morning school
tomorrow?
359
Yes. Why?
I think Ill turn up.
I wish you would.
Whats that thing that goes like
this? I forget most of it.
He whistled a few bars.
Thats a thing of Greigs, said
Sheen.
You might play it tomorrow, said
Bruce.
Rather. Of course I will.
Thanks, said Jack Bruce. Good
night.
He turned the car, and vanished
down the road. From the sound Sheen
judged that he was once more travelling
at a higher rate of speed than the local
police would have approved.
A SKIRMISH
Upon consideration Sheen
determined to see Linton about that
small matter of the boat without delay.
After prayers that night he went to his
study.
Can I speak to you for a minute,
Linton? he said.
Linton was surprised. He
disapproved of this intrusion. When a
fellow is being cut by the house, he
ought, by all the laws of school
etiquette, to behave as such, and not
speak till he is spoken to.
What do you want? asked Linton.
I shant keep you long. Do you
think you could put away that book for
a minute, and listen?
Linton hesitated, then shut the book.
Hurry up, then, he said.
I was going to, said Sheen. I
simply came in to tell you that I know
perfectly well who sunk my boat this
afternoon.
He felt at once that he had now got
Lintons undivided attention.
Your boat! said Linton. You
dont mean to say that was yours! What
360 THE WHITE FEATHER
on earth were you doing at the place?
I dont think thats any business of
yours, is it, Linton?
How did you get back?
I dont think thats any business of
yours, either. I daresay youre
disappointed, but I did manage to get
back. In time for lock-up, too.
But I dont understand. Do you
mean to say that that was your boat we
took?
Sunk, corrected Sheen.
Dont be a fool, Sheen. What the
dickens should we want to sink your
boat for? What happened was this.
Albertyou remember Albert?-
followed us up to the inn, and smashed
our boat while we were having tea.
When we got out and found it sunk, we
bagged the only other one we could
see. We hadnt a notion it was yours.
We thought it belonged to some
fisherman chap.
Then you didnt sink my boat?
Of course we didnt. What do you
take us for?
Sorry, said Sheen. I thought it
was a queer thing for you to have done.
Im glad it wasnt you. Good night.
But look here, said Linton, dont
go. It must have landed you in a
frightful hole, didnt it?
A little. But it doesnt matter.
Good night.
But half a second, Sheen
Sheen had disappeared.
Linton sat on till lights were turned
off, ruminating. He had a very tender
conscience where other members of the
school were concerned, though it was
tougher as regarded masters; and he was
full of remorse at the thought of how
nearly he had got Sheen into trouble by
borrowing his boat that afternoon. It
seemed to him that it was his duty to
make it up to him in some way.
It was characteristic of Linton that
the episode did not, in any way, alter his
attitude towards Sheen. Another boy in
a similar position might have become
effusively friendly. Linton looked on
the affair in a calm, judicial spirit. He
had done Sheen a bad turn, but that was
no reason why he should fling himself
on his neck and swear eternal
friendship. His demeanour on the
occasions when they came in contact
with each other remained the same. He
did not speak to him, and he did not
seem to see him. But all the while he
was remembering that somehow or
other he must do him a good turn of
some sort, by way of levelling things up
again. When that good turn had been
done, he might dismiss him from his
thoughts altogether.
Sheen, for his part, made no attempt
to trade on the matter of the boat. He
seemed as little anxious to be friendly
with Linton as Linton was to be friendly
with him. For this Linton was grateful,
and continued to keep his eyes open in
the hope of finding some opportunity of
squaring up matters between them.
His chance was not long in coming.
The feeling in the house against Sheen,
caused by the story of his encounter
with Attell, had not diminished.
Stanning had fostered it in various little
ways. It was not difficult. When a
house of the standing in the school
which Seymours possessed exhibits a
weak spot, the rest of the school do not
require a great deal of encouragement to
go on prodding that weak spot. In
short, the school rotted Seymours
about Sheen, and Seymours raged
impotently. Fags of other houses
expended much crude satire on
Seymours fags, and even the seniors of
the house came in for their share of the
baiting. Most of the houses at Wrykyn
were jealous of Seymours, and this
struck them as an admirable opportunity
 A SKIRMISH
of getting something of their own back.
One afternoon, not long after
Sheens conversation with Linton,
Stanning came into Seymours senior
day-room and sat down on the table.
The senior day-room objected to
members of other houses coming and
sitting on their table as if they had
bought that rickety piece of furniture;
but Stannings reputation as a bruiser
kept their resentment within bounds.
Hullo, you chaps, said Stanning.
The members of the senior day-room
made no reply, but continued, as Mr
Kipling has it, to persecute their
vocations. Most of them were
brewing. They went on brewing with
the earnest concentration of chefs.
Youre a cheery lot, said
Stanning. But I dont wonder youve
got the hump. I should be a bit sick if
wed got a skunk like that in our house.
Heard the latest?
Some lunatic said, No. What?
thereby delivering the day-room bound
into the hands of the enemy.
Sheens apologised to Attell.
There was a sensation in the senior
day-room, as Stanning had expected.
He knew his men. He was perfectly
aware that any story which centred
round Sheens cowardice would be
believed by them, so he had not
troubled to invent a lie which it would
be difficult to disprove. He knew that
in the present state of feeling in the
house Sheen would not be given a
hearing.
No! shouted the senior day-room.
This was the last straw. The fellow
seemed to go out of his way to lower
the prestige of the house.
Fact, said Stanning. I thought
you knew.
He continued to sit on the table,
swinging his legs, while the full horror
of his story sunk into the senior day-
361
room mind.
I wonder you dont do something
about it. Why dont you touch him up?
Hes not a prefect.
But they were not prepared to go to
that length. The senior day-room had a
great respect both for Drummonds
word and his skill with his hands. He
had said he would slay any one who
touched Sheen, and they were of
opinion that he would do it.
He isnt in, said one of the
brewers, looking up from his toasting-
fork. His study door was open when I
passed.
I say, why not rag his study?
suggested another thickly, through a
mouthful of toast.
Stanning smiled.
Good idea, he said.
It struck him that some small
upheaval of Sheens study furniture,
coupled with the burning of one or two
books, might check to some extent that
students work for the Gotford. And if
Sheen could be stopped working for the
Gotford, he, Stanning, would romp
home. In the matter of brilliance there
was no comparison between them. It
was Sheens painful habit of work
which made him dangerous.
Linton had been listening to this
conversation in silence. He had come
to the senior day-room to borrow a
book. He now slipped out, and made
his way to Drummonds study.
Drummond was in. Linton
proceeded to business.
I say, Drummond.
Hullo?
That man Stanning has come in.
Hes getting the senior day-room to rag
Sheens study.
What!
Linton repeated his statement.
Does the man think he owns the
house? said Drummond. Where is
362 THE WHITE FEATHER
he?
Coming up now. I hear them.
What are you going to do? Stop them?
What do you think? Of course I
am. Im not going to have any of
Applebys crew coming into Seymours
and ragging studies.
This ought to be worth seeing, said
Linton. Look on me as Charles, his
friend. Ill help if you want me, but
its your scene.
Drummond opened his door just as
Stanning and his myrmidons were
passing it.
Hullo, Stanning, he said.
Stanning turned. The punitive
expedition stopped.
Do you want anything? inquired
Drummond politely.
The members of the senior day-room
who were with Stanning rallied round,
silent and interested. This dramatic
situation appealed to them. They had a
passion for rows, and this looked
distinctly promising.
There was a pause. Stanning looked
carefully at Drummond. Drummond
looked carefully at Stanning.
I was going to see Sheen, said
Stanning at length.
He isnt in.
Oh!
Another pause.
Was it anything special? inquired
Drummond pleasantly.
The expedition edged a little
forward.
No. Oh, no. Nothing special, said
Stanning.
The expedition looked disappointed.
Any message I can give him?
asked Drummond.
No, thanks, said Stanning.
Sure?
Quite, thanks.
I dont think its worth while your
waiting. He may not be in for some
time.
No, perhaps not. Thanks. So
long.
So long.
Stanning turned on his heel, and
walked away down the passage.
Drummond went back into his study,
and shut the door.
The expedition, deprived of its
commander-in-chief, paused
irresolutely outside. Then it followed
its leaders example.
There was peace in the passage.
THE ROUT AT RIPTON
On the Saturday following this
episode, the first fifteen travelled to
Ripton to play the return match with
that school on its own ground. Of the
two Ripton matches, the one played at
Wrykyn was always the big event of the
football year; but the other came next in
importance, and the telegram which was
despatched to the school shop at the
close of the game was always awaited
with anxiety. This year Wrykyn looked
forward to the return match with a
certain amount of apathy, due partly to
the fact that the school was in a slack,
unpatriotic state, and partly to the
hammering the team had received in the
previous term, when the Ripton centre
three-quarters had run through and
scored with monotonous regularity.
Were bound to get sat on, was the
general verdict of the school.
Allardyce, while thoroughly
agreeing with this opinion, did his best
to conceal the fact from the rest of the
team. He had certainly done his duty
by them. Every day for the past
fortnight the forwards and outsides had
turned out to run and pass, and on the
Saturdays there had been matches with
Corpus, Oxford, and the Cambridge Old
Wrykinians. In both games the school
had been beaten. In fact, it seemed as if
 THE ROUT AT RIPTON
they could only perform really well
when they had no opponents. To see
the three-quarters racing down the field
(at practice) and scoring innumerable
(imaginary) tries, one was apt to be
misled into considering them a fine
quartette. But when there was a match,
all the beautiful dash and precision of
the passing faded away, and the last
thing they did was to run straight.
Barry was the only one of the four who
played the game properly.
But, as regarded condition, there was
nothing wrong with the team. Even
Trevor could not have made them train
harder; and Allardyce in his more
sanguine moments had a shadowy hope
that the Ripton score might, with care,
be kept in the teens.
Barry had bought a Sportsman at the
station, and he unfolded it as the train
began to move. Searching the left-hand
column of the middle page, as we all do
when we buy the Sportsman on
Saturdayto see how our names look
in print, and what sort of a team the
enemy has gothe made a remarkable
discovery. At the same moment
Drummond, on the other side of the
carriage, did the same.
I say, he said, they must have had
a big clear-out at Ripton. Have you
seen the team theyve got out today?
I was just looking at it, said Barry.
Whats up with it? inquired
Allardyce. Lets have a look.
Theyve only got about half their
proper team. Theyve got a different
backGrey isnt playing.
Both their centres are, though, said
Drummond.
More fun for us, Drum., old chap,
said Attell. Im going home again.
Stop the train.
Drummond said nothing. He hated
Attell most when he tried to be
facetious.
363
Dunn isnt playing, nor is Waite,
said Barry, so they havent got either
of their proper halves. I say, we might
have a chance of doing something
today.
Of course we shall, said
Allardyce. Youve only got to buck up
and weve got them on toast.
The atmosphere in the carriage
became charged with optimism. It
seemed a simple thing to defeat a side
which was practically a Ripton A
team. The centre three-quarters were
there still, it was true, but Allardyce and
Drummond ought to be able to prevent
the halves ever getting the ball out to
them. The team looked on those two
unknown halves as timid novices, who
would lose their heads at the kick-off.
As a matter of fact, the system of
football teaching at Ripton was so
perfect, and the keenness so great, that
the second fifteen was nearly as good as
the first every year. But the Wrykyn
team did not know this, with the
exception of Allardyce, who kept his
knowledge to himself; and they arrived
at Ripton jaunty and confident.
Keith, the Ripton captain, who was
one of the centre three-quarters who had
made so many holes in the Wrykyn
defence in the previous term, met the
team at the station, and walked up to the
school with them, carrying Allardyces
bag.
You seem to have lost a good many
men at Christmas, said Allardyce.
We were reading the Sportsman in the
train. Apparently, youve only got ten
of your last terms lot. Have they all
left?
The Ripton captain grinned ruefully.
Not much, he replied. Theyre all
here. All except Dunn. You remember
Dunn? Little thick-set chap who played
half. He always had his hair quite tidy
and parted exactly in the middle all
364 THE WHITE FEATHER
through the game.
Oh, yes, I remember Dunn. Whats
he doing now?
Gone to Coopers Hill. Rot, his not
going to the Varsity. Hed have walked
into his blue.
Allardyce agreed. He had marked
Dunn in the match of the previous term,
and that immaculate sportsman had
made things not a little warm for him.
Where are all the others, then? he
asked. Wheres that other half of
yours? And the rest of the forwards?
Mumps, said Keith.
What!
Its a fact. Rot, isnt it? Weve had
a regular bout of it. Twenty fellows got
it altogether. Naturally, four of those
were in the team. Thats the way things
happen. I only wonder the whole scrum
didnt have it.
What beastly luck, said Allardyce.
We had measles like that a couple of
years ago in the summer term, and had
to play the Incogs and Zingari with a
sort of second eleven. We got
mopped.
Thats what we shall get this
afternoon, Im afraid, said Keith.
Oh, no, said Allardyce. Of
course you wont.
And, as events turned out, that was
one of the truest remarks he had ever
made in his life.
*****
One of the drawbacks to playing
Ripton on its own ground was the
crowd. Another was the fact that one
generally got beaten. But your
sportsman can put up with defeat. What
he does not like is a crowd that regards
him as a subtle blend of incompetent
idiot and malicious scoundrel, and says
so very loud and clear. It was not, of
course, the school that did this. They
spent their time blushing for the
shouters. It was the patriotic
inhabitants of Ripton town who made
the school wish that they could be saved
from their friends. The football ground
at Ripton was at the edge of the school
fields, separated from the road by
narrow iron railings; and along these
railings the choicest spirits of the town
would line up, and smoke and yell, and
spit and yell again. As Wordsworth
wrote, There are two voices. They
were on something like the following
lines.
Inside the railings: Sch-oo-oo-oo-
oo-l! Buck up Sch-oo-oo-oo-oo-l!! Get
it OUT, Schoo-oo-oo-oo-l!!!
Outside the railings: Gow it,
Ripton! Thats the way, Ripton! Twist
his good-old-English-adjectived neck,
Ripton! Sit on his forcibly described
head, Ripton! Gow it, Ripton! Haw,
Haw, Haw! They aint no use, RIPton!
Kick im in the eye, RipTON! Haw,
Haw, Haw!
The bursts of merriment signalised
the violent downfall of some dangerous
opponent.
The school loathed these humble
supporters, and occasionally fastidious
juniors would go the length of throwing
chunks of mud at them through the
railings. But nothing discouraged them
or abated their fervid desire to see the
school win. Every year they seemed to
increase in zeal, and they were always
in great form at the Wrykyn match.
It would be charitable to ascribe to
this reason the gruesome happenings of
that afternoon. They needed some
explaining away.
*****
Allardyce won the toss, and chose to
start downhill, with the wind in his
favour. It is always best to get these
advantages at the beginning of the
game. If one starts against the wind, it
usually changes ends at half-time.
Amidst a roar from both touch-lines and
 THE ROUT AT RIPTON
a volley of howls from the road, a
Ripton forward kicked off. The ball
flew in the direction of Stanning, on the
right wing. A storm of laughter arose
from the road as he dropped it. The
first scrum was formed on the Wrykyn
twenty-five line.
The Ripton forwards got the ball,
and heeled with their usual neatness.
The Ripton half who was taking the
scrum gathered it cleanly, and passed to
his colleague. He was a sturdy youth
with a dark, rather forbidding face, in
which the acute observer might have
read signs of the savage. He was of the
breed which is vaguely described at
public schools as nigger, a term
covering every variety of shade from
ebony to light lemon. As a matter of
fact he was a half-caste, sent home to
England to be educated. Drummond
recognised him as he dived forward to
tackle him. The last place where they
had met had been the roped ring at
Aldershot. It was his opponent in the
final of the Feathers.
He reached him as he swerved, and
they fell together. The ball bounded
forward.
Hullo, Peteiro, he said. Thought times, and each of the tries had been
youd left.
The other grinned recognition.
Hullo, Drummond.
Going up to Aldershot this year?
Yes. Light-Weight.
So am I.
The scrum had formed by now, and
further conversation was impossible.
Drummond looked a little thoughtful as
he put the ball in. He had been told that
Peteiro was leaving Ripton at
Christmas. It was a nuisance his being
still at school. Drummond was not
afraid of himhe would have fought a
champion of the world if the school had
expected him tobut he could not help
remembering that it was only by the
365
very narrowest margin, and after a
terrific three rounds, that he had beaten
him in the Feathers the year before. It
would be too awful for words if the
decision were to be reversed in the
coming competition.
But he was not allowed much leisure
for pondering on the future. The
present was too full of incident and
excitement. The withdrawal of the four
invalids and the departure of Dunn had
not reduced the Ripton team to that
wreck of its former self which the
Wrykyn fifteen had looked for. On the
contrary, their play seemed, if anything,
a shade better than it had been in the
former match. There was all the old
aggressiveness, and Peteiro and his
partner, so far from being timid novices
and losing their heads, eclipsed the
exhibition given at Wrykyn by Waite
and Dunn. Play had only been in
progress six minutes when Keith, taking
a pass on the twenty-five line, slipped
past Attell, ran round the back, and
scored between the posts. Three
minutes later the other Ripton centre
scored. At the end of twenty minutes
the Wrykyn line had been crossed five
converted.
Cant you fellows get that ball in
the scrum? demanded Allardyce
plaintively, as the team began for the
fifth time the old familiar walk to the
half-way line. Pack tight, and get the
first shove.
The result of this address was to
increase the Ripton lead by four points.
In his anxiety to get the ball, one of the
Wrykyn forwards started heeling before
it was in, and the referee promptly gave
a free kick to Ripton for foot up. As
this event took place within easy reach
of the Wrykyn goal, and immediately in
front of the same, Keith had no
difficulty in bringing off the penalty.
366 THE WHITE FEATHER

By half-time the crowd in the road, DRUMMOND GOES

hoarse with laughter, had exhausted all
their adjectives and were repeating INTO RETIREMENT
themselves. The Ripton score was six
The return journey of a school team
goals, a penalty goal, and two tries to
after a crushing defeat in a foreign
nil, and the Wrykyn team was a
match is never a very exhilarating
demoralised rabble.
business. Those members of the side
The fact that the rate of scoring
who have not yet received their colours
slackened somewhat after the interval
are wondering which of them is to be
may be attributed to the disinclination
sacrificed to popular indignation and
of the Riptonians to exert themselves
chucked: the rest, who have managed
unduly. They ceased playing in the
to get their caps, are feeling that even
stern and scientific spirit in which they
now two-thirds of the school will be
had started; and, instead of adhering to
saying that they are not worth a place in
an orthodox game, began to enjoy
the third fifteen; while the captain,
themselves. The forwards no longer
brooding apart, is becoming soured at
heeled like a machine. They broke
the thought that Posterity will forget
through ambitiously, and tried to score
what little good he may have done, and
on their own account. When the
remember only that it was in his year
outsides got as far as the back, they did
that the school got so many points taken
not pass. They tried to drop goals. In
off them by So-and-So. Conversation
this way only twenty-two points were
does not ripple and sparkle during these
scored after half-time. Allardyce and
home-comings. The Wrykyn team
Drummond battled on nobly, but with
made the journey in almost unbroken
their pack hopelessly outclassed it was
silence. They were all stiff and sore,
impossible for them to do anything of
and their feelings were such as to unfit
material use. Barry, on the wing,
them for talking to people.
tackled his man whenever the latter got
The school took the thing very
the ball, but, as a rule, the centres did
philosophicallya bad sign. When a
not pass, but attacked by themselves.
school is in a healthy, normal condition,
At last, by way of a fitting conclusion to
it should be stirred up by a bad defeat
the rout, the Ripton back, catching a
by another school, like a disturbed
high punt, ran instead of kicking, and,
wasps nest. Wrykyn made one or two
to the huge delight of the town
remarks about people who could not
contingent, scored. With this incident
play footer for toffee, and then let the
the visiting team drained the last dregs
thing drop.
of the bitter cup. Humiliation could go
Sheen was too busy with his work
no further. Almost immediately
and his boxing to have much leisure for
afterwards the referee blew his whistle
mourning over this latest example of the
for No side.
present inefficiency of the school. The
Three cheers for Wrykyn, said
examination for the Gotford was to
Keith.
come off in two days, and the inter-
To the fifteen victims it sounded
house boxing was fixed for the
ironical.
following Wednesday. In five days,
therefore, he would get his chance of
retrieving his lost place in the school.
He was certain that he could, at any rate
 DRUMMOND GOES INTO RETIREMENT
make a very good show against anyone
in the school, even Drummond. Joe
Bevan was delighted with his progress,
and quoted Shakespeare volubly in his
admiration. Jack Bruce and Francis
added their tribute, and the knife and
boot boy paid him the neatest
compliment of all by refusing point-
blank to have any more dealings with
him whatsoever. His professional
duties, explained the knife and boot
boy, did not include being punched in
the heye by blokes, and he did not
intend to be put upon.
Youll do all right, said Jack
Bruce, as they were motoring home, if
theyll let you go in for it all. But how
do you know they will? Have they
chosen the men yet?
Not yet. They dont do it till the
day before. But there wont be any
difficulty about that. Drummond will
let me have a shot if he thinks Im good
enough.
Oh, youre good enough, said
Bruce.
And when, on Monday evening,
Francis, on receipt of no fewer than four
blows in a single rounda record,
shook him by the hand and said that if
ever he happened to want a leetle darg
that was a perfect bag of tricks and had
got a pedigree, mind you, he, Francis,
would be proud to supply that animal,
Sheen felt that the moment had come to
approach Drummond on the subject of
the house boxing. It would be a little
awkward at first, and conversation
would probably run somewhat stiffly;
but all would be well once he had
explained himself.
But things had been happening in his
absence which complicated the
situation. Allardyce was having tea
with Drummond, who had been
stopping in with a sore throat. He had
come principally to make arrangements
367
for the match between his house and
Seymours in the semi-final round of
the competition.
Youre looking bad, he said,
taking a seat.
Im feeling bad, said Drummond.
For the past few days he had been very
much out of sorts. He put it down to a
chill caught after the Ripton match. He
had never mustered up sufficient
courage to sponge himself with cold
water after soaking in a hot bath, and he
occasionally suffered for it.
Whats up? inquired Allardyce.
Oh, I dont know. Sort of beastly
feeling. Sore throat. Nothing much.
Only it makes you feel rather rotten.
Allardyce looked interested.
I say, he said, it looks as ifI
wonder. I hope you havent.
What?
Mumps. It sounds jolly like it.
Mumps! Of course Ive not. Why
should I?
Allardyce produced a letter from his
pocket. I got this from Keith, the
Ripton captain, this morning. You
know theyve had a lot of the thing
there. Oh, didnt you? That was why
they had such a bad team out.
Bad team! murmured Drummond.
Well, I mean not their best team.
They had four of their men down with
mumps. Heres what Keith says.
Listen. Bit about hoping we got back
all right, and so on, first. Then he says
here it is, Another of our fellows has
got the mumps. One of the forwards;
rather a long man who was good out of
touch. He developed it a couple of days
after the match. Its lucky that all our
card games are over. We beat Johns,
Oxford, last Wednesday, and that
finished the card. But itll rather rot up
the House matches. We should have
walked the cup, but theres no knowing
what will happen now. I hope none of
368 THE WHITE FEATHER
your lot caught the mumps from
Browning during the game. Its quite
likely, of course. Browning ought not
to have been playing, but I had no
notion that there was anything wrong
with him. He never said he felt bad.
Youve got it, Drummond. Thats
whats the matter with you.
Oh, rot, said Drummond. Its
only a chill.
But the school doctor, who had
looked in at the house to dose a small
Seymourite who had indulged too
heartily in the pleasures of the table,
had other views, and before lockup
Drummond was hurried off to the
infirmary.
Sheen went to Drummonds study
after preparation had begun, and was
surprised to find him out. Not being on
speaking terms with a single member of
the house, he was always out-of-date as
regarded items of school news. As a
rule he had to wait until Jack Bruce told
him before learning of any occurrence
of interest. He had no notion that
mumps was the cause of Drummonds
absence, and he sat and waited patiently
for him in his study till the bell rang for
prayers. The only possible explanation
that occurred to him was that
Drummond was in somebody elses
study, and he could not put his theory to
the test by going and looking. It was
only when Drummond did not put in an
appearance at prayers that Sheen began
to suspect that something might have
happened.
It was maddening not to be able to
make inquiries. He had almost decided
to go and ask Linton, and risk whatever
might be the consequences of such a
step, when he remembered that the
matron must know. He went to her, and
was told that Drummond was in the
infirmary.
He could not help seeing that this
made his position a great deal more
difficult. In ten minutes he could have
explained matters to Drummond if he
had found him in his study. But it
would be a more difficult task to put the
thing clearly in a letter.
Meanwhile, it was bed-time, and he
soon found his hands too full with his
dormitory to enable him to think out the
phrasing of that letter. The dormitory,
which was recruited entirely from the
junior day-room, had heard of
Drummonds departure with rejoicings.
They liked Drummond, but he was a
good deal too fond of the iron hand for
their tastes. A night with Sheen in
charge should prove a welcome change.
A deafening uproar was going on
when Sheen arrived, and as he came
into the room somebody turned the gas
out. He found some matches on the
chest of drawers, and lit it again just in
time to see a sportive youth tearing the
clothes off his bed and piling them on
the floor. A month before he would not
have known how to grapple with such a
situation, but his evenings with Joe
Bevan had given him the habit of
making up his mind and acting rapidly.
Drummond was wont to keep a
swagger-stick by his bedside for the
better observance of law and order.
Sheen possessed himself of this
swagger-stick, and reasoned with the
sportive youth. The rest of the
dormitory looked on in interested
silence. It was a critical moment, and
on his handling of it depended Sheens
victory or defeat. If he did not keep his
head he was lost. A dormitory is
merciless to a prefect whose weakness
they have discovered.
Sheen kept his head. In a quiet,
pleasant voice, fingering the swagger-
stick, as he spoke, in an absent manner,
he requested his young friend to re-
make the bedrapidly and completely.
 DRUMMOND GOES INTO RETIREMENT
For the space of five minutes no sound
broke the silence except the rustle of
sheets and blankets. At the end of that
period the bed looked as good as new.
Thanks, said Sheen gratefully.
Thats very kind of you.
He turned to the rest of the
dormitory.
Dont let me detain you, he said
politely. Get into bed as soon as you
like.
The dormitory got into bed sooner
than they liked. For some reason the
colossal rag they had planned had
fizzled out. They were thoughtful as
they crept between the sheets. Could
these things be?
*****
After much deliberation Sheen sent
his letter to Drummond on the
following day. It was not a long letter,
but it was carefully worded. It
explained that he had taken up boxing
of late, and ended with a request that he
might be allowed to act as Drummonds
understudy in the House competitions.
It was late that evening when the
infirmary attendant came over with the
answer.
Like the original letter, the answer
was brief.
Dear Sheen, wrote Drummond,
thanks for the offer. I am afraid I cant
accept it. We must have the best man.
Linton is going to box for the House in
the Light-Weights.
SEYMOURS ONE
SUCCESS
This polite epistle, it may be
mentioned, was a revised version of the
one which Drummond originally wrote
in reply to Sheens request. His first
impulse had been to answer in the four
brief words, Dont be a fool; for
Sheens letter had struck him as nothing
more than a contemptible piece of
369
posing, and he had all the hatred for
poses which is a characteristic of the
plain and straightforward type of mind.
It seemed to him that Sheen, as he
expressed it to himself, was trying to
do the boy hero. In the school
library, which had been stocked during
the dark ages, when that type of story
was popular, there were numerous
school stories in which the hero
retrieved a rocky reputation by
thrashing the bully, displaying in the
encounter an intuitive but
overwhelming skill with his fists.
Drummond could not help feeling that
Sheen must have been reading one of
these stories. It was all very fine and
noble of him to want to show that he
was No Coward After All, like Leo
Cholmondeley or whatever his beastly
name was, in The Lads of St.
Ethelbertas or some such piffling
book; but, thought Drummond in his
cold, practical way, what about the
house? If Sheen thought that
Seymours was going to chuck away all
chance of winning one of the inter-
house events, simply in order to give
him an opportunity of doing the Young
Hero, the sooner he got rid of that sort
of idea, the better. If he wanted to do
the Leo Cholmondeley business, let him
go and chuck a kid into the river, and
jump in and save him. But he wasnt
going to have the house let in for twenty
Sheens.
Such were the meditations of
Drummond when the infirmary
attendant brought Sheens letter to him;
and he seized pencil and paper and
wrote, Dont be a fool. But pity
succeeded contempt, and he tore up the
writing. After all, however much he
had deserved it, the man had had a bad
time. It was no use jumping on him.
And at one time they had been pals.
Might as well do the thing politely.
370 THE WHITE FEATHER
All of which reflections would have
been prevented had Sheen thought of
mentioning the simple fact that it was
Joe Bevan who had given him the
lessons to which he referred in his
letter. But he had decided not to do so,
wishing to avoid long explanations.
And there was, he felt, a chance that the
letter might come into other hands than
those of Drummond. So he had
preserved silence on that point, thereby
wrecking his entire scheme.
It struck him that he might go to
Linton, explain his position, and ask
him to withdraw in his favour, but there
were difficulties in the way of that
course. There is a great deal of red tape
about the athletic arrangements of a
house at a public school. When once an
order has gone forth, it is difficult to get
it repealed. Linton had been chosen to
represent the house in the Light-
Weights, and he would carry out
orders. Only illness would prevent him
appearing in the ring.
Sheen made up his mind not to try to
take his place, and went through the
days a victim to gloom, which was
caused by other things besides his
disappointment respecting the boxing
competition. The Gotford examination
was over now, and he was not satisfied
with his performance. Though he did
not know it, his dissatisfaction was due
principally to the fact that, owing to his
isolation, he had been unable to
compare notes after the examinations
with the others. Doing an examination
without comparing notes subsequently
with ones rivals, is like playing golf
against a bogey. The imaginary rival
against whom one pits oneself never
makes a mistake. Our own howlers
stand out in all their horrid nakedness;
but we do not realise that our rivals
have probably made others far worse.
In this way Sheen plumbed the depths
of depression. The Gotford was a
purely Classical examination, with the
exception of one paper, a General
Knowledge paper; and it was in this that
Sheen fancied he had failed so
miserably. His Greek and Latin verse
were always good; his prose, he felt,
was not altogether beyond the pale; but
in the General Knowledge paper he had
come down heavily. As a matter of
fact, if he had only known, the paper
was an exceptionally hard one, and
there was not a single candidate for the
scholarship who felt satisfied with his
treatment of it. It was to questions ten,
eleven, and thirteen of this paper that
Cardew, of the School House, who had
entered for the scholarship for the sole
reason that competitors got excused two
clear days of ordinary school-work,
wrote the following answer:
See Encylopaedia Britannica,
Times edition.
If they really wanted to know, he
said subsequently, that was the
authority to go to. He himself would
probably misinform them altogether.
In addition to the Gotford and the
House Boxing, the House Fives now
came on, and the authorities of
Seymours were in no small perplexity.
They met together in Rigbys study to
discuss the matter. Their difficulty was
this. There was only one inmate of
Seymours who had a chance of
carrying off the House Fives Cup. And
that was Sheen. The house was asking
itself what was to be done about it.
You see, said Rigby, you can
look at it in two ways, whichever you
like. We ought certainly to send in our
best man for the pot, whatever sort of
chap he is. But then, come to think of
it, Sheen cant very well be said to
belong to the house at all. When a
mans been cut dead during the whole
term, he cant be looked on as one of
 SEYMOURS ONE SUCCESS
the house very well. See what I mean?
Of course he cant, said Mill, who
was second in command at Seymours.
Mills attitude towards his fellow men
was one of incessant hostility. He
seemed to bear a grudge against the
entire race.
Rigby resumed. He was a pacific
person, and hated anything resembling
rows in the house. He had been sorry
for Sheen, and would have been glad to
give him a chance of setting himself on
his legs again.
You see. he said, this is what I
mean. We either recognise Sheens
existence or we dont. Follow? We
cant get him to win this Cup for us, and
then, when he has done it, go on cutting
him and treating him as if he didnt
belong to the house at all. I know he let
the house down awfully badly in that
business, but still, if he lifts the Fives
Cup, thatll square the thing. If he does
anything to give the house a leg-up, he
must be treated as if hed never let it
down at all.
Of course, said Barry. I vote we
send him in for the Fives.
What rot! said Mill. It isnt as if
none of the rest of us played fives.
We arent as good as Sheen, said
Barry.
I dont care. I call it rot letting a
chap like him represent the house at
anything. If he were the best fives-
player in the world I wouldnt let him
play for the house.
Rigby was impressed by his
vehemence. He hesitated.
After all, Barry, he said, I dont
know. Perhaps it mightyou see, he
didwell, I really think wed better
have somebody else. The house has got
its knife into Sheen too much just at
present to want him as a representative.
Thered only be sickness, dont you
think? Who else is there?
371
So it came about that Menzies was
chosen to uphold the house in the Fives
Courts. Sheen was not surprised. But it
was not pleasant. He was certainly
having bad luck in his attempts to do
something for the house. Perhaps if he
won the Gotford they might show a
little enthusiasm. The Gotford always
caused a good deal of interest in the
school. It was the best thing of its kind
in existence at Wrykyn, and even the
most abandoned loafers liked to feel
that their house had won it. It was just
possible, thought Sheen, that a brilliant
win might change the feelings of
Seymours towards him. He did not
care for the applause of the multitude
more than a boy should, but he
preferred it very decidedly to the cut
direct.
Things went badly for Seymours.
Never in the history of the house, or, at
any rate, in the comparatively recent
history of the house, had there been
such a slump in athletic trophies. To
begin with, they were soundly beaten in
the semi-final for the House football
cup by Allardyces lot. With
Drummond away, there was none to
mark the captain of the School team at
half, and Allardyce had raced through
in a manner that must have
compensated him to a certain extent for
the poor time he had had in first fifteen
matches. The game had ended in a
Seymourite defeat by nineteen points to
five.
Nor had the Boxing left the house in
a better position. Linton fought
pluckily in the Light-Weights, but went
down before Stanning, after beating a
representative of Templars. Mill did
not show up well in the Heavy-Weights,
and was defeated in his first bout.
Seymours were reduced to telling
themselves how different it all would
have been if Drummond had been there.
372 THE WHITE FEATHER
Sheen watched the Light-Weight
contests, and nearly danced with
irritation. He felt that he could have
eaten Stanning. The man was quick
with his left, but he couldnt box. He
hadnt a notion of side-stepping, and the
upper-cut appeared to be entirely
outside his range. He would like to see
him tackle Francis.
Sheen thought bitterly of
Drummond. Why on earth couldnt he
have given him a chance. It was
maddening.
The Fives carried on the story.
Menzies was swamped by a Days
man. He might just as well have stayed
away altogether. The star of Seymours
was very low on the horizon.
And then the house scored its one
success. The headmaster announced it
in the Hall after prayers in his dry,
unemotional way.
I have received the list of marks,
he said, from the examiners for the
Gotford Scholarship. He paused.
Sheen felt a sudden calm triumph flood
over him. Somehow, intuitively, he
knew that he had won. He waited
without excitement for the next words.
Out of a possible thousand marks,
Sheen, who wins the scholarship,
obtained seven hundred and one,
Stanning six hundred and four,
Wilson....
Sheen walked out of the Hall in the
unique position of a Gotford winner
with only one friend to congratulate
him. Jack Bruce was the one. The
other six hundred and thirty-three
members of the school made no
demonstration.
There was a pleasant custom at
Seymours of applauding at tea any
Seymourite who had won distinction,
and so shed a reflected glory on the
house. The head of the house would
observe, Well played, So-and-So! and
the rest of the house would express their
emotion in the way that seemed best to
them, to the subsequent exultation of
the local crockery merchant, who had
generally to supply at least a dozen
fresh cups and plates to the house after
one of these occasions. When it was for
getting his first eleven or first fifteen
cap that the lucky man was being
cheered, the total of breakages
sometimes ran into the twenties.
Rigby, good, easy man, was a little
doubtful as to what course to pursue in
the circumstances. Should he give the
signal? After all, the fellow had won
the Gotford. It was a score for the
house, and they wanted all the scores
they could get in these lean years.
Perhaps, then, he had better.
Well played, Sheen, said he.
There was a dead silence. A giggle
from the fags table showed that the
comedy of the situation was not lost on
the young mind.
The head of the house looked
troubled. This was awfully awkward.
Well played, Sheen, he said again.
Dont mention it, Rigby, said the
winner of the Gotford politely, looking
up from his plate.
MR BEVAN MAKES A
SUGGESTION
When one has been working hard
with a single end in view, the arrival
and departure of the supreme moment is
apt to leave a feeling of emptiness, as if
life had been drained of all its interest,
and left nothing sufficiently exciting to
make it worth doing. Horatius, as he
followed his plough on a warm day
over the corn land which his gratified
country bestowed on him for his
masterly handling of the traffic on the
bridge, must sometimes have felt it was
a little tame. The feeling is far more
acute when one has been unexpectedly
 MR BEVAN MAKES A SUGGESTION
baulked in ones desire for action.
Sheen, for the first few days after he
received Drummonds brief note, felt
that it was useless for him to try to do
anything. The Fates were against him.
In stories, as Mr Anstey has pointed
out, the hero is never long without his
chance of retrieving his reputation. A
mad bull comes into the school
grounds, and he alone (the hero, not the
bull) is calm. Or there is a fire, and
whose is that pale and gesticulating
form at the upper window? The bullys,
of course. And who is that climbing
nimbly up the Virginia creeper? Why,
the hero. Who else? Three hearty
cheers for the plucky hero.
But in real life opportunities of
distinguishing oneself are less frequent.
Sheen continued his visits to the
Blue Boar, but more because he
shrank from telling Joe Bevan that all
his trouble had been for nothing, than
because he had any definite object in
view. It was bitter to listen to the
eulogies of the pugilist, when all the
while he knew that, as far as any
immediate results were concerned, it
did not really matter whether he boxed
well or feebly. Some day, perhaps, as
Mr Bevan was fond of pointing out
when he approached the subject of
disadvantages of boxing, he might meet
a hooligan when he was crossing a field
with his sister; but he found that but
small consolation. He was in the
position of one who wants a small sum
of ready money, and is told that, in a
few years, he may come into a fortune.
By the time he got a chance of proving
himself a man with his hands, he would
be an Old Wrykinian. He was leaving
at the end of the summer term.
Jack Bruce was sympathetic, and
talked more freely than was his wont.
I cant understand it, he said.
Drummond always seemed a good
373
sort. I should have thought he would
have sent you in for the house like a
shot. Are you sure you put it plainly in
your letter? What did you say?
Sheen repeated the main points of
his letter.
Did you tell him who had been
teaching you?
No. I just said Id been boxing
lately.
Pity, said Jack Bruce. If youd
mentioned that it was Joe whod been
training you, he would probably have
been much more for it. You see, he
couldnt know whether you were any
good or not from your letter. But if
youd told him that Joe Bevan and Hunt
both thought you good, hed have seen
there was something in it.
It never occurred to me. Like a
fool, I was counting on the thing so
much that it didnt strike me there
would be any real difficulty in getting
him to see my point. Especially when
he got mumps and couldnt go in
himself. Well, it cant be helped now.
And the conversation turned to the
prospects of Jack Bruces father in the
forthcoming election, the polling for
which had just begun.
Im busy now, said Bruce. Im
not sure that I shall be able to do much
sparring with you for a bit.
My dear chap, dont let me
Oh, its all right, really. Taking you
to the Blue Boar doesnt land me out
of my way at all. Most of the work lies
round in this direction. I call at
cottages, and lug oldest inhabitants to
the poll. Its rare sport.
Does your pater know?
Oh, yes. He rots me about it like
anything, but, all the same, I believe
hes really rather bucked because Ive
roped in quite a dozen voters who
wouldnt have stirred a yard if I hadnt
turned up. Thats where were scoring.
374 THE WHITE FEATHER
Pedder hasnt got a car yet, and these
old rotters round here arent going to
move out of their chairs to go for a ride
in an ordinary cart. But they chuck
away their crutches and hop into a
motor like one oclock.
It must be rather a rag, said Sheen.
The car drew up at the door of the
Blue Boar. Sheen got out and ran
upstairs to the gymnasium. Joe Bevan
was sparring a round with Francis. He
watched them while he changed, but
without the enthusiasm of which he had
been conscious on previous occasions.
The solid cleverness of Joe Bevan, and
the quickness and cunning of the
bantam-weight, were as much in
evidence as before, but somehow the
glamour and romance which had
surrounded them were gone. He no
longer watched eagerly to pick up the
slightest hint from these experts. He
felt no more interest than he would have
felt in watching a game of lawn tennis.
He had been keen. Since his
disappointment with regard to the
House Boxing he had become
indifferent.
Joe Bevan noticed this before he had
been boxing with him a minute.
Hullo, sir, he said, whats this?
Tired today? Not feeling well? You
arent boxing like yourself, not at all
you arent. Theres no weight behind
em. Youre tapping. Whats the
matter with your feet, too? You arent
getting about as quickly as I should like
to see. What have you been doing to
yourself?
Nothing that I know of, said
Sheen. Im sorry Im so rotten. Lets
have another try.
The second try proved as
unsatisfactory as the first. He was
listless, and his leads and counters
lacked conviction.
Joe Bevan, who identified himself
with his pupils with that thoroughness
which is the hall-mark of the first-class
boxing instructor, looked so pained at
his sudden loss of form, that Sheen
could not resist the temptation to
confide in him. After all, he must tell
him some time.
The fact is, he said, as they sat on
the balcony overlooking the river,
waiting for Jack Bruce to return with
his car, Ive had a bit of a sickener.
I thought youd got sick of it, said
Mr Bevan. Well, have a bit of a rest.
I dont mean that Im tired of
boxing, Sheen hastened to explain.
After all the trouble youve taken with
me, it would be a bit thick if I chucked
it just as I was beginning to get on. It
isnt that. But you know how keen I
was on boxing for the house?
Joe Bevan nodded.
Did you get beat?
They wouldnt let me go in, said
Sheen.
But, bless me! youd have made
babies of them. What was the instructor
doing? Couldnt he see that you were
good?
I didnt get a chance of showing
what I could do. He explained the
difficulties of the situation.
Mr Bevan nodded his head
thoughtfully.
So naturally, concluded Sheen,
the thing has put me out a bit. Its
beastly having nothing to work for. Im
at a loose end. Up till now, Ive always
had the thought of the House
Competition to keep me going. But
nowwell, you see how it is. Its like
running to catch a train, and then
finding suddenly that youve got plenty
of time. There doesnt seem any point
in going on running.
Why not Aldershot, sir? said Mr
Bevan.
What! cried Sheen.
 MR BEVAN MAKES A SUGGESTION
The absolute novelty of the idea, and
the gorgeous possibilities of it, made
him tingle from head to foot.
Aldershot! Why hadnt he thought of it
before! The House Competition
suddenly lost its importance in his
eyes. It was a trivial affair, after all,
compared with Aldershot, that Mecca of
the public-school boxer.
Then the glow began to fade.
Doubts crept in. He might have learned
a good deal from Joe Bevan, but had he
learned enough to be able to hold his
own with the best boxers of all the
public schools in the country? And if
he had the skill to win, had he the
heart? Joe Bevan had said that he
would not disgrace himself again, and
he felt that the chances were against his
doing so, but there was the terrible
possibility. He had stood up to Francis
and the others, and he had taken their
blows without flinching; but in these
encounters there was always at the back
of his mind the comforting feeling that
there was a limit to the amount of
punishment he would receive. If
Francis happened to drive him into a
corner where he could neither attack,
nor defend himself against attack, he
did not use his advantage to the full. He
indicated rather than used it. A couple
of blows, and he moved out into the
open again. But in the Public Schools
Competition at Aldershot there would
be no quarter. There would be nothing
but deadly earnest. If he allowed
himself to be manoeuvred into an
awkward position, only his own skill, or
the call of time, could extricate him
from it.
In a word, at the Blue Boar he
sparred. At Aldershot he would have to
fight. Was he capable of fighting?
Then there was another difficulty.
How was he to get himself appointed as
the Wrykyn light-weight
375
representative? Now that Drummond
was unable to box, Stanning would go
down, as the winner of the School
Competition. These things were
worked by an automatic process. Sheen
felt that he could beat Stanning, but he
had no means of publishing this fact to
the school. He could not challenge him
to a trial of skill. That sort of thing was
not done.
He explained this to Joe Bevan.
Well, its a pity, said Joe
regretfully. Its a pity.
At this moment Jack Bruce
appeared.
Whats a pity, Joe? he asked.
Joe wants me to go to Aldershot as
a light-weight, explained Sheen, and I
was just saying that I couldnt, because
of Stanning.
What about Stanning?
He won the School Competition,
you see, so theyre bound to send him
down.
Half a minute, said Jack Bruce. I
never thought of Aldershot for you
before. Its a jolly good idea. I believe
youd have a chance. And its all right
about Stanning. Hes not going down.
Havent you heard?
I dont hear anything. Why isnt he
going down?
Hes knocked up one of his wrists.
So he says.
How do you meanso he says?
asked Sheen.
I believe he funks it.
Why? What makes you think
that?
Oh, I dont know. Its only my
opinion. Still, its a little queer.
Stanning says he crocked his left wrist
in the final of the House
Competition.
Well, whats wrong with that?
Why shouldnt he have done so?
Sheen objected strongly to Stanning,
376 THE WHITE FEATHER
but he had the elements of justice in
him, and he was not going to condemn
him on insufficient evidence,
particularly of a crime of which he
himself had been guilty.
Of course he may have done, said
Bruce. But its a bit fishy that he
should have been playing fives all right
two days running just after the
competition.
He might have crocked himself
then.
Then why didnt he say so?
A question which Sheen found
himself unable to answer.
Then theres nothing to prevent you
fighting, sir, said Joe Bevan, who had
been listening attentively to the
conversation.
Do you really think Ive got a
chance?
I do, sir.
Of course you have, said Jack
Bruce. Youre quite as good as
Drummond was, last time I saw him
box.
Then Ill have a shot at it, said
Sheen.
Good for you, sir, cried Joe Bevan.
Though itll be a bit of a job getting
leave, said Sheen. How would you
start about it, Bruce?
Youd better ask Spence. Hes the
man to go to.
Thats all right. Im rather a pal of
Spences.
Ask him tonight after prep.,
suggested Bruce.
And then you can come here
regular, said Joe Bevan, and well
train you till youre that fit you could
eat bricks, and youll make babies of
them up at Aldershot.
PAVING THE WAY
Bruce had been perfectly correct in
his suspicions. Stannings wrist was no
more sprained than his ankle. The
advisability of manufacturing an injury
had come home to him very vividly on
the Saturday morning following the
Ripton match, when he had read the
brief report of that painful episode in
that weeks number of the Field in the
school library. In the list of the Ripton
team appeared the name R. Peteiro. He
had heard a great deal about the dusky
Riptonian when Drummond had beaten
him in the Feather-Weights the year
before. Drummond had returned from
Aldershot on that occasion cheerful, but
in an extremely battered condition. His
appearance as he limped about the field
on Sports Day had been heroic, and, in
addition, a fine advertisement for the
punishing powers of the Ripton
champion. It is true that at least one of
his injuries had been the work of a
Pauline whom he had met in the
opening bout; but the great majority
were presents from Ripton, and
Drummond had described the dusky
one, in no uncertain terms, as a holy
terror.
These things had sunk into
Stannings mind. It had been generally
understood at Wrykyn that Peteiro had
left school at Christmas. When
Stanning, through his study of the Field,
discovered that the redoubtable boxer
had been one of the team against which
he had played at Ripton, and realised
that, owing to Drummonds illness, it
would fall to him, if he won the House
Competition, to meet this man of wrath
at Aldershot, he resolved on the instant
that the most persuasive of wild horses
should not draw him to that military
centre on the day of the Public Schools
Competition. The difficulty was that he
particularly wished to win the House
Cup. Then it occurred to him that he
could combine the two thingswin the
competition and get injured while doing
 PAVING THE WAY
so.
Accordingly, two days after the
House Boxing he was observed to issue
from Applebys with his left arm slung
in a first fifteen scarf. He was too
astute to injure his right wrist. What
happens to ones left wrist at school is
ones own private business. When one
injures ones right arm, and so
incapacitates oneself for form work, the
authorities begin to make awkward
investigations.
Mr Spence, who looked after the
schools efforts to win medals at
Aldershot, was the most disappointed
person in the place. He was an
enthusiastic boxerhe had represented
Cambridge in the Middle-Weights in
his dayand with no small trouble had
succeeded in making boxing a going
concern at Wrykyn. Years of failure
had ended, the Easter before, in a huge
triumph, when OHara, of Dexters and
Drummond had won silver medals, and
Moriarty, of Dexters, a bronze. If only
somebody could win a medal this year,
the tradition would be established, and
would not soon die out. Unfortunately,
there was not a great deal of boxing
talent in the school just now. The rule
that the winner at his weight in the
House Competitions should represent
the school at Aldershot only applied if
the winner were fairly proficient. Mr
Spence exercised his discretion. It was
no use sending down novices to be
massacred. This year Drummond and
Stanning were the only Wrykinians up
to Aldershot form. Drummond would
have been almost a certainty for a silver
medal, and Stanning would probably
have been a runner-up. And here they
were, both injured; Wrykyn would not
have a single representative at the
Queens Avenue Gymnasium. It would
be a set-back to the cult of boxing at the
school.
377
Mr Spence was pondering over this
unfortunate state of things when Sheen
was shown in.
Can I speak to you for a minute,
sir? said Sheen.
Certainly, Sheen. Take one of
those cigI mean, sit down. What is
it?
Sheen had decided how to open the
interview before knocking at the door.
He came to the point at once.
Do you think I could go down to
Aldershot, sir? he asked.
Mr Spence looked surprised.
Go down? You mean? Do you
want to watch the competition? Really,
I dont know if the headmaster
I mean, can I box?
Mr Spences look of surprise became
more marked.
Box? he said. But surelyI
didnt know you were a boxer, Sheen.
Ive only taken it up lately.
But you didnt enter for the House
Competitions, did you? What weight
are you?
Just under ten stone.
A light-weight. Why, Linton boxed
for your house in the Light-Weights
surely?
Yes sir. They wouldnt let me go
in.
You hurt yourself?
No, sir.
Then why wouldnt they let you go
in?
Drummond thought Linton was
better. He didnt know I boxed.
Butthis is very curious. I dont
understand it at all. You see, if you
were not up to House form, you would
hardlyAt Aldershot, you see, you
would meet the best boxers of all the
public schools.
Yes, sir.
There was a pause.
It was like this, sir, said Sheen
378 THE WHITE FEATHER
nervously. At the beginning of the
term there was a bit of a row down in
the town, and I got mixed up in it. And
I didntI was afraid to join in. I
funked it.
Mr Spence nodded. He was deeply
interested now. The office of confessor
is always interesting.
Go on, Sheen. What happened
then?
I was cut by everybody. The
fellows thought I had let the house
down, and it got about, and the other
houses scored off them, so I had rather
a rotten time.
Here it occurred to him that he was
telling his story without that attention to
polite phraseology which a master
expects from a boy, so he amended the
last sentence.
I didnt have a very pleasant time,
sir, was his correction.
Well? said Mr Spence.
So I was a bit sick, continued
Sheen, relapsing once more into the
vernacular, and I wanted to do
something to put things right again, and
I metanyhow, I took up boxing. I
wanted to box for the house, if I was
good enough. I practised every day,
and stuck to it, and after a bit I did
become pretty good.
Well?
Then Drummond got mumps, and I
wrote to him asking if I might represent
the house instead of him, and I suppose
he didnt believe I was any good. At
any rate, he wouldnt let me go in.
Then Joea man who knows
something about boxingsuggested I
should go down to Aldershot.
Joe? said Mr Spence inquiringly.
Sheen had let the name slip out
unintentionally, but it was too late now
to recall it.
Joe Bevan, sir, he said. He used
to be champion of England, light-
weight.
Joe Bevan! cried Mr Spence.
Really? Why, he trained me when I
boxed for Cambridge. Hes one of the
best of fellows. Ive never seen any one
who took such trouble with his man. I
wish we could get him here. So it was
Joe who suggested that you should go
down to Aldershot? Well, he ought to
know. Did he say you would have a
good chance?
Yes, sir.
My position is this, you see, Sheen.
There is nothing I should like more than
to see the school represented at
Aldershot. But I cannot let anyone go
down, irrespective of his abilities.
Aldershot is not childs play. And in
the Light-Weights you get the hardest
fighting of all. It wouldnt do for me to
let you go down if you are not up to the
proper form. You would be half
killed.
I should like to have a shot, sir,
said Sheen.
Then this year, as you probably
know, Ripton are sending down Peteiro
for the Light-Weights. He was the
fellow whom Drummond only just beat
last year. And you saw the state in
which Drummond came back. If
Drummond could hardly hold him, what
would you do?
I believe I could beat Drummond,
sir, said Sheen.
Mr Spences eyes opened wider.
Here were brave words. This youth
evidently meant business. The thing
puzzled him. On the one hand, Sheen
had been cut by his house for
cowardice. On the other, Joe Bevan,
who of all men was best able to judge,
had told him that he was good enough
to box at Aldershot.
Let me think it over, Sheen, he
said. This is a matter which I cannot
decide in a moment. I will tell you
 PAVING THE WAY
tomorrow what I think about it.
I hope you will let me go down,
sir, said Sheen. Its my one chance.
Yes, yes, I see that, I see that, said
Mr Spence, but all the samewell, I
will think it over.
All the rest of that evening he
pondered over the matter, deeply
perplexed. It would be nothing less
than cruel to let Sheen enter the ring at
Aldershot if he were incompetent.
Boxing in the Public Schools Boxing
Competition is not a pastime for the
incompetent. But he wished very much
that Wrykyn should be represented, and
also he sympathised with Sheens
eagerness to wipe out the stain on his
honour, and the honour of the house.
But, like Drummond, he could not help
harbouring a suspicion that this was a
pose. He felt that Sheen was
intoxicated by his imagination. Every
one likes to picture himself doing
dashing things in the limelight, with an
appreciative multitude to applaud.
Would this mood stand the test of
action?
Against this there was the evidence
of Joe Bevan. Joe had said that Sheen
was worthy to fight for his school, and
Joe knew.
Mr Spence went to bed still in a state
of doubt.
Next morning he hit upon a solution
of the difficulty. Wandering in the
grounds before school, he came upon
OHara, who, as has been stated before,
had won the Light-Weights at Aldershot
in the previous year. He had come to
Wrykyn for the Sports. Here was the
man to help him. OHara should put on
the gloves with Sheen and report.
Im in rather a difficulty, OHara,
he said, and you can help me.
Whats that? inquired OHara.
You know both our light-weights
are on the sick list? I had just resigned
379
myself to going down to Aldershot
without any one to box, when a boy in
Seymours volunteered for the vacant
place. I dont know if you knew him at
school? Sheen. Do you remember
him?
Sheen? cried OHara in
amazement. Not Sheen!"...
His recollections of Sheen were not
conducive to a picture of him as a
public-school boxer.
Yes. I had never heard of him as a
boxer. Still, he seems very anxious to
go down, and he certainly has one
remarkable testimonial, and as theres
no one else
And what shall I do? asked
OHara.
I want you, if you will, to give him
a trial in the dinner-hour. Just see if
hes any good at all. If he isnt, of
course, dont hit him about a great deal.
But if he shows signs of being a useful
man, extend him. See what he can do.
Very well, sir, said OHara.
And you might look in at my house
at tea-time, if you have nothing better to
do, and tell me what you think of him.
At five oclock, when he entered Mr
Spences study, OHaras face wore the
awe-struck look of one who had seen
visions.
Well? said Mr Spence. Did you
find him any good?
Good? said OHara. Hell beat
them all. Hes a champion. Theres no
stopping him.
What an extraordinary thing! said
Mr Spence.
SHEEN GOES TO
ALDERSHOT
At Sheens request Mr Spence made
no announcement of the fact that
Wrykyn would be represented in the
Light-Weights. It would be time
enough, Sheen felt, for the School to
380 THE WHITE FEATHER
know that he was a boxer when he had
been down and shown what he could
do. His appearance in his new rle
would be the most surprising thing that
had happened in the place for years, and
it would be a painful anti-climax if,
after all the excitement which would be
caused by the discovery that he could
use his hands, he were to be defeated in
his first bout. Whereas, if he happened
to win, the announcement of his victory
would be all the more impressive,
coming unexpectedly. To himself he
did not admit the possibility of defeat.
He had braced himself up for the ordeal,
and he refused to acknowledge to
himself that he might not come out of it
well. Besides, Joe Bevan continued to
express hopeful opinions.
Just you keep your head, sir. he
said, and youll win. Lots of these
gentlemen, theyre champions when
theyre practising, and youd think
nothing wouldnt stop them when they
get into the ring. But they get wild
directly they begin, and forget
everything theyve been taught, and
where are they then? Why, on the floor,
waiting for the referee to count them
out.
This picture might have encouraged
Sheen more if he had not reflected that
he was just as likely to fall into this
error as were his opponents.
What you want to remember is to
keep that guard up. Nothing can beat
that. And push out your left straight.
The straight left rules the boxing world.
And be earnest about it. Be as friendly
as you like afterwards, but while youre
in the ring say to yourself, Well, its
you or me, and dont be too kind.
I wish you could come down to
second me, Joe, said Sheen.
Ill have a jolly good try, sir, said
Joe Bevan. Let me see. Youll be
going down the night beforeI cant
come down then, but Ill try and
manage it by an early train on the day.
How about Francis?
Oh, Francis can look after himself
for one day. Hes not the sort of boy to
run wild if hes left alone for a few
hours.
Then you think you can manage
it?
Yes, sir. If Im not there for your
first fight, I shall come in time to
second you in the final.
If I get there, said Sheen.
Good secondings half the battle.
These soldiers they give you at
Aldershotwell, they dont know the
business, as the saying is. They dont
look after their man, not like I could. I
saw young whats-his-name, of Rugby
Stevens: he was beaten in the final
by a gentleman from HarrowI saw
him fight there a couple of years ago.
After the first round he was leading-
not by much, but still, he was a point or
two ahead. Well! He went to his
corner and his seconds sent him up for
the next round in the same state hed
got there in. They hadnt done a thing
to him. Why, if Id been in his corner
Id have taken him and sponged him
and sent him up again as fresh as he
could be. You must have a good
second if youre to win. When youre
all on top of your man, I dont say. But
you get a young gentleman of your own
class, just about as quick and strong as
you are, and then youll know where the
seconding comes in.
Then, for goodness sake, dont
make any mistake about coming down,
said Sheen.
Ill be there, sir, said Joe Bevan.
*****
The Queens Avenue Gymnasium at
Aldershot is a roomy place, but it is
always crowded on the Public Schools
Day. Sisters and cousins and aunts of
 SHEEN GOES TO ALDERSHOT
competitors flock there to see Tommy
or Bobby perform, under the
impression, it is to be supposed, that he
is about to take part in a pleasant frolic,
a sort of merry parlour game. What
their opinion is after he emerges from a
warm three rounds is not known. Then
there are soldiers in scores. Their views
on boxing as a sport are crisp and easily
defined. What they want is Gore.
Others of the spectators are Old Boys,
come to see how the school can behave
in an emergency, and to find out
whether there are still experts like
Jones, who won the Middles in 96 or
Robinson, who was runner-up in the
Feathers in the same year; or whether,
as they have darkly suspected for some
time, the school has Gone To The Dogs
Since They Left.
The usual crowd was gathered in the
seats round the ring when Sheen came
out of the dressing-room and sat down
in an obscure corner at the end of the
barrier which divides the gymnasium
into two parts on these occasions. He
felt very lonely. Mr Spence and the
school instructor were watching the
gymnastics, which had just started upon
their lengthy course. The Wrykyn pair
were not expected to figure high on the
list this year. He could have joined Mr
Spence, but, at the moment, he felt
disinclined for conversation. If he had
been a more enthusiastic cricketer, he
would have recognised the feeling as
that which attacks a batsman before he
goes to the wicket. It is not precisely
funk. It is rather a desire to accelerate
the flight of Time, and get to business
quickly. All things come to him who
waits, and among them is that
unpleasant sensation of a cold hand
upon the portion of the body which lies
behind the third waistcoat button.
The boxing had begun with a bout
between two feather-weights, both
381
obviously suffering from stage-fright.
They were fighting in a scrambling and
unscientific manner, which bore out Mr
Bevans statements on the subject of
losing ones head. Sheen felt that both
were capable of better things. In the
second and third rounds this proved to
be the case and the contest came to an
end amidst applause.
The next pair were light-weights,
and Sheen settled himself to watch
more attentively. From these he would
gather some indication of what he might
expect to find when he entered the ring.
He would not have to fight for some
time yet. In the drawing for numbers,
which had taken place in the dressing-
room, he had picked a three. There
would be another light-weight battle
before he was called upon. His
opponent was a Tonbridgian, who, from
the glimpse Sheen caught of him,
seemed muscular. But he (Sheen) had
the advantage in reach, and built on
that.
After opening tamely, the light-
weight bout had become vigorous in the
second round, and both men had
apparently forgotten that their right
arms had been given them by Nature for
the purpose of guarding. They were
going at it in hurricane fashion all over
the ring. Sheen was horrified to feel
symptoms of a return of that old
sensation of panic which had caused
him, on that dark day early in the term,
to flee Albert and his wicked works.
He set his teeth, and fought it down.
And after a bad minute he was able to
argue himself into a proper frame of
mind again. After all, that sort of thing
looked much worse than it really was.
Half those blows, which seemed as if
they must do tremendous damage, were
probably hardly felt by their recipient.
He told himself that Francis, and even
the knife-and-boot boy, hit fully as
382 THE WHITE FEATHER
hard, or harder, and he had never
minded them. At the end of the contest
he was once more looking forward to
his entrance to the ring with proper
fortitude.
The fighting was going briskly
forward now, sometimes good,
sometimes moderate, but always
earnest, and he found himself
contemplating, without undue
excitement, the fact that at the end of
the bout which had just begun, between
middle-weights from St Pauls and
Wellington, it would be his turn to
perform. As luck would have it, he had
not so long to wait as he had expected,
for the Pauline, taking the lead after the
first few exchanges, out-fought his man
so completely that the referee stopped
the contest in the second round. Sheen
got up from his corner and went to the
dressing-room. The Tonbridgian was
already there. He took off his coat.
Somebody crammed his hands into the
gloves and from that moment the last
trace of nervousness left him. He
trembled with the excitement of the
thing, and hoped sincerely that no one
would notice it, and think that he was
afraid.
Then, amidst a clapping of hands
which sounded faint and far-off, he
followed his opponent to the ring, and
ducked under the ropes.
The referee consulted a paper which
he held, and announced the names.
R. D. Sheen, Wrykyn College.
Sheen wriggled his fingers right into
the gloves, and thought of Joe Bevan.
What had Joe said? Keep that guard
up. The straight left. Keep that guard
the straight left. Keep that
A. W. Bird, Tonbridge School.
There was a fresh outburst of
applause. The Tonbridgian had shown
up well in the competition of the
previous year, and the crowd welcomed
him as an old friend.
Keep that guard upstraight left.
Straight leftguard up.
Seconds out of the ring.
Guard up. Not too high. Straight
left. It beats the world. What an age
that man was calling Time. Guard up.
Straight
Time, said the referee.
Sheen, filled with a great calm,
walked out of his corner and shook
hands with his opponent.
A GOOD START
It was all over in half a minute.
The Tonbridgian was a two-handed
fighter of the rushing type almost
immediately after he had shaken hands.
Sheen found himself against the ropes,
blinking from a heavy hit between the
eyes. Through the mist he saw his
opponent sparring up to him, and as he
hit he side-stepped. The next moment
he was out in the middle again, with his
man pressing him hard. There was a
quick rally, and then Sheen swung his
right at a venture. The blow had no
conscious aim. It was purely
speculative. But it succeeded. The
Tonbridgian fell with a thud.
Sheen drew back. The thing seemed
pathetic. He had braced himself up for
a long fight, and it had ended in half a
minute. His sensations were mixed.
The fighting half of him was praying
that his man would get up and start
again. The prudent half realised that it
was best that he should stay down. He
had other fights before him before he
could call that silver medal his own, and
this would give him an invaluable start
in the race. His rivals had all had to
battle hard in their opening bouts.
The Tonbridgians rigidity had given
place to spasmodic efforts to rise. He
got on one knee, and his gloved hand
roamed feebly about in search of a
 A GOOD START
hold. It was plain that he had shot his
bolt. The referee signed to his seconds,
who ducked into the ring and carried
him to his corner. Sheen walked back
to his own corner, and sat down.
Presently the referee called out his
name as the winner, and he went across
the ring and shook hands with his
opponent, who was now himself again.
He overheard snatches of
conversation as he made his way
through the crowd to the dressing-room.
Useful boxer, that Wrykyn boy.
Shortest fight Ive seen here since
Hopley won the Heavy-Weights.
Fluke, do you think?
Dont know. Came to the same
thing in the end, anyhow. Caught him
fair.
Hard luck on that Tonbridge man.
Hes a good boxer, really. Did well
here last year.
Then an outburst of hand-claps
drowned the speakers voices. A
swarthy youth with the Ripton pink and
green on his vest had pushed past him
and was entering the ring. As he
entered the dressing-room he heard the
referee announcing the names. So that
was the famous Peteiro! Sheen
admitted to himself that he looked
tough, and hurried into his coat and out
of the dressing-room again so as to be
in time to see how the Ripton terror
shaped.
It was plainly not a one-sided
encounter. Peteiros opponent hailed
from St Pauls, a school that has a habit
of turning out boxers. At the end of the
first round it seemed that honours were
even. The great Peteiro had taken as
much as he had given, and once had
been uncompromisingly floored by the
Paulines left. But in the second round
he began to gain points. For a boy of
his weight he had a terrific hit with the
right, and three applications of this to
383
the ribs early in the round took much of
the sting out of the Paulines blows. He
fought on with undiminished pluck, but
the Riptonian was too strong for him,
and the third round was a rout. To
quote the Sportsman of the following
day, Peteiro crowded in a lot of work
with both hands, and scored a popular
victory.
Sheen looked thoughtful at the
conclusion of the fight. There was no
doubt that Drummonds antagonist of
the previous year was formidable. Yet
Sheen believed himself to be the
cleverer of the two. At any rate, Peteiro
had given no signs of possessing much
cunning. To all appearances he was a
tough, go-ahead fighter, with a right
which would drill a hole in a steel
plate. Had he sufficient skill to baffle
his (Sheens) strong tactics? If only Joe
Bevan would come! With Joe in his
corner to direct him, he would feel safe.
But of Joe up to the present there
were no signs.
Mr Spence came and sat down
beside him.
Well, Sheen, he said, so you won
your first fight. Keep it up.
Ill try, sir, said Sheen.
What do you think of Peteiro?
I was just wondering, sir. He hits
very hard.
Very hard indeed.
But he doesnt look as if he was
very clever.
Not a bit. Just a plain slogger.
Thats all. Thats why Drummond beat
him last year in the Feather-Weights. In
strength there was no comparison, but
Drummond was just too clever for him.
You will be the same, Sheen.
I hope so, sir, said Sheen.
*****
After lunch the second act of the
performance began. Sheen had to meet
a boxer from Harrow who had drawn a
384 THE WHITE FEATHER
bye in the first round of the
competition. This proved a harder fight
than his first encounter, but by virtue of
a stout heart and a straight left he came
through it successfully, and there was
no doubt as to what the decision would
be. Both judges voted for him.
Peteiro demolished a Radleian in his
next fight.
By the middle of the afternoon there
were three light-weights in the running
Sheen, Peteiro, and a boy from
Clifton. Sheen drew the bye, and
sparred in an outer room with a soldier,
who was inclined to take the thing
easily. Sheen, with the thought of the
final in his mind, was only too ready to
oblige him. They sparred an innocuous
three rounds, and the man of war was
kind enough to whisper in his ear as
they left the room that he hoped he
would win the final, and that he himself
had a matter of one-and-sixpence with
Old Spud Smith on his success.
For Im a man, said the amiable
warrior confidentially, as knows Class
when he sees it. Youre Class, sir,
thats what you are.
This, taken in conjunction with the
fact that if the worst came to the worst
he had, at any rate, won a medal by
having got into the final, cheered
Sheen. If only Joe Bevan had appeared
he would have been perfectly contented.
But there were no signs of Joe.
A GOOD FINISH
Final, Light-Weights, shouted the
referee.
A murmur of interest from the ring-
side chairs.
R. D. Sheen, Wrykyn College.
Sheen got his full measure of
applause this time. His victories in the
preliminary bouts had won him favour
with the spectators.
J. Peteiro, Ripton School.
Go it, Ripton! cried a voice from
near the door. The referee frowned in
the direction of this audacious partisan,
and expressed a hope that the audience
would kindly refrain from comment
during the rounds.
Then he turned to the ring again, and
announced the names a second time.
SheenPeteiro.
The Ripton man was sitting with a
hand on each knee, listening to the
advice of his school instructor, who had
thrust head and shoulders through the
ropes, and was busy impressing some
point upon him. Sheen found himself
noticing the most trivial things with
extraordinary clearness. In the front
row of the spectators sat a man with a
parti-coloured tie. He wondered idly
what tie it was. It was rather like one
worn by members of Templars house
at Wrykyn. Why were the ropes of the
ring red? He rather liked the colour.
There was a man lighting a pipe.
Would he blow out the match or
extinguish it with a wave of the hand?
What a beast Peteiro looked. He really
was a nigger. He must look out for that
right of his. The straight left. Push it
out. Straight left ruled the boxing
world. Where was Joe? He must have
missed the train. Or perhaps he hadnt
been able to get away. Why did he
want to yawn, he wondered.
Time!
The Ripton man became suddenly
active. He almost ran across the ring.
A brief handshake, and he had penned
Sheen up in his corner before he had
time to leave it. It was evident what
advice his instructor had been giving
him. He meant to force the pace from
the start.
The suddenness of it threw Sheen
momentarily off his balance. He
seemed to be in a whirl of blows. A
sharp shock from behind. He had run
 A GOOD FINISH
up against the post. Despite everything,
he remembered to keep his guard up,
and stopped a lashing hit from his
antagonists left. But he was too late to
keep out his right. In it came, full on
the weakest spot on his left side. The
pain of it caused him to double up for
an instant, and as he did so his opponent
upper-cut him. There was no rest for
him. Nothing that he had ever
experienced with the gloves on
approached this. If only he could get
out of this corner.
Then, almost unconsciously, he
recalled Joe Bevans advice.
If a mans got you in a corner, Joe
had said, fall on him.
Peteiro made another savage swing.
Sheen dodged it and hurled himself
forward.
Break away, said a dispassionate
official voice.
Sheen broke away, but now he was
out of the corner with the whole good,
open ring to manoeuvre in.
He could just see the Ripton
instructor signalling violently to his
opponent, and, in reply to the signals,
Peteiro came on again with another
fierce rush.
But Sheen in the open was a
different person from Sheen cooped up
in a corner. Francis Hunt had taught
him to use his feet. He side-stepped,
and, turning quickly, found his man
staggering past him, over-balanced by
the force of his wasted blow. And now
it was Sheen who attacked, and Peteiro
who tried to escape. Two swift hits he
got in before his opponent could face
round, and another as he turned and
rushed. Then for a while the battle
raged without science all over the ring.
Gradually, with a cold feeling of
dismay, Sheen realised that his strength
was going. The pace was too hot. He
could not keep it up. His left counters
385
were losing their force. Now he was
merely pushing his glove into the
Ripton mans face. It was not enough.
The other was getting to close quarters,
and that right of his seemed stronger
than ever.
He was against the ropes now,
gasping for breath, and Peteiros right
was thudding against his ribs. It could
not last. He gathered all his strength
and put it into a straight left. It took the
Ripton man in the throat, and drove him
back a step. He came on again. Again
Sheen stopped him.
It was his last effort. He could do no
more. Everything seemed black to
him. He leaned against the ropes and
drank in the air in great gulps.
Time! said the referee.
The word was lost in the shouts that
rose from the packed seats.
Sheen tottered to his corner and sat
down.
Keep it up, sir, keep it up, said a
voice. Beart that the opposed may
beware of thee. Dont forget the guard.
And the straight left beats the world.
It was Joeat the eleventh hour.
With a delicious feeling of content
Sheen leaned back in his chair. It
would be all right now. He felt that the
matter had been taken out of his hands.
A more experienced brain than his
would look after the generalship of the
fight.
As the moments of the half-minutes
rest slid away he discovered the truth of
Joes remarks on the value of a good
second. In his other fights the napping
of the towel had hardly stirred the hair
on his forehead. Joes energetic arms
set a perfect gale blowing. The cool air
revived him. He opened his mouth and
drank it in. A spongeful of cold water
completed the cure. Long before the
call of Time he was ready for the next
round.
386 THE WHITE FEATHER
Keep away from him, sir, said Joe,
and score with that left of yours.
Dont try the right yet. Keep it for
guarding. Box clever. Dont let him
corner you. Slip him when he rushes.
Cool and steady does it. Dont aim at
his face too much. Go down below.
Thats the de-partment. And use your
feet. Get about quick, and youll find
he dont like that. Hullo, says he, I
cant touch him. Then, when hes tired,
go in.
The pupil nodded with closed eyes.
While these words of wisdom were
proceeding from the mouth of Mr
Bevan, another conversation was taking
place which would have interested
Sheen if he could have heard it. Mr
Spence and the school instructor were
watching the final from the seats under
the side windows.
Its extraordinary, said Mr
Spence. The boys wonderfully good
for the short time he has been learning.
You ought to be proud of your pupil.
Sir?
I was saying that Sheen does you
credit.
Not me, sir.
What! He told me he had been
taking lessons. Didnt you teach him?
Never set eyes on him, till this
moment. Wish I had, sir. Hes the sort
of pupil I could wish for.
Mr Spence bent forward and scanned
the features of the man who was
attending the Wrykinian.
Why, he said, surely thats Bevan
Joe Bevan! I knew him at
Cambridge.
Yes, sir, thats Bevan, replied the
instructor. He teaches boxing at
Wrykyn now, sir.
At Wrykynwhere?
Up the riverat the Blue Boar,
sir, said the instructor, quite innocently
for it did not occur to him that this
simple little bit of information was just
so much incriminating evidence against
Sheen.
Mr Spence said nothing, but he
opened his eyes very wide. Recalling
his recent conversation with Sheen, he
remembered that the boy had told him
he had been taking lessons, and also
that Joe Bevan, the ex-pugilist, had
expressed a high opinion of his work.
Mr Spence had imagined that Bevan
had been a chance spectator of the
boys skill; but it would now seem that
Bevan himself had taught Sheen. This
matter, decided Mr Spence, must be
looked into, for it was palpable that
Sheen had broken bounds in order to
attend Bevans boxing-saloon up the
river.
For the present, however, Mr Spence
was content to say nothing.
*****
Sheen came up for the second round
fresh and confident. His head was
clear, and his breath no longer came in
gasps. There was to be no rallying this
time. He had had the worst of the first
round, and meant to make up his lost
points.
Peteiro, losing no time, dashed in.
Sheen met him with a left in the face,
and gave way a foot. Again Peteiro
rushed, and again he was stopped. As
he bored in for the third time Sheen
slipped him. The Ripton man paused,
and dropped his guard for a moment.
Sheens left shot out once more, and
found its mark. Peteiro swung his right
viciously, but without effect. Another
swift counter added one more point to
Sheens score.
Sheen nearly chuckled. It was all so
beautifully simple. What a fool he had
been to mix it up in the first round. If
he only kept his head and stuck to out-
fighting he could win with ease. The
man couldnt box. He was nothing
 A GOOD FINISH 387

more than a slogger. Here he came, as winning.

usual, with the old familiar rush. Out *****
went his left. But it missed its billet. Thats enough, said the referee.
Peteiro had checked his rush after the The Ripton man was leaning against
first movement, and now he came in the ropes, utterly spent, at almost the
with both hands. It was the first time same spot where Sheen had leaned at
during the round that he had got to close the end of the first round. The last
quarters, and he made the most of it. attack had finished him. His seconds
Sheens blows were as frequent, but his helped him to his corner.
were harder. He drove at the body, The referee waved his hand.
right and left; and once again the call of Sheen wins, he said.
Time extricated Sheen from an And that was the greatest moment of
awkward position. As far as points his life.
were concerned he had had the best of A SURPRISE FOR
the round, but he was very sore and
bruised. His left side was one dull ache. SEYMOURS
Keep away from him, sir, said Joe
Seymours house took in one copy of
Bevan. You were ahead on that
the Sportsman daily. On the morning
round. Keep away all the time unless
after the Aldershot competition Linton
he gets tired. But if you see me
met the paper-boy at the door on his
signalling, then go in all you can and
return from the fives courts, where he
have a fight.
had been playing a couple of before-
There was a suspicion of weariness
breakfast games with Dunstable. He
about the look of the Ripton champion
relieved him of the house copy, and
as he shook hands for the last round.
opened it to see how the Wrykyn pair
He was beginning to feel the effects of
had performed in the gymnastics. He
his hurricane fighting in the opening
did not expect anything great, having a
rounds. He began quietly, sparring for
rooted contempt for both experts, who
an opening. Sheen led with his left.
were small and, except in the
Peteiro was too late with his guard.
gymnasium, obscure. Indeed, he had
Sheen tried againa double lead. His
gone so far on the previous day as to
opponent guarded the first blow, but the
express a hope that Biddle, the more
second went home heavily on the body,
despicable of the two, would fall off the
and he gave way a step.
horizontal bar and break his neck. Still
Then from the corner of his eye
he might as well see where they had
Sheen saw Bevan gesticulating wildly,
come out. After all, with all their faults,
so, taking his life in his hands, he
they were human beings like himself,
abandoned his waiting game, dropped
and Wrykinians.
his guard, and dashed in to fight.
The competition was reported in the
Peteiro met him doggedly. For a few
Boxing column. The first thing that
moments the exchanges were even.
caught his eye was the name of the
Then suddenly the Riptonians blows
school among the headlines.
began to weaken. He got home his
Honours, said the headline, for St
right on the head, and Sheen hardly felt
Pauls, Harrow, and Wrykyn.
it. And in a flash there came to him the
Hullo, said Linton, whats all
glorious certainty that the game was his.
this?
He was winningwinning-
Then the thing came on him with
388 THE WHITE FEATHER
nothing to soften the shock. He had
folded the paper, and the last words on
the half uppermost were, Final. Sheen
beat Peteiro.
Linton had often read novels in
which some important document swam
before the eyes of the hero or the
heroine; but he had never understood
the full meaning of the phrase until he
read those words, Sheen beat Peteiro.
There was no mistake about it.
There the thing was. It was impossible
for the Sportsman to have been hoaxed.
No, the incredible, outrageous fact must
be faced. Sheen had been down to
Aldershot and won a silver medal!
Sheen! Sheen!! Sheen who hadwho
waswell, who, in a word, was
SHEEN!!!
Linton read on like one in a dream.
The Light-Weights fell, said the
writer, to a newcomer Sheen, of
Wrykyn (Sheen!), a clever youngster
with a strong defence and a beautiful
straight left, doubtless the result of
tuition from the middle-weight ex-
champion, Joe Bevan, who was in his
corner for the final bout. None of his
opponents gave him much trouble
except Peteiro of Ripton, whom he met
in the final. A very game and
determined fight was seen when these
two met, but Sheens skill and condition
discounted the rushing tactics of his
adversary, and in the last minute of the
third round the referee stopped the
encounter. (Game and determined!
Sheen!!) Sympathy was freely
expressed for Peteiro, who has thus
been runner-up two years in
succession. He, however, met a better
man, and paid the penalty. The
admirable pluck with which Sheen bore
his punishment and gradually wore his
man down made his victory the most
popular of the days programme.
Well!
Details of the fighting described
Sheen as cutting out the work,
popping in several nice lefts,
swinging his right for the point, and
executing numerous other incredible
manoeuvres.
Sheen!
You caught the name correctly?
SHEEN, Ill trouble you.
Linton stared blankly across the
school grounds. Then he burst into a
sudden yell of laughter.
On that very morning the senior day-
room was going to court-martial Sheen
for disgracing the house. The
resolution had been passed on the
previous afternoon, probably just as he
was putting the finishing touches to the
most popular victory of the days
programme. This, said Linton, is
rich.
He grubbed a little hole in one of Mr
Seymours flower-beds, and laid the
Sportsman to rest in it. The news
would be about the school at nine
oclock, but if he could keep it from the
senior day-room till the brief interval
between breakfast and school, all would
be well, and he would have the pure
pleasure of seeing that backbone of the
house make a complete ass of itself. A
thought struck him. He unearthed the
Sportsman, and put it in his pocket.
He strolled into the senior day-room
after breakfast.
Any one seen the Sporter this
morning? he inquired.
No one had seen it.
The thing hasnt come, said some
one.
Good! said Linton to himself.
At this point Stanning strolled into
the room. Im a witness, he said, in
answer to Lintons look of inquiry.
Were doing this thing in style. I
depose that I saw the prisoner cutting
off on thewhatever day it was, when
 A SURPRISE FOR SEYMOURS
he ought to have been saving our lives
from the fury of the mob. Hadnt
somebody better bring the prisoner into
the dock?
Ill go, said Linton promptly. I
may be a little time, but dont get
worried. Ill bring him all right.
He went upstairs to Sheens study,
feeling like an impresario about to
produce a new play which is sure to
create a sensation.
Sheen was in. There was a ridge of
purple under his left eye, but he was
otherwise intact.
Gratulate you, Sheen, said Linton.
For an instant Sheen hesitated. He
had rehearsed this kind of scene in his
mind, and sometimes he saw himself
playing a genial, forgiving, lets-say-no-
more-about-it-we-all-make-mistakes-
but-in-future! rle, sometimes being
cold haughty, and distant, and repelling
friendly advances with icy disdain. If
anybody but Linton had been the first to
congratulate him he might have decided
on this second line of action. But he
liked Linton, and wanted to be friendly
with him.
Thanks, he said.
Linton sat down on the table and
burst into a torrent of speech.
You are a man! What did you want
to do it for? Where the dickens did you
learn to box? And why on earth, if you
can win silver medals at Aldershot,
didnt you box for the house and smash
up that sidey ass Stanning? I say, look
here, I suppose we havent been making
idiots of ourselves all the time, have
we?
I shouldnt wonder, said Sheen.
How?
I mean, you didWhat I mean to
say isOh, hang it, you know! You
did cut off when we had that row in the
town, didnt you?
Yes, said Sheen, I did.
389
With that medal in his pocket it cost
him no effort to make the confession.
Im glad of that. I mean, Im glad
we havent been such fools as we might
have been. You see, we only had
Stannings word to go on.
Sheen started.
Stanning! he said. What do you
mean?
He was the chap who started the
story. Didnt you know? He told
everybody.
I thought it was Drummond, said
Sheen blankly. You remember
meeting me outside his study the day
after? I thought he told you then.
Drummond! Not a bit of it. He
swore you hadnt been with him at all.
He was as sick as anything when I said
I thought Id seen you with him.
I Sheen stopped. I wish Id
known, he concluded. Then, after a
pause, So it was Stanning!
Yes,conceited beast. Oh. I say.
Um?
I see it all now. Joe Bevan taught
you to box.
Yes.
Then thats how you came to be at
the Blue Boar that day. Hes the
Bevan who runs it.
Thats his brother. Hes got a
gymnasium up at the top. I used to go
there every day.
But I say, Great Scott, what are you
going to do about that?
How do you mean?
Why, Spence is sure to ask you who
taught you to box. He must know you
didnt learn with the instructor. Then
itll all come out, and youll get
dropped on for going up the river and
going to the pub.
Perhaps he wont ask, said Sheen.
Hope not. Oh, by the way
Whats up?
Just remembered what I came up
390 THE WHITE FEATHER
for. Its an awful rag. The senior day-
room are going to court-martial you.
Court-martial me!
For funking. They dont know
about Aldershot, not a word. I bagged
the Sportsman early, and hid it. They
are going to get the surprise of their
lifetime. I said Id come up and fetch
you.
I shant go, said Sheen.
Linton looked alarmed.
Oh, but I say, you must. Dont
spoil the thing. Cant you see what a
rag itll be?
Im not going to sweat downstairs
for the benefit of the senior day-room.
I say, said Linton, Stannings
there.
What!
Hes a witness, said Linton,
grinning.
Sheen got up.
Come on, he said.
Linton came on.
*****
Down in the senior day-room the
court was patiently awaiting the
prisoner. Eager anticipation was
stamped on its expressive features.
Beastly time he is, said Clayton.
Clayton was acting as president.
We shall have to buck up, said
Stanning. Hullo, here he is at last.
Come in, Linton.
I was going to, said Linton, but
thanks all the same. Come along,
Sheen.
Shut that door, Linton, said
Stanning from his seat on the table.
All right, Stanning, said Linton.
Anything to oblige. Shall I bring up a
chair for you to rest your feet on?
Forge ahead, Clayton, said
Stanning to the president.
The president opened the court-
martial in unofficial phraseology.
Look here, Sheen, he said, weve
come to the conclusion that this has got
a bit too thick.
You mustnt talk in that chatty way,
Clayton, interrupted Linton.
Prisoner at the bars the right
expression to use. Why dont you let
somebody else have a look in? Youre
the rottenest president of a court-martial
I ever saw.
Dont rag, Linton, said Clayton,
with an austere frown. This is
serious.
Glad you told me, said Linton.
Go on.
Cant you sit down, Linton! said
Stanning.
I was only waiting for leave.
Thanks. You were saying something,
Clayton. It sounded pretty average rot,
but youd better unburden your soul.
The president resumed.
We want to know if youve
anything to say
You dont give him a chance, said
Linton. You bag the conversation so.
about disgracing the house.
By getting the Gotford, you know,
Sheen, explained Linton. Clayton
thinks that works a bad habit, and
ought to be discouraged.
Clayton glared, and looked at
Stanning. He was not equal to the task
of tackling Linton himself.
Stanning interposed.
Dont rot, Linton. We havent
much time as it is.
Sorry, said Linton.
Youve let the house down
awfully, said Clayton.
Yes? said Sheen.
Linton took the paper out of his
pocket, and smoothed it out.
Seen the Sporter? he asked
casually. His neighbour grabbed at it.
I thought it hadnt come, he said.
Good account of Aldershot, said
Linton.
 A SURPRISE FOR SEYMOURS
He leaned back in his chair as two or
three of the senior day-room collected
round the Sportsman.
Hullo! We won the gym.!
Rot! Lets have a look!
This tremendous announcement
quite eclipsed the court-martial as an
object of popular interest. The senior
day-room surged round the holder of
the paper.
Give us a chance, he protested.
We cant have. Where is it?
Biddle and Smith are simply hopeless.
How the dickens can they have got the
shield?
What a goat you are! said a voice
reproachfully to the possessor of the
paper. Look at this. It says
Cheltenham got it. And here we are-
seventeenth. Fat lot of shield weve
won.
Then what the deuce does this
mean? Honours for St Pauls, Harrow,
and Wrykyn.
Perhaps it refers to the boxing,
suggested Linton.
But we didnt send any one up.
Look here. Harrow won the Heavies.
St Pauls got the Middles. Hullo!
Great Scott! said the senior day-
room.
There was a blank silence. Linton
whistled softly to himself.
The gaze of the senior day-room was
concentrated on that ridge of purple
beneath Sheens left eye.
Clayton was the first to speak. For
some time he had been waiting for
sufficient silence to enable him to
proceed with his presidential duties. He
addressed himself to Sheen.
Look here, Sheen, he said, we
want to know what youve got to say
for yourself. You go disgracing the
house
The stunned senior day-room were
roused to speech.
391
Oh, chuck it, Clayton.
Dont be a fool, Clayton.
Silly idiot!
Clayton looked round in pained
surprise at this sudden withdrawal of
popular support.
Youd better be polite to Sheen,
said Linton; he won the Light-Weights
at Aldershot yesterday.
The silence once more became
strained.
Well, said Sheen, werent you
going to court-martial me, or
something? Clayton, werent you
saying something?
Clayton started. He had not yet
grasped the situation entirely; but he
realised dimly that by some miracle
Sheen had turned in an instant into a
most formidable person.
Erno, he said. No, nothing.
The thing seems to have fallen
through, Sheen, said Linton. Great
pity. Started so well, too. Clayton
always makes a mess of things.
Then Id just like to say one thing,
said Sheen.
Respectful attention from the senior
day-room.
I only want to know why you cant
manage things of this sort by
yourselves, without dragging in men
from other houses.
Especially men like Stanning, said
Linton. The same thing occurred to
me. Its lucky Drummond wasnt here.
Remember the last time, you chaps?
The chaps did. Stanning became an
object of critical interest. After all, who
was Stanning? What right had he to
come and sit on tables in Seymours
and interfere with the affairs of the
house?
The allusion to last time was lost
upon Sheen, but he saw that it had not
improved Stannings position with the
spectators.
392 THE WHITE FEATHER

He opened the door. similar circumstances would have

Good bye, Stanning, he said.
If I hadnt hurt my wrist
Stanning began.
Hurt your wrist! said Sheen. You
got a bad attack of Peteiro. That was
what was the matter with you.
You think that every ones a funk
like yourself, said Stanning.
Pity they arent, said Linton; we
should do rather well down at
Aldershot. And he wasnt such a terror
after all, Sheen, was he? You beat him
in two and a half rounds, didnt you?
Think what Stanning might have done if
only he hadnt sprained his poor wrist
just in time.
Look here, Linton
Some are born with sprained
wrists, continued the speaker, some
achieve sprained wristslike Stanning
Stanning took a step towards him.
Dont forget youve a sprained
wrist, said Linton.
Come on, Stanning, said Sheen,
who was still holding the door open,
youll be much more comfortable in
your own house. Ill show you out.
I suppose, said Stanning in the
passage, you think youve scored off
me.
That, said Sheen pleasantly, is
rather the idea. Good bye.
BRUCE EXPLAINS
Mr Spence was a master with a great
deal of sympathy and a highly
developed sense of duty. It was the
combination of these two qualities
which made it so difficult for him to
determine on a suitable course of action
in relation to Sheens out-of-bounds
exploits. As a private individual he had
nothing but admiration for the sporting
way in which Sheen had fought his up-
hill fight. He felt that he himself in
broken any number of school rules.
But, as a master, it was his duty, he
considered, to report him. If a master
ignored a breach of rules in one case,
with which he happened to sympathise,
he would in common fairness be
compelled to overlook a similar breach
of rules in other cases, even if he did
not sympathise with them. In which
event he would be of small use as a
master.
On the other hand, Sheens case was
so exceptional that he might very well
compromise to a certain extent between
the claims of sympathy and those of
duty. If he were to go to the headmaster
and state baldly that Sheen had been in
the habit for the last half-term of
visiting an up-river public-house, the
headmaster would get an entirely wrong
idea of the matter, and suspect all sorts
of things which had no existence in
fact. When a boy is accused of
frequenting a public-house, the head-
magisterial mind leaps naturally to Stale
Fumes and the Drunken Stagger.
So Mr Spence decided on a
compromise. He sent for Sheen, and
having congratulated him warmly on
his victory in the Light-Weights,
proceeded as follows:
You have given me to understand,
Sheen, that you were taught boxing by
Bevan?
Yes, sir.
At the Blue Boar?
Yes, sir.
This puts me in a rather difficult
position, Sheen. Much as I dislike
doing it, I am afraid I shall have to
report this matter to the headmaster.
Sheen said he supposed so. He saw
Mr Spences point.
But I shall not mention the Blue
Boar. If I did, the headmaster might
get quite the wrong impression. He
 BRUCE EXPLAINS
would not understand all the
circumstances. So I shall simply
mention that you broke bounds by
going up the river. I shall tell him the
whole story, you understand, and its
quite possible that you will hear no
more of the affair. Im sure I hope so.
But you understand my position?
Yes, sir.
Thats all, then, Sheen. Oh, by the
way, you wouldnt care for a game of
fives before breakfast tomorrow, I
suppose?
I should like it, sir.
Not too stiff?
No, sir.
Very well, then. Ill be there by a
quarter-past seven.
*****
Jack Bruce was waiting to see the
headmaster in his study at the end of
afternoon school.
Well, Bruce, said the headmaster,
coming into the room and laying down
some books on the table, do you want
to speak to me? Will you give your
father my congratulations on his
victory. I shall be writing to him
tonight. I see from the paper that the
polling was very even. Apparently one
or two voters arrived at the last moment
and turned the scale.
Yes, sir.
It is a most gratifying result. I am
sure that, apart from our political views,
we should all have been disappointed if
your father had not won. Please
congratulate him sincerely.
Yes, sir.
Well, Bruce, and what was it that
you wished to see me about?
Bruce was about to reply when the
door opened, and Mr Spence came in.
One moment, Bruce, said the
headmaster. Yes, Spence?
Mr Spence made his report clearly
and concisely. Bruce listened with
393
interest. He thought it hardly playing
the game for the gymnasium master to
hand Sheen over to be executed at the
very moment when the school was
shaking hands with itself over the one
decent thing that had been done for it in
the course of the athletic year; but he
told himself philosophically that he
supposed masters had to do these
things. Then he noticed with some
surprise that Mr Spence was putting the
matter in a very favourable light for the
accused. He was avoiding with some
care any mention of the Blue Boar.
When he had occasion to refer to the
scene of Sheens training, he mentioned
it vaguely as a house.
This man Bevan, who is an
excellent fellow and a personal friend of
my own, has a house some way up the
river.
Of course a public-house is a house.
Up the river, said the headmaster
meditatively.
It seemed that that was all that was
wrong. The prosecution centred round
that point, and no other. Jack Bruce, as
he listened, saw his way of coping with
the situation.
Thank you, Spence, said the
headmaster at the conclusion of the
narrative. I quite understand that
Sheens conduct was very excusable.
ButI distinctly saidI placed the
upper river out of bounds....Well, I will
see Sheen, and speak to him. I will
speak to him.
Mr Spence left the room.
Please sir said Jack Bruce.
Ah, Bruce. I am afraid I have kept
you some little time. Yes?
I couldnt help hearing what Mr
Spence was saying to you about Sheen,
sir. I dont think he knows quite what
really happened.
You mean?
Sheen went there by road. I used to
394 THE WHITE FEATHER
take him in my motor.
Your! What did you say,
Bruce?
My motor-car, sir. Thats to say,
my fathers. We used to go together
every day.
I am glad to hear it. I am glad.
Then I need say nothing to Sheen after
all. I am glad....ButerBruce,
proceeded the headmaster after a pause.
Yes, sir?
Do youare you in the habit of
driving a motor-car frequently?
Every day, sir. You see, I am going
to take up motors when I leave school,
so its all education.
The headmaster was silent. To him
the word Education meant Classics.
There was a Modern side at Wrykyn,
and an Engineering side, and also a
Science side; but in his heart he
recognised but one Educationthe
Classics. Nothing that he had heard,
nothing that he had read in the papers
and the monthly reviews had brought
home to him the spirit of the age and
the fact that Things were not as they
used to be so clearly as this one remark
of Jack Bruces. For here was Bruce
admitting that in his spare time he drove
motors. And, stranger still, that he did
it not as a wild frolic but seriously, with
a view to his future career.
The old order changeth, thought
the headmaster a little sadly.
Then he brought himself back from
his mental plunge into the future.
Well, well, Bruce, he said, we
need not discuss the merits and demerits
of driving motor-cars, need we? What
did you wish to see me about?
I came to ask if I might get off
morning school tomorrow, sir. Those
voters who got to the poll just in time
and settled the electionI brought them
down in the car. And the policeman-
hes a Radical, and voted for Pedder-
Mr Pedderhas swornsays I was
exceeding the speed-limit.
The headmaster pressed a hand to his
forehead, and his mind swam into the
future.
Well, Bruce? he said at length, in
the voice of one whom nothing can
surprise now.
He says I was going twenty-eight
miles an hour. And if I can get to the
Court tomorrow morning I can prove
that I wasnt. I brought them to the poll
in the little runabout.
And theerlittle runabout, said
the headmaster, does not travel at
twenty-eight miles an hour?
No, sir. It cant go more than
twenty at the outside.
Very well, Bruce, you need not
come to school tomorrow morning.
Thank you, sir.
The headmaster stood thinking....The
new order....
Bruce, he said.
Yes, sir?
Tell me, do I look very old?
Bruce stared.
Do I look three hundred years old?
No, sir, said Bruce, with the stolid
wariness of the boy who fears that a
master is subtly chaffing him.
I feel more, Bruce, said the
headmaster, with a smile. I feel more.
You will remember to congratulate your
father for me, wont you?
*****
Outside the door Jack Bruce paused
in deep reflection. Rum! he said to
himself. Jolly rum!
*****
On the senior gravel he met Sheen.
Hullo, Sheen, he said, what are
you going to do?
Drummond wants me to tea with
him in the infirmary.
Its all right, then?
Yes. I got a note from him during
 BRUCE EXPLAINS 395

afternoon school. You coming? Ohnothing. How do you feel

All right. I say, Sheen, the Old after Aldershot? Tell us all about it.
Mans rather rum sometimes, isnt he? Ive not heard a word yet.
Whats he been doing now?
396 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S

TALES OF
ST. AUSTINS
by P. G. Wodehouse
1903
 397

PREFACE
Most of these stories originally appeared in The Captain. I am indebted to the
Editor of that magazine for allowing me to republish. The rest are from the Public
School Magazine. The story entitled A Shocking Affair appears in print for the
first time. This was one of our failures.
P. G. Wodehouse

[Dedication]
AD MATREM
398 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S

Contents
HOW PILLINGSHOT SCORED.................................................399
THE ODD TRICK........................................................................403
LAFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN (A Story in Letters).........................407
I...........................................................................................................407
II.........................................................................................................408
III........................................................................................................408
IV........................................................................................................408
V.........................................................................................................409
VI.........................................................................................................410
VII........................................................................................................410
VIII......................................................................................................410
IX..........................................................................................................411
X...........................................................................................................411
HARRISONS SLIGHT ERROR....................................................412
BRADSHAWS LITTLE STORY...................................................417
A SHOCKING AFFAIR.................................................................421
THE BABE AND THE DRAGON................................................428
THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS........................................432
Chapter 1.............................................................................................432
Chapter 2............................................................................................436
Chapter 3.............................................................................................441
Chapter 4............................................................................................445
Chapter 5............................................................................................449
Chapter 6............................................................................................452
HOW PAYNE BUCKED UP........................................................458
I...........................................................................................................458
II..........................................................................................................459
AUTHOR!....................................................................................462
THE TABBY TERROR................................................................467
THE PRIZE POEM........................................................................471
WORK..........................................................................................476
NOTES.........................................................................................482
NOW, TALKING ABOUT CRICKET......................................486
THE TOM BROWN QUESTION...............................................490
 HOW PILLINGSHOT SCORED
HOW PILLINGSHOT SCORED
Pillingshot was annoyed. He was
disgusted, mortified; no other word for
it. He had no objection, of course, to
Mr Mellish saying that his work during
the term, and especially his Livy, had
been disgraceful. A master has the right
to say that sort of thing if he likes. It is
one of the perquisites of the position.
But when he went on to observe,
without a touch of shame, that there
would be an examination in the Livy as
far as they had gone in it on the
following Saturday, Pillingshot felt that
he exceeded. It was not playing the
game. There were the examinations at
the end of term. Those were fair
enough. You knew exactly when they
were coming, and could make your
arrangements accordingly. But to
spring an examination on you in the
middle of the term out of a blue sky, as
it were, was underhand and
unsportsmanlike, and would not do at
all. Pillingshot wished that he could put
his foot down. He would have liked to
have stalked up to Mr Mellishs desk,
fixed him with a blazing eye, and
remarked, Sir, withdraw that remark.
Cancel that statement instantly, or!
or words to that effect.
What he did say was: Oo, si-i-r!!
Yes, said Mr Mellish, not troubling
to conceal his triumph at Pillingshots
reception of the news, there will be a
Livy examination next Saturday. And
(he almost intoned this last
observation)anybody who does not
get fifty per cent, Pillingshot, fifty per
cent, will be severely punished. Very
severely punished, Pillingshot.
After which the lesson had
proceeded on its course.
Yes, it is rather low, isnt it? said
Pillingshots friend, Parker, as
Pillingshot came to the end of a stirring
399
excursus on the rights of the citizen,
with special reference to mid-term Livy
examinations. Thats the worst of
Mellish. He always has you somehow.
But what am I to do? raved
Pillingshot.
I should advise you to swot it up
before Saturday, said Parker.
Oh, dont be an ass, said
Pillingshot, irritably.
What was the good of friends if they
could only make idiotic suggestions like
that?
He retired, brooding, to his house.
The day was Wednesday. There
were only two more days, therefore, in
which to prepare a quarter of a book of
Livy. It couldnt be done. The thing
was not possible.
In the house he met Smythe.
What are you going to do about it?
he inquired. Smythe was top of the
form, and if he didnt know how to
grapple with a crisis of this sort, who
could know?
If youll kindly explain, said
Smythe, what the dickens you are
talking about, I might be able to tell
you.
Pillingshot explained, with unwonted
politeness, that it meant the Livy
examination.
Oh, said Smythe, airily, that! Im
just going to skim through it in case
Ive forgotten any of it. Then I shall
read up the notes carefully. And then, if
I have time, I shall have a look at the
history of the period. I should advise
you to do that, too.
Oh, dont be a goat, said
Pillingshot.
And he retired, brooding, as before.
That afternoon he spent
industriously, copying out the fourth
book of The Aeneid. At the beginning
400 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
of the week he had had a slight
disagreement with M. Gerard, the
French master.
Pillingshots views on behaviour and
deportment during French lessons did
not coincide with those of M. Gerard.
Pillingshots idea of a French lesson
was something between a pantomime
rally and a scrum at football. To him
there was something wonderfully
entertaining in the process of barging
the end man off the edge of the form
into space, and upsetting his books over
him. M. Gerard, however, had a very
undeveloped sense of humour. He
warned the humorist twice, and on the
thing happening a third time, suggested
that he should go into extra lesson on
the ensuing Wednesday.
So Pillingshot went, and copied out
Virgil.
He emerged from the room of
detention at a quarter past four. As he
came out into the grounds he espied in
the middle distance somebody being
carried on a stretcher in the direction of
the School House. At the same moment
Parker loomed in sight, walking swiftly
towards the School shop, his mobile
features shining with the rapt
expression of one who sees much
ginger-beer in the near future.
Hullo, Parker, said Pillingshot,
whos the corpse?
What, havent you heard? said
Parker. Oh, no, of course, you were in
extra. Its young Brown. Hes stunned
or something.
How did it happen?
That rotter, Babington, in Dacres.
Simply slamming about, you know,
getting his eye in before going in, and
Brown walked slap into one of his
drives. Got him on the side of the
head.
Much hurt?
Oh, no, I dont think so. Keep him
out of school for about a week.
Lucky beast. Wish somebody
would come and hit me on the head.
Come and hit me on the head, Parker.
Come and have an ice, said Parker.
Right-ho, said Pillingshot. It was
one of his peculiarities, that whatever
the hour or the state of the weather, he
was always equal to consuming an ice.
This was probably due to genius. He
had an infinite capacity for taking
pains. Scarcely was he outside the
promised ice when another misfortune
came upon him. Scott, of the First
Eleven, entered the shop. Pillingshot
liked Scott, but he was not blind to
certain flaws in the latters character.
For one thing, he was too energetic.
For another, he could not keep his
energy to himself. He was always
making Pillingshot do things. And
Pillingshots notion of the ideal life was
complete dolce far niente.
Ginger-beer, please, said Scott,
with parched lips. He had been bowling
at the nets, and the day was hot.
Hullo! Pillingshot, you young slacker,
why arent you changed? Been bunking
half-holiday games? Youd better
reform, young man.
Ive been in extra, said Pillingshot,
with dignity.
How many times does that make
this term? Youre going for the record,
arent you? Jolly sporting of you. Bit
slow in there, wasnt it? Nother
ginger-beer, please.
Just a bit, said Pillingshot.
I thought so. And now youre dying
for some excitement. Of course you
are. Well, cut over to the House and
change, and then come back and field at
the nets. The man Yorke is going to
bowl me some of his celebrated slow
tosh, and Im going to show him exactly
how Jessop does it when hes in form.
Scott was the biggest hitter in the
 HOW PILLINGSHOT SCORED
School. Mr Yorke was one of the
masters. He bowled slow leg-breaks,
mostly half-volleys and long hops.
Pillingshot had a sort of instinctive idea
that fielding out in the deep with Mr
Yorke bowling and Scott batting would
not contribute largely to the gaiety of
his afternoon. Fielding deep at the nets
meant that you stood in the middle of
the football field, where there was no
telling what a ball would do if it came at
you along the ground. If you were
lucky you escaped without injury.
Generally, however, the ball bumped
and deprived you of wind or teeth,
according to the height to which it rose.
He began politely, but firmly, to excuse
himself.
Dont talk rot, said Scott, of stopping them with your stomach,
complainingly, you must have some
exercise or youll go getting fat. Think
what a blow it would be to your family,
Pillingshot, if you lost your figure.
Buck up. If youre back here in a
quarter of an hour you shall have
another ice. A large ice, Pillingshot,
price sixpence. Think of it.
The word ice, as has been remarked
before, touched chords in Pillingshots
nature to which he never turned a deaf
ear. Within the prescribed quarter of an
hour he was back again, changed.
Heres the ice, said Scott, Ive eventually dispatch with languid
been keeping it warm for you. Shovel it
down. I want to be starting for the
nets. Quicker, man, quicker! Dont roll
it round your tongue as if it was port.
Go for it. Finished? Thats right.
Come on.
Pillingshot had not finished, but
Scott so evidently believed that he had,
that it would have been unkind to have
mentioned the fact. He followed the
smiter to the nets.
If Pillingshot had passed the earlier
part of the afternoon in a sedentary
fashion, he made up for it now. Scott
401
was in rare form, and Pillingshot
noticed with no small interest that,
while he invariably hit Mr Yorkes
deliveries a quarter of a mile or so, he
never hit two balls in succession in the
same direction. As soon as the panting
fieldsman had sprinted to one side of
the football ground and returned the
ball, there was a beautiful, musical
plonk, and the ball soared to the very
opposite quarter of the field. It was a
fine exhibition of hitting, but Pillingshot
felt that he would have enjoyed it more
if he could have watched it from a deck-
chair.
Youre coming on as a deep field,
young Pillingshot, said Scott, as he
took off his pads. Youve got a knack
which the best first-class fields never
have. You ought to give lessons at it.
Now well go and have some tea.
If Pillingshot had had a more
intimate acquaintance with the classics,
he would have observed at this point,
Timeo Danaos, and made a last dash
for liberty in the direction of the shop.
But he was deceived by the specious
nature of Scotts remark. Visions rose
before his eyes of sitting back in one of
Scotts armchairs, watching a fag
toasting muffins, which he would
enjoyment. So he followed Scott to his
study. The classical parallel to his
situation is the well-known case of the
oysters. They, too, were eager for the
treat.
They had reached the study, and
Pillingshot was about to fling himself,
with a sigh of relief, into the most
comfortable chair, when Scott
unmasked his batteries.
Oh, by the way, he said, with a
coolness which to Pillingshot appeared
simply brazen, Im afraid my fag wont
be here today. The young crocks gone
402 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
and got mumps, or the plague, or
something. So would you mind just
lighting that stove? Itll be rather
warm, but that wont matter. There are
some muffins in the cupboard. You
might weigh in with them. Youll find
the toasting-fork on the wall
somewhere. Its hanging up. Got it?
Good man. Fire away.
And Scott collected five cushions,
two chairs, and a tin of mixed biscuits,
and made himself comfortable.
Pillingshot, with feelings too deep for
words (in the then limited state of his
vocabulary), did as he was requested.
There was something remarkable about
the way Scott could always get people
to do things for him. He seemed to take
everything for granted. If he had had
occasion to hire an assassin to make
away with the German Emperor, he
would have said, Oh, I say, you might
run over to Germany and kill the
Kaiser, will you, theres a good chap?
Dont be long. And he would have
taken a seat and waited, without the
least doubt in his mind that the thing
would be carried through as desired.
Pillingshot had just finished toasting
the muffins, when the door opened, and
Venables, of Merevales, came in.
I thought I heard you say something
about tea this afternoon, Scott, said
Venables. I just looked in on the
chance. Good Heavens, man! Fancy
muffins at this time of year! Do you
happen to know what the thermometer
is in the shade?
Take a seat, said Scott. I attribute
my entire success in life to the fact that
I never find it too hot to eat muffins.
Do you know Pillingshot? One of the
hottest fieldsmen in the School. At
least, he was just now. Hes probably
cooled off since then. Venables-
Pillingshot, and vice versa. Buck up
with the tea, Pillingshot. What, ready?
Good man. Now we might almost
begin.
Beastly thing that accident of young
Browns, wasnt it? said Scott. Chaps
oughtnt to go slamming about like that
with the field full of fellows. I suppose
he wont be right by next Saturday?
Not a chance. Why? Oh, yes, I
forgot. He was to have scored for the
team at Windybury, wasnt he?
Who are you going to get now?
Venables was captain of the St
Austins team. The match next
Saturday was at Windybury, on the
latters ground.
I havent settled, said Venables.
But its easy to get somebody. Scoring
isnt one of those things which only one
chap in a hundred understands.
Then Pillingshot had an ideaa
great, luminous idea.
May I score? he asked, and waited
trembling with apprehension lest the
request be refused.
All right, said Venables, I dont
see any reason why you shouldnt. We
have to catch the 8.14 at the station.
Dont you go missing it or anything.
Rather not, said Pillingshot. Not
much.
*****
On Saturday morning, at exactly
9.15, Mr Mellish distributed the Livy
papers. When he arrived at
Pillingshots seat and found it empty, an
expression passed over his face like
unto that of the baffled villain in
transpontine melodrama.
Where is Pillingshot? he demanded
tragically. Where is he?
Hes gone with the team to
Windybury, sir, said Parker, struggling
to conceal a large size in grins. Hes
going to score.
No, said Mr Mellish sadly to
himself, he has scored.
 THE ODD TRICK
THE ODD TRICK
The attitude of Philip St H. Harrison,
of Merevales House, towards his
fellow-man was outwardly one of
genial and even sympathetic toleration.
Did his form-master intimate that his
conduct was not his idea of what Young
Englands conduct should be, P. St H.
Harrison agreed cheerfully with every
word he said, warmly approved his
intention of laying the matter before the
Headmaster, and accepted his
punishment with the air of a waiter
booking an order for a chump chop and
fried potatoes. But the next day there
would be a squeaking desk in the form-
room, just to show the master that he
had not been forgotten. Or, again, did
the captain of his side at football speak
rudely to him on the subject of kicking
the ball through in the scrum, Harrison
would smile gently, and at the earliest
opportunity tread heavily on the
captains toe. In short, he was a youth
who made a practice of taking very
good care of himself. Yet he had his
failures. The affair of Grahams
mackintosh was one of them, and it
affords an excellent example of the
truth of the proverb that a cobbler
should stick to his last. Harrisons forte
was diplomacy. When he forsook the
arts of the diplomatist for those of the
brigand, he naturally went wrong. And
the manner of these things was thus.
Tony Graham was a prefect in
Merevales, and part of his duties was
to look after the dormitory of which
Harrison was one of the ornaments. It
was a dormitory that required a good
deal of keeping in order. Such choice
spirits as Braithwaite of the Upper
Fourth, and Mace, who was rapidly
driving the master of the Lower Fifth
into a premature grave, needed a firm
hand. Indeed, they generally needed
403
not only a firm hand, but a firm hand
grasping a serviceable walking-stick.
Add to these Harrison himself, and
others of a similar calibre, and it will be
seen that Grahams post was no
sinecure. It was Harrisons custom to
throw off his mask at night with his
other garments, and appear in his true
character of an abandoned villain,
willing to stick at nothing as long as he
could do it strictly incog. In this
capacity he had come into constant
contact with Graham. Even in the dark
it is occasionally possible for a prefect
to tell where a noise comes from. And
if the said prefect has been harassed six
days in the week by a noise, and locates
it suddenly on the seventh, it is wont to
be bad for the producer and patentee of
same.
And so it came about that Harrison,
enjoying himself one night, after the
manner of his kind, was suddenly
dropped upon with violence. He had
constructed an ingenious machine,
consisting of a biscuit tin, some
pebbles, and some string. He put the
pebbles in the tin, tied the string to it,
and placed it under a chest of drawers.
Then he took the other end of the string
to bed with him, and settled down to
make a night of it. At first all went
well. Repeated inquiries from Tony
failed to produce the author of the
disturbance, and when finally the
questions ceased, and the prefect
appeared to have given the matter up as
a bad job, P. St H. Harrison began to
feel that under certain circumstances
life was worth living. It was while he
was in this happy frame of mind that the
string, with which he had just produced
a triumphant rattle from beneath the
chest of drawers, was seized, and the
next instant its owner was enjoying the
404 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
warmest minute of a chequered career.
Tony, like Brer Rabbit, had laid low
until he was certain of the direction
from which the sound proceeded. He
had then slipped out of bed, crawled
across the floor in a snake-like manner
which would have done credit to a Red
Indian, found the tin, and traced the
string to its owner. Harrison emerged
from the encounter feeling sore and
unfit for any further recreation. This
deed of the night left its impression on
Harrison. The account had to be
squared somehow, and in a few days his
chance came. Merevales were playing
a friendly with the School House, and
in default of anybody better, Harrison
had been pressed into service as
umpire. This in itself had annoyed
him. Cricket was not in his linehe
was not one of your flannelled fools-
and of all things in connection with the
game he loathed umpiring most.
When, however, Tony came on to
bowl at his end, vice Charteris, who had
been hit for three fours in an over by
Scott, the School slogger, he recognized
that even umpiring had its advantages,
and resolved to make the most of the
situation.
Scott had the bowling, and he lashed
out at Tonys first ball in his usual
reckless style. There was an audible
click, and what the sporting papers call
confident appeals came simultaneously
from Welch, Merevales captain, who
was keeping wicket, and Tony himself.
Even Scott seemed to know that his
time had come. He moved a step or two
away from the wicket, but stopped
before going farther to look at the
umpire, on the off-chance of a miracle
happening to turn his decision in the
batsmans favour.
The miracle happened.
Not out, said Harrison.
Awfully curious, he added genially
to Tony, how like a bat those bits of
grass sound! You have to be jolly smart
to know where a noise comes from,
dont you!
Tony grunted disgustedly, and
walked back again to the beginning of
his run.
If ever, in the whole history of
cricket, a man was out leg-before-
wicket, Scott was so out to Tonys
second ball. It was hardly worth
appealing for such a certainty. Still, the
formality had to be gone through.
How was that? inquired Tony.
Not out. Its an awful pity, dont
you think, that they dont bring in that
new leg-before rule?
Seems to me, said Tony bitterly,
the old rule holds pretty good when a
mans legs bang in front.
Rather. But you see the ball didnt
pitch straight, and the rule says
Oh, all right, said Tony.
The next ball Scott hit for four, and
the next after that for a couple. The
fifth was a yorker, and just grazed the
leg stump. The sixth was a beauty.
You could see it was going to beat the
batsman from the moment it left Tonys
hand. Harrison saw it perfectly.
No ball, he shouted. And just as he
spoke Scotts off-stump ricocheted
towards the wicket-keeper.
Heavens, man, said Tony, fairly
roused out of his cricket manners, a
very unusual thing for him. Ill swear
my foot never went over the crease.
Look, theres the mark.
Rather not. Only, you see, it
seemed to me you chucked that time.
Of course, I know you didnt mean to,
and all that sort of thing, but still, the
rules
Tony would probably have liked to
have said something very forcible about
the rules at this point, but it occurred to
him that after all Harrison was only
 THE ODD TRICK
within his rights, and that it was bad
form to dispute the umpires decision.
Harrison walked off towards square-leg
with a holy joy.
But he was too much of an artist to
overdo the thing. Tonys next over
passed off without interference.
Possibly, however, this was because it
was a very bad one. After the third over
he asked Welch if he could get
somebody else to umpire, as he had
work to do. Welch heaved a sigh of
relief, and agreed readily.
Conscientious sort of chap that
umpire of yours, said Scott to Tony,
after the match. Scott had made a
hundred and four, and was feeling
pleased. Considering hes in your
House, hes awfully fair.
You mean that we generally
swindle, I suppose?
Of course not, you rotter. You
know what I mean. But, I say, that
catch Welch and you appealed for must
have been a near thing. I could have
sworn I hit it.
Of course you did. It was clean
out. So was the lbw. I say, did you
think that ball that bowled you was a
chuck? That one in my first over, you
know.
Chuck! My dear Tony, you dont
mean to say that man pulled you up for
chucking? I thought your foot must
have gone over the crease.
I believe the chaps mad, said
Tony.
Perhaps hes taking it out of you
this way for treading on his corns
somehow. Have you been milling with
this gentle youth lately?
By Jove, said Tony, youre right. dragged his watch from under his
I gave him beans only the other night
for ragging in the dormitory.
Scott laughed.
Well, he seems to have been getting
a bit of his own back today. Lucky the
405
game was only a friendly. Why will
you let your angry passions rise, Tony?
Youve wrecked your analysis by it,
though its improved my average
considerably. I dont know if thats any
solid satisfaction to you.
It isnt.
You dont say so! Well, so long. If
I were you, I should keep an eye on that
conscientious umpire.
I will, said Tony. Good-night.
The process of keeping an eye on
Harrison brought no results. When he
wished to behave himself well, he
could. On such occasions Sandford and
Merton were literally not in it with him,
and the hero of a Sunday-school story
would simply have refused to compete.
But Nemesis, as the poets tell us,
though no sprinter, manages, like the
celebrated Maisie, to get right there in
time. Give her time, and she will
arrive. She arrived in the case of
Harrison. One morning, about a
fortnight after the House-match
incident, Harrison awoke with a new
sensation. At first he could not tell
what exactly this sensation was, and
being too sleepy to discuss nice points
of internal emotion with himself, was
just turning over with the intention of
going to sleep again, when the truth
flashed upon him. The sensation he felt
was loneliness, and the reason he felt
lonely was because he was the only
occupant of the dormitory. To right and
left and all around were empty beds.
As he mused drowsily on these
portents, the distant sound of a bell
came to his ears and completed the
cure. It was the bell for chapel. He
pillow, and looked at it with
consternation. Four minutes to seven.
And chapel was at seven. Now
Harrison had been late for chapel
before. It was not the thought of
406 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
missing the service that worried him.
What really was serious was that he had
been late so many times before that
Merevale had hinted at serious steps to
be taken if he were late again, or, at any
rate, until a considerable interval of
punctuality had elapsed.
That threat had been uttered only
yesterday, and here he was in all
probability late once more.
There was no time to dress. He
sprang out of bed, passed a sponge over
his face as a concession to the
decencies, and looked round for
something to cover his night-shirt,
which, however suitable for dormitory
use, was, he felt instinctively, scarcely
the garment to wear in public.
Fate seemed to fight for him. On
one of the pegs in the wall hung a
mackintosh, a large, blessed
mackintosh. He was inside it in a
moment.
Four minutes later he rushed into his
place in chapel.
The short service gave him some
time for recovering himself. He left the
building feeling a new man. His
costume, though quaint, would not call
for comment. Chapel at St Austins
was never a full-dress ceremony.
Mackintoshes covering night-shirts
were the rule rather than the exception.
But between his costume and that of
the rest there was this subtle
distinction. They wore their own
mackintoshes. He wore somebody
elses.
The bulk of the School had split up
into sections, each section making for
its own House, and Merevales was
already in sight, when Harrison felt
himself grasped from behind. He
turned, to see Graham.
Might I ask, enquired Tony with
great politeness, who said you might
wear my mackintosh?
Harrison gasped.
I suppose you didnt know it was
mine?
No, no, rather not. I didnt know.
And if you had known it was mine,
you wouldnt have taken it, I suppose?
Oh no, of course not, said
Harrison. Graham seemed to be taking
an unexpectedly sensible view of the
situation.
Well, said Tony, now that you
know that it is mine, suppose you give
it up.
Give it up!
Yes; buck up. It looks like rain, and
I mustnt catch cold.
But, Graham, Ive only got on
Spare us these delicate details.
Mack up, please, I want it.
Finally, Harrison appearing to be
difficult in the matter, Tony took the
garment off for him, and went on his
way.
Harrison watched him go with mixed
feelings. Righteous indignation
struggled with the gravest apprehension
regarding his own future. If Merevale
should see him! Horrible thought. He
ran. He had just reached the House, and
was congratulating himself on having
escaped, when the worst happened. At
the private entrance stood Merevale,
and with him the Headmaster himself.
They both eyed him with considerable
interest as he shot in at the boys
entrance.
Harrison, said Merevale after
breakfast.
Yes, sir?
The Headmaster wishes to see you
again.
Yes, sir, said Harrison.
There was a curious lack of
enthusiasm in his voice.
 LAFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN(A STORY IN LETTERS)
LAFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN
(A Story in Letters)
I They say a cow is slightly irritated
From Richard Venables, of St
Austins School, to his brother
Archibald
Venables, of Kings College,
Cambridge:
Dear ArchieI take up my pen to
write to you, not as one hoping for an
answer, but rather in order that (you
notice the Thucydidean construction) I
may tell you of an event the most
important of those that have gone
before. You may or may not have
heard far-off echoes of my adventure
with Uncle John, who has just come
back from the diamond-minesand
looks it. It happened thusly:
Last Wednesday evening I was
going through the cricket field to meet
Uncle John, at the station, as per
esteemed favour from the governor,
telling me to. Just as I got on the scene,
to my horror, amazement, and disgust, I
saw a middle-aged bounder, in loud
checks, who, from his looks, might
have been anything from a retired
pawnbroker to a second-hand butler,
sacked from his last place for stealing
the sherry, standing in the middle of the
field, on the very wicket the
Rugborough match is to be played on
next Saturday (tomorrow), and digging
diggingIll trouble you.
Excavating great chunks of our best turf
with a walking-stick. I was so
unnerved, I nearly fainted. Its bad
enough being captain of a School team
under any circs., as far as putting you
off your game goes, but when you see
the wicket youve been rolling by day,
and dreaming about by night, being
mangled by an utter strangerwell!
407
when her calf is taken away from her,
but I dont suppose the most maternal
cow that ever lived came anywhere near
the frenzy that surged up in my bosom
at that moment. I flew up to him,
foaming at the mouth. My dear sir, I
shrieked, are you aware that youre
spoiling the best wicket that has ever
been prepared since cricket began? He
looked at me, in a dazed sort of way,
and said, What? I said: How on earth
do you think were going to play
Rugborough on a ploughed field? I
dont follow, mister, he replied. A
man who calls you mister is beyond
the pale. You are justified in being a
little rude to him. So I said: Then you
must be either drunk or mad, and I trust
its the latter. I believe thats from
some book, though I dont remember
which. This did seem to wake him up a
bit, but before he could frame his
opinion in words, up came Biffen, the
ground-man, to have a last look at his
wicket before retiring for the night.
When he saw the holesthey were
about a foot deep, and scattered
promiscuously, just where two balls out
of three pitchhe almost had hysterics.
I gently explained the situation to him,
and left him to settle with my friend of
the check suit. Biffen was just settling
down to a sort of Philippic when I went,
and I knew that I had left the man in
competent hands. Then I went to the
station. The train I had been told to
meet was the 5.30. By the way, of
course, I didnt know in the least what
Uncle John was like, not having seen
him since I was about one-and-a-half,
but I had been told to look out for a tall,
rather good-looking man. Well, the
408 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
5.30 came in all right, but none of the
passengers seemed to answer to the
description. The ones who were tall
were not good looking, and the only
man who was good looking stood five
feet nothing in his boots. I did ask him
if he was Mr John Dalgliesh; but, his
name happening to be Robinson, he
could not oblige. I sat out a couple
more trains, and then went back to the
field. The man had gone, but Biffen
was still there. Was you expecting
anyone today, sir? he asked, as I came
up. Yes. Why? I said. That was
im, said Biffen. By skilful
questioning, I elicited the whole thing.
It seems that the fearsome bargee, in
checks, was the governors tall, good-
looking man; in other words, Uncle
John himself. He had come by the 4.30,
I suppose. Anyway, there he was, and I
had insulted him badly. Biffen told me
that he had asked who I was, and that he
(Biffen) had given the information,
while he was thinking of something else
to say to him about his digging. By the
way, I suppose he dug from force of
habit. Thought hed find diamonds,
perhaps. When Biffen told him this, he
said in a nasty voice: Then, when he
comes back will you have the goodness
to tell him that my name is John
Dalgliesh, and that he will hear more of
this. And Im uncommonly afraid I
shall. The governor bars Uncle John
awfully, I know, but he wanted me to be
particularly civil to him, because he was
to get me a place in some beastly firm
when I leave. I havent heard from
home yet, but I expect to soon. Still, Id
like to know how I could stand and
watch him ruining the wicket for our
spot match of the season. As it is, it
wont be as good as it would have
been. The Rugborough slow man will
be unplayable if he can find one of
these spots. Altogether, its a beastly
business. Write soon, though I know
you wontYours ever, Dick
II
Telegram from Major-General Sir
Everard Venables, V.C., K.C.M.G., to
his son Richard Venables:
Venables, St Austins. What all this
about Uncle John. Says were grossly
rude. Write explanation next post-
Venables.
III
Letter from Mrs James Anthony (nee
Miss Dorothy Venables) to her brother
Richard Venables:
Dear DickWhat have you been
doing to Uncle John? Jim and I are
stopping for a fortnight with father, and
have just come in for the whole thing.
Uncle Johnisnt he a horrible man?
says you were grossly insolent to him
when he went down to see you. Do
write and tell me all about it. I have
heard no details as yet. Father refuses
to give them, and gets simply furious
when the matter is mentioned. Jim said
at dinner last night that a conscientious
boy would probably feel bound to be
rude to Uncle John. Father said
Conscience be; I forget the rest, but
it was awful. Jim says if he gets any
worse we shall have to sit on his head,
and cut the traces. He is getting so
dreadfully horsey. Do write the very
minute you get this. I want to know all
about it.Your affectionate sister,
Dorothy
IV
Part of Letter from Richard
 LAFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN(A STORY IN LETTERS)
Venables, of St Austins, to his father
Major-General Sir Everard Venables,
V.C., K.C.M.G.:
... So you see it was really his fault.
The Emperor of Germany has no right
to come and dig holes in our best
wicket. Take a parallel case. Suppose
some idiot of a fellow (not that Uncle
Johns that, of course, but you know
what I mean) came and began rooting
up your azaleas. Wouldnt you want to
say something cutting? I will apologize
to Uncle John, if you like; but still, I do
think he might have gone somewhere
else if he really wanted to dig. So you
see, etc., etc.
V two or three tremendous whangsa
Letter from Richard Venables, of St
Austins, to his sister Mrs James
Anthony:
Dear DollyThanks awfully for
your letter, and thank Jim for his
message. Hes a ripper. Im awfully
glad you married him and not that
rotter, Thompson, who used to hang on
so. I hope the most marvellous infant
on earth is flourishing. And now about
Uncle John. Really, I am jolly glad I
did say all that to him. We played
Rugborough yesterday, and the wicket
was simply vile. They won the toss,
and made two hundred and ten. Of
course, the wicket was all right at one
end, and thats where they made most
of their runs. I was wicket-keeping as
usual, and I felt awfully ashamed of the
beastly pitch when their captain asked
me if it was the football-field. Of
course, he wouldnt have said that if he
hadnt been a pal of mine, but it was
probably what the rest of the team
thought, only they were too polite to say
so. When we came to bat it was worse
than ever. I went in first with Welch-
409
thats the fellow who stopped a week at
home a few years ago; I dont know
whether you remember him. He got out
in the first over, caught off a ball that
pitched where Uncle John had been
prospecting, and jumped up. It was
rotten luck, of course, and worse was to
follow, for by half-past five we had
eight wickets down for just over the
hundred, and only young Scott, whos
simply a slogger, and another fellow to
come in. Well, Scott came in. I had
made about sixty then, and was fairly
well setand he started simply
mopping up the bowling. He gave a
chance every over as regular as
clockwork, and it was always missed,
and then he would make up for it with
safe four every time. It wasnt batting.
It was more like golf. Well, this went
on for some time, and we began to get
hopeful again, having got a hundred and
eighty odd. I just kept up my wicket,
while Scott hit. Then he got caught,
and the last man, a fellow called Moore,
came in. Id put him in the team as a
bowler, but he could bat a little, too, on
occasions, and luckily this was one of
them. There were only eleven to win,
and I had the bowling. I was feeling
awfully fit, and put their slow man
clean over the screen twice running,
which left us only three to get. Then it
was over, and Moore played the fast
man in grand style, though he didnt
score. Well, I got the bowling again,
and half-way through the over I carted a
half-volley into the Pav., and that gave
us the match. Moore hung on for a bit
and made about ten, and then got
bowled. We made 223 altogether, of
which I had managed to get seventy-
eight, not out. It pulls my average up a
good bit. Rather decent, isnt it? The
fellows rotted about a good deal, and
chaired me into the Pav., but it was
410 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
Scott who won us the match, I think.
He made ninety-four. But Uncle John
nearly did for us with his beastly
walking-stick. On a good wicket we
might have made any number. I dont
know how the affair will end. Keep me
posted up in the governors symptoms,
and write again soon.Your
affectionate brother, Dick
PS.On looking over this letter, I
find I have taken it for granted that you
know all about the Uncle John affair.
Probably you do, but, in case you dont,
it was this way. You see, I was going,
etc., etc.
VI
From Archibald Venables, of Kings
College, Cambridge, to Richard
Venables, of St Austins:
Dear DickJust a line to thank you
for your letter, and to tell you that since
I got it I have had a visit from the great
Uncle John, too. He is an outsider, if
you like. I gave him the best lunch I
could in my rooms, and the man started
a long lecture on extravagance. He
doesnt seem to understand the
difference between the Varsity and a
private school. He kept on asking
leading questions about pocket-money
and holidays, and wanted to know if my
master allowed me to walk in the streets
in that waistcoata remark which cut
me to the quick, that waistcoat being
quite the most posh thing of the sort in
Cambridge. He then enquired after my
studies; and, finally, when I saw him off
at the station, said that he had decided
not to tip me, because he was afraid that
I was inclined to be extravagant. I was
quite kind to him, however, in spite of
everything; but I was glad you had
spoken to him like a father. The
recollection of it soothed me, though it
seemed to worry him. He talked a good
deal about it. Glad you came off
against Rugborough.Yours ever, A.
Venables
VII
From Mr John Dalgliesh to Mr
Philip Mortimer, of Penge:
Dear SirIn reply to your letter of
the 18th inst., I shall be happy to
recommend your son, Reginald, for the
vacant post in the firm of Messrs Van
Nugget, Diomonde, and Mynes, African
merchants. I have written them to that
effect, and you will, doubtless, receive a
communication from them shortly.I
am, my dear sir, yours faithfully, J.
Dalgliesh
VIII
From Richard Venables, of St
Austins, to his father Major-General
Sir Everard Venables, V.C., K.C.M.G.:
Dear FatherUncle John writes, in
answer to my apology, to say that no
apologies will meet the case; and that he
has given his nomination in that rotten
City firm of his to a fellow called
Mortimer. But rather a decent thing has
happened. There is a chap here I know
pretty well, who is the son of Lord
Marmaduke Twistleton, and it appears
that the dook himself was down
watching the Rugborough match, and
liked my batting. He came and talked
to me after the match, and asked me
what I was going to do when I left, and
I said I wasnt certain, and he said that,
if I hadnt anything better on, he could
give me a place on his estate up in
Scotland, as a sort of land-agent, as he
wanted a chap who could play cricket,
because he was keen on the game
 LAFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN(A STORY IN LETTERS)
himself, and always had a lot going on
in the summer up there. So he says
that, if I go up to the Varsity for three
years, he can guarantee me the place
when I come down, with a jolly good
screw and a ripping open-air life, with
lots of riding, and so on, which is just
what Ive always wanted. So, can I?
Its the sort of opportunity that wont
occur again, and you know you always
said the only reason I couldnt go up to
the Varsity was, that it would be a
waste of time. But in this case, you see,
it wont, because he wants me to go,
and guarantees me the place when I
come down. Itll be awfully fine, if I
may. I hope youll see it.Your
affectionate son, Dick
PS.I think hes writing to you. He
asked your address. I think Uncle
Johns a rotter. I sent him a rattling fine
apology, and this is how he treats it.
But itll be all right if you like this land-
agent idea. If you like, you might wire
your answer.
IX
Telegram from Major-General Sir
Everard Venables, V.C., K.C.M.G., to
his son Richard Venables, of St
Austins:
411
Venables, St Austins. Very well.
Venables
X
Extract from Letter from Richard
Venables, of St Austins, to his father
Major-General Sir Everard Venables,
V.C., K.C.M.G.:
... Thanks, awfully
Extract from The Austinian of
October:
The following O.A.s have gone into
residence this year: At Oxford, J.
Scrymgeour, Corpus Christi; R.
Venables, Trinity; K. Crespigny-Brown,
Balliol.
Extract from the Daily Mails
account of the Varsity match of the
following summer:
... The St Austins freshman,
Venables, fully justified his inclusion
by scoring a stylish fifty-seven. He hit
eight fours, and except for a miss-hit in
the slips, at 51, which Smith might
possibly have secured had he started
sooner, gave nothing like a chance.
Venables, it will be remembered,
played several good innings for Oxford
in the earlier matches, notably, his not
out contribution of 103 against Sussex
412 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
HARRISONS SLIGHT ERROR
The one oclock down express was
just on the point of starting. The
engine-driver, with his hand on the
lever, whiled away the moments, like
the watchman in The Agamemnon, by
whistling. The guard endeavoured to
talk to three people at once. Porters
flitted to and fro, cleaving a path for
themselves with trucks of luggage. The
Usual Old Lady was asking if she was
right for some place nobody had ever
heard of. Everybody was saying good-
bye to everybody else, and last, but not
least, P. St H. Harrison, of St Austins,
was strolling at a leisurely pace towards
the rear of the train. There was no need
for him to hurry. For had not his friend,
Mace, promised to keep a corner-seat
for him while he went to the
refreshment-room to lay in supplies?
Undoubtedly he had, and Harrison, as
he watched the struggling crowd,
congratulated himself that he was not as
other men. A corner seat in a carriage
full of his own particular friends, with
plenty of provisions, and something to
read in case he got tired of talkingit
would be perfect.
So engrossed was he in these
reflections, that he did not notice that
from the opposite end of the platform a
youth of about his own age was also
making for the compartment in
question. The first intimation he had of
his presence was when the latter,
arriving first at the door by a short head,
hurled a bag on to the rack, and sank
gracefully into the identical corner seat
which Harrison had long regarded as his
own personal property. And to make
matters worse, there was no other
vacant seat in the compartment.
Harrison was about to protest, when the
guard blew his whistle. There was
nothing for it but to jump in and argue
the matter out en route. Harrison
jumped in, to be greeted instantly by a
chorus of nine male voices. Outside
there! No room! Turn him out! said
the chorus. Then the chorus broke up
into its component parts, and began to
address him one by one.
You rotter, Harrison, said
Babington, of Dacres, what do you
come barging in here for? Cant you
see were five aside already?
Hope youve brought a sardine-
opener with you, old chap, said Barrett,
the peerless pride of Philpotts, cos we
shall jolly well need one when we get to
the good old Junct-i-on. Get up into the
rack, Harrison, youre stopping the
ventilation.
The youth who had commandeered
Harrisons seat so neatly took another
unpardonable liberty at this point. He
grinned. Not the timid, deprecating
smile of one who wishes to ingratiate
himself with strangers, but a good, six-
inch grin right across his face. Harrison
turned on him savagely.
Look here, he said, just you get
out of that. What do you mean by
bagging my seat?
Are you a director of this line?
enquired the youth politely. Roars of
applause from the interested audience.
Harrison began to feel hot and
uncomfortable.
Or only the Emperor of Germany?
pursued his antagonist.
More applause, during which
Harrison dropped his bag of provisions,
which were instantly seized and divided
on the share and share alike system,
among the gratified Austinians.
Look here, none of your cheek,
was the shockingly feeble retort which
alone occurred to him. The other said
nothing. Harrison returned to the
 HARRISONS SLIGHT ERROR
attack.
Look here, he said, are you going
to get out, or have I got to make you?
Not a word did his opponent utter.
To quote the bard: The stripling
smiled. To tell the truth, the stripling
smiled inanely.
The other occupants of the carriage
were far from imitating his reserve.
These treacherous friends, realizing
that, for those who were themselves
comfortably seated, the spectacle of
Harrison standing up with aching limbs
for a journey of some thirty miles
would be both grateful and comforting,
espoused the cause of the unknown with
all the vigour of which they were
capable.
Beastly bully, Harrison, said
Barrett. Trying to turn the kid out of
his seat! Why cant you leave the chap
alone? Dont you move, kid.
Thanks, said the unknown, I
wasnt going to.
Now you see what comes of
slacking, said Grey. If youd bucked
up and got here in time you might have
bagged this seat Ive got. By Jove,
Harrison, youve no idea how
comfortable it is in this corner.
Punctuality, said Babington, is the
politeness of princes.
And again the unknown maddened
Harrison with a best-on-record grin.
But, I say, you chaps, said he,
determined as a last resource to appeal
to their better feelings (if any), Mace
was keeping this seat for me, while I
went to get some grub. Werent you,
Mace? He turned to Mace for
corroboration. To his surprise, Mace
was nowhere to be seen.
His sympathetic school-fellows
grasped the full humour of the situation
as one man, and gave tongue once more
in chorus.
You weed, they yelled joyfully,
413
youve got into the wrong carriage.
Mace is next door.
And then, with the sound of
unquenchable laughter ringing in his
ears, Harrison gave the thing up, and
relapsed into a disgusted silence. No
single word did he speak until the
journey was done, and the carriage
emptied itself of its occupants at the
Junction. The local train was in
readiness to take them on to St Austins,
and this time Harrison managed to find
a seat without much difficulty. But it
was a bitter moment when Mace,
meeting him on the platform, addressed
him as a rotter, for that he had not come
to claim the corner seat which he had
been reserving for him. They had had,
said Mace, a rattling good time coming
down. What sort of a time had Harrison
had in his carriage? Harrisons reply
was not remarkable for its clearness.
The unknown had also entered the
local train. It was plain, therefore, that
he was coming to the School as a new
boy. Harrison began to wonder if,
under these circumstances, something
might not be done in the matter by way
of levelling up things. He pondered.
When St Austins station was reached,
and the travellers began to stream up
the road towards the College, he
discovered that the newcomer was a
member of his own House. He was
standing close beside him, and heard
Babington explaining to him the way to
Merevales. Merevale was Harrisons
House-master.
It was two minutes after he had
found out this fact that the Grand Idea
came to Harrison. He saw his way now
to a revenge so artistic, so beautifully
simple, that it was with some difficulty
that he restrained himself from bursting
into song. For two pins, he felt, he
could have done a cake-walk.
He checked his emotion. He beat it
414 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
steadily back, and quenched it. When
he arrived at Merevales, he went first
to the matrons room. Has Venables
come back yet? he asked.
Venables was the head of
Merevales House, captain of the
School cricket, wing three-quarter of
the School Fifteen, and a great man
altogether.
Yes, said the matron, he came
back early this afternoon.
Harrison knew it. Venables always
came back early on the last day of the
holidays.
He was upstairs a short while ago,
continued the matron. He was putting
his study tidy.
Harrison knew it. Venables always
put his study tidy on the last day of the
holidays. He took a keen and perfectly
justifiable pride in his study, which was
the most luxurious in the House.
Is he there now? asked Harrison.
No. He has gone over to see the
Headmaster.
Thanks, said Harrison, it doesnt
matter. It wasnt anything important.
He retired triumphant. Things were
going excellently well for his scheme.
His next act was to go to the fags
room, where, as he had expected, he
found his friend of the train. Luck
continued to be with him. The
unknown was alone.
Hullo! said Harrison.
Hullo! said the fellow-traveller.
He had resolved to follow Harrisons
lead. If Harrison was bringing war,
then war let it be. If, however, his
intentions were friendly, he would be
friendly too.
I didnt know you were coming to
Merevales. Its the best House in the
School.
Oh!
Yes, for one thing, everybody
except the kids has a study.
What? Not really? Why, I thought
we had to keep to this room. One of the
chaps told me so.
Trying to green you, probably. You
must look out for that sort of thing. Ill
show you the way to your study, if you
like. Come along upstairs.
Thanks, awfully. Its awfully good
of you, said the gratified unknown, and
they went upstairs together.
One of the doors which they passed
on their way was open, disclosing to
view a room which, though bare at
present, looked as if it might be made
exceedingly comfortable.
Thats my den, said Harrison. It
was perhaps lucky that Graham, to
whom the room belonged, in fact, as
opposed to fiction, did not hear the
remark. Graham and Harrison were old
and tried foes. This is yours.
Harrison pushed open another door at
the end of the passage.
His companion stared blankly at the
Oriental luxury which met his eye.
But, I say, he said, are you sure?
This seems to be occupied already.
Oh, no, thats all right, said
Harrison, airily. The chap who used to
be here left last term. He didnt know
he was going to leave till it was too late
to pack up all his things, so he left his
study as it was. All youve got to do is
to cart the things out into the passage
and leave them there. The Mokell take
em away.
The Moke was the official who
combined in a single body the duties of
butler and bootboy at Merevales
House. Oh, right-ho! said the
unknown, and Harrison left him.
Harrisons idea was that when
Venables returned and found an
absolute stranger placidly engaged in
wrecking his carefully-tidied study, he
would at once, and without making
inquiries, fall upon that absolute
 HARRISONS SLIGHT ERROR
stranger and blot him off the face of the
earth. Afterwards it might possibly
come out that he, Harrison, had been
not altogether unconnected with the
business, and then, he was fain to admit,
there might be trouble. But he was a
youth who never took overmuch heed
for the morrow. Sufficient unto the day
was his motto. And, besides, it was
distinctly worth risking. The main
point, and the one with which alone the
House would concern itself, was that he
had completely taken in, scored off, and
overwhelmed the youth who had done
as much by him in the train, and his
reputation as one not to be lightly trifled
with would be restored to its former
brilliance. Anything that might happen
between himself and Venables
subsequently would be regarded as a
purely private matter between man and
man, affecting the main point not at all.
About an hour later a small
Merevalian informed Harrison that
Venables wished to see him in his
study. He went. Experience had taught
him that when the Head of the House
sent for him, it was as a rule as well to
humour his whim and go. He was
prepared for a good deal, for he had
come to the conclusion that it was
impossible for him to preserve his
incognito in the matter, but he was
certainly not prepared for what he saw.
Venables and the stranger were
seated in two armchairs, apparently on
the very best of terms with one another.
And this, in spite of the fact that these
two armchairs were the only furniture
left in the study. The rest, as he had
noted with a grin before he had knocked
at the door, was picturesquely scattered
about the passage.
Hullo, Harrison, said Venables, I
wanted to see you. There seems to have
been a slight mistake somewhere. Did
you tell my brother to shift all the
415
furniture out of the study?
Harrison turned a delicate shade of
green.
Yourerbrother? he gurgled.
Yes. I ought to have told you my
brother was coming to the Coll. this
term. I told the Old Man and Merevale
and the rest of the authorities. Cant
make out why I forgot you. Slipped my
mind somehow. However, you seem to
have been doing the square thing by
him, showing him round and so on.
Very good of you.
Harrison smiled feebly. Venables
junior grinned. What seemed to
Harrison a mystery was how the
brothers had managed to arrive at the
School at different times. The
explanation of which was in reality very
simple. The elder Venables had been
spending the last week of the holidays
with MacArthur, the captain of the St
Austins Fifteen, the same being a day
boy, suspended within a mile of the
School.
But what I cant make out, went on
Venables, relentlessly, is this furniture
business. To the best of my knowledge
I didnt leave suddenly at the end of last
term. Ill ask if you like, to make sure,
but I fancy youll find youve been
mistaken. Must have been thinking of
someone else. Anyhow, we thought
you must know best, so we lugged all
the furniture out into the passage, and
now it appears theres been a mistake of
sorts, and the stuff ought to be inside all
the time. So would you mind putting it
back again? Wed help you, only were
going out to the shop to get some tea.
You might have it done by the time we
get back. Thanks, awfully.
Harrison coughed nervously, and
rose to a point of order.
I was going out to tea, too, he said.
Im sorry, but I think youll have to
scratch the engagement, said Venables.
416 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S

Harrison made a last effort. beneath Harrisons Eton waistcoat. A

Im fagging for Welch this term, he
protested.
It was the rule at St Austins that
every fag had the right to refuse to serve
two masters. Otherwise there would
have been no peace for that down-
trodden race.
That, said Venables, ought to be
awfully jolly for Welch, dont you
know, but as a matter of fact term
hasnt begun yet. It doesnt start till
tomorrow. Weigh in.
Various feelings began to wage war
profound disinclination to undertake the
suggested task battled briskly with a
feeling that, if he refused the
commission, things mightnay, would
happen.
Harrison, said Venables gently, but
with meaning, as he hesitated, do you
know what it is to wish you had never
been born?
And Harrison, with a thoughtful
expression on his face, picked up a
photograph from the floor, and hung it
neatly in its place over the mantelpiece.
 BRADSHAWS LITTLE STORY
BRADSHAWS LITTLE STORY
The qualities which in later years
rendered Frederick Wackerbath
Bradshaw so conspicuous a figure in
connection with the now celebrated
affair of the European, African, and
Asiatic Pork Pie and Ham Sandwich
Supply Company frauds, were
sufficiently in evidence during his
school career to make his masters
prophesy gloomily concerning his
future. The boy was in every detail the
father of the man. There was the same
genial unscrupulousness, upon which
the judge commented so bitterly during
the trial, the same readiness to seize an
opportunity and make the most of it, the
same brilliance of tactics. Only once
during those years can I remember an
occasion on which Justice scored a
point against him. I can remember it,
because I was in a sense responsible for
his failure. And he can remember it, I
should be inclined to think, for other
reasons. Our then Headmaster was a
man with a straight eye and a good deal
of muscular energy, and it is probable
that the talented Frederick, in spite of
the passage of years, has a tender
recollection of these facts.
It was the eve of the Euripides
examination in the Upper Fourth.
Euripides is not difficult compared to
some other authors, but he does demand
a certain amount of preparation.
Bradshaw was a youth who did less
preparation than anybody I have ever
seen, heard of, or read of, partly
because he preferred to peruse a novel
under the table during prep., but chiefly,
I think, because he had reduced
cribbing in form to such an exact
science that he loved it for its own sake,
and would no sooner have come tamely
into school with a prepared lesson than
a sportsman would shoot a sitting bird.
417
It was not the marks that he cared for.
He despised them. What he enjoyed
was the refined pleasure of swindling
under a masters very eye. At the trial
the judge, who had, so ran report, been
himself rather badly bitten by the Ham
Sandwich Company, put the case
briefly and neatly in the words, You
appear to revel in villainy for villainys
sake, and I am almost certain that I saw
the beginnings of a gratified smile on
Fredericks expressive face as he heard
the remark. The rest of our studythe
juniors at St Austins pigged in
quartetteswere in a state of
considerable mental activity on account
of this Euripides examination. There
had been House-matches during the
preceding fortnight, and House-matches
are not a help to study, especially if you
are on the very fringe of the cock-house
team, as I was. By dint of practising
every minute of spare time, I had got
the eleventh place for my fielding.
And, better still, I had caught two
catches in the second innings, one of
them a regular gallery affair, and both
off the captains bowling. It was
magnificent, but it was not Euripides,
and I wished now that it had been.
Mellish, our form-master, had an
unpleasant habit of coming down with
both feet, as it were, on members of his
form who failed in the book-papers.
We were working, therefore, under
forced draught, and it was distinctly
annoying to see the wretched Bradshaw
lounging in our only armchair with one
of Rider Haggards best, seemingly
quite unmoved at the prospect of
Euripides examinations. For all he
appeared to care, Euripides might never
have written a line in his life.
Kendal voiced the opinion of the
meeting.
418 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
Bradshaw, you worm, he said.
Arent you going to do any work?
Think not. Whats the good? Cant
get up a whole play of Euripides in two
hours.
Mellishll give you beans.
Let him.
Youll get a jolly bad report.
Shant get a report at all. I always
intercept it before my guardian can get
it. He never says anything.
Mellishll probably run you in to the
Old Man, said White, the fourth
occupant of the study.
Bradshaw turned on us with a
wearied air.
Oh, do give us a rest, he said.
Here you are just going to do a most
important exam., and you sit jawing
away as if you were paid for it. Oh, I
say, by the way, whos setting the paper
tomorrow?
Mellish, of course, said White.
No, he isnt, I said. Shows what a
lot you know about it. Mellish is
setting the Livy paper.
Then, whos doing this one? asked
Bradshaw.
Yorke.
Yorke was the master of the Upper
Fifth. He generally set one of the upper
fourth book-papers.
Certain? said Bradshaw.
Absolutely.
Thanks. Thats all I wanted to
know. By Jove, I advise you chaps to
read this. Its grand. Shall I read out
this bit about a fight?
No! we shouted virtuously, all
together, though we were dying to hear
it, and we turned once more to the
loathsome inanitis of the second
chorus. If we had been doing Homer,
we should have felt more in touch with
Bradshaw. Theres a good deal of
similarity, when you come to compare
them, between Homer and Haggard.
They both deal largely in bloodshed, for
instance. As events proved, the
Euripides paper, like many things which
seem formidable at a distance, was not
nearly so bad as I had expected. I did a
fair-to-moderate paper, and Kendal and
White both seemed satisfied with
themselves. Bradshaw confessed
without emotion that he had only
attempted the last half of the last
question, and on being pressed for
further information, merely laughed
mysteriously, and said vaguely that it
would be all right.
It now became plain that he had
something up his sleeve. We expressed
a unanimous desire to know what it
was.
You might tell a chap, I said.
Out with it, Bradshaw, or well
lynch you, added Kendal.
Bradshaw, however, was not to be
drawn. Much of his success in the
paths of crime, both at school and
afterwards, was due to his secretive
habits. He never permitted
accomplices.
On the following Wednesday the
marks were read out. Out of a possible
hundred I had obtained sixtywhich
pleased me very much indeedWhite,
fifty-five, Kendal, sixty-one. The
unspeakable Bradshaws net total was
four.
Mellish always read out bad marks
in a hushed voice, expressive of disgust
and horror, but four per cent was too
much for him. He shouted it, and the
form yelled applause, until Ponsonby
came in from the Upper Fifth next door
with Mr Yorkes compliments, and
would we recollect that his form were
trying to do an examination.
When order had been restored,
Mellish settled his glasses and glared
through them at Bradshaw, who, it may
be remarked, had not turned a hair.
 BRADSHAWS LITTLE STORY
Bradshaw, he said, how do you
explain this?
It was merely a sighting shot, so to
speak. Nobody was ever expected to
answer the question. Bradshaw,
however, proved himself the exception
to the rule.
I can explain, sir, he said, if I may
speak to you privately afterwards.
I have seldom seen anyone so
astonished as Mellish was at these
words. In the whole course of his
professional experience, he had never
met with a parallel case. It was hard on
the poor man not to be allowed to speak
his mind about a matter of four per cent
in a book-paper, but what could he do?
He could not proceed with his
denunciation, for if Bradshaws
explanation turned out a sufficient
excuse, he would have to withdraw it all
again, and vast stores of golden
eloquence would be wasted. But, then,
if he bottled up what he wished to say
altogether, it might do him a serious
internal injury. At last he hit on a
compromise. He said, Very well,
Bradshaw, I will hear what you have to
say, and then sprang, like the cat in the
poem, all claws, upon an unfortunate
individual who had scored twenty-nine,
and who had been congratulating
himself that Bradshaws failings would
act as a sort of lightning-conductor to
him. Bradshaw worked off his
explanation in under five minutes. I
tried to stay behind to listen, on the
pretext of wanting to tidy up my desk,
but was ejected by request. Bradshaw
explained that his statement was
private.
After a time they came out together
like long-lost brothers, Mellish with his
hand on Bradshaws shoulder. It was
some small comfort to me to remember
that Bradshaw had the greatest dislike
to this sort of thing.
419
It was evident that Bradshaw, able
exponent of the art of fiction that he
was, must have excelled himself on this
occasion. I tried to get the story out of
him in the study that evening. White
and Kendal assisted. We tried
persuasion first. That having failed, we
tried taunts. Then we tried kindness.
Kendal sat on his legs, and I sat on his
head, and White twisted his arm. I
think that we should have extracted
something soon, either his arm from its
socket or a full confession, but we were
interrupted. The door flew open, and
Prater (the same being our House-
master, and rather a good sort)
appeared.
Now then, now then, he said.
Praters manner is always abrupt.
Whats this? I cant have this. I
cant have this. Get up at once.
Wheres Bradshaw?
I rose gracefully to my feet, thereby
disclosing the classic features of the lost
one.
The Headmaster wants to see you at
once, Bradshaw, at the School House.
You others had better find something to
do, or you will be getting into trouble.
He and Bradshaw left together, while
we speculated on the cause of the
summons.
We were not left very long in
suspense. In a quarter of an hour
Bradshaw returned, walking painfully,
and bearing what, to the experts eye,
are the unmistakable signs of a
touching up, which, being interpreted,
is corporal punishment.
Hullo, said White, as he appeared,
whats all this?
How many? enquired the
statistically-minded Kendal. Youll be
thankful for this when youre a man,
Bradshaw.
Thats what I always say to myself
when Im touched up, added Kendal.
420 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
I said nothing, but it was to me that
the wounded one addressed himself.
You utter ass, he said, in tones of
concentrated venom.
Look here, Bradshaw I began,
protestingly.
Its all through youyou idiot, he
snarled. I got twelve.
Twelve isnt so dusty, said White,
critically. Most I ever got was six.
But why was it? asked Kendal.
Thats what we want to know. What
have you been and gone and done?
Its about that Euripides paper, said
Bradshaw.
Ah! said Kendal.
Yes, I dont mind telling you about
it now. When Mellish had me up after
school today, Id got my yarn all ready.
There wasnt a flaw in it anywhere as
far as I could see. My idea was this. I
told him Id been to Yorkes room the
day before the exam, to ask him if he
had any marks for us. That was all
right. Yorke was doing the two Unseen
papers, and it was just the sort of thing a
fellow would do to go and ask him
about the marks.
Well?
Then when I got there he was out,
and I looked about for the marks, and
on the table I saw the Euripides paper.
By Jove! said Kendal. We began
to understand, and to realize that here
was a master-mind.
Well, of course, I read it, not
knowing what it was, and then, as the
only way of not taking an unfair
advantage, I did as badly as I could in
the exam. That was what I told
Mellish. Any beak would have
swallowed it.
Well, didnt he?
Mellish did all right, but the rotter
couldnt keep it to himself. Went and
told the Old Man. The Old Man sent
for me. He was as decent as anything at
first. That was just his guile. He made
me describe exactly where I had seen
the paper, and so on. That was rather
risky, of course, but I put it as vaguely
as I could. When I had finished, he
suddenly whipped round, and said,
Bradshaw, why are you telling me all
these lies? Thats the sort of thing that
makes you feel rather a wreck. I was
too surprised to say anything.
I can guess the rest, said Kendal.
But how on earth did he know it was
all lies? Why didnt you stick to your
yarn?
And, besides, I put in, where do I
come in? I dont see what Ive got to
do with it.
Bradshaw eyed me fiercely. Why,
the whole thing was your fault, he
said. You told me Yorke was setting
the paper.
Well, so he did, didnt he?
No, he didnt. The Old Man set it
himself, said Bradshaw, gloomily.
 A SHOCKING AFFAIR
A SHOCKING AFFAIR
The Bradshaw who appears in the
following tale is the same youth who
figures as the heroor villain, label
him as you likeof the preceding
equally veracious narrative. I mention
this because I should not care for you to
go away with the idea that a waistcoat
marked with the name of Bradshaw
must of necessity cover a scheming
heart. It may, however, be noticed that
a good many members of the Bradshaw
family possess a keen and rather sinister
sense of the humorous, inherited
doubtless from their great ancestor, the
dry wag who wrote that monument of
quiet drollery, Bradshaws Railway
Guide. So with the hero of my story.
Frederick Wackerbath Bradshaw
was, as I have pointed out, my
contemporary at St Austins. We were
in the same House, and together we
sported on the greenand elsewhere-
and did our best to turn the majority of
the staff of masters into confirmed
pessimists, they in the meantime
endeavouring to do the same by us with
every weapon that lay to their hand.
And the worst of these weapons were
the end-of-term examination papers.
Mellish was our form-master, and once
a term a demon entered into Mellish.
He brooded silently apart from the
madding crowd. He wandered through
dry places seeking rest, and at intervals
he would smile evilly, and jot down a
note on the back of an envelope. These
notes, collected and printed closely on
the vilest paper, made up the
examination questions.
Our form read two authors a term,
one Latin and one Greek. It was the
Greek that we feared most. Mellish had
a sort of genius for picking out
absolutely untranslatable passages, and
desiring us (in print) to render the same
421
with full notes. This term the book had
been Thucydides, Book II, with regard
to which I may echo the words of a
certain critic when called upon to give
his candid opinion of a friends first
novel, I dare not say what I think about
that book.
About a week before the
commencement of the examinations, the
ordinary night-work used to cease, and
we were supposed, during that week, to
be steadily going over the old ground
and arming ourselves for the
approaching struggle. There were, I
suppose, people who actually did do
this, but for my own part I always used
to regard those seven days as a blessed
period of rest, set apart specially to
enable me to keep abreast of the light
fiction of the day. And most of the
form, so far as I know, thought the
same. It was only on the night before
the examination that one began to revise
in real earnest. Ones methods on that
night resolved themselves into sitting in
a chair and wondering where to begin.
Just as one came to a decision, it was
bedtime.
Bradshaw, I said, as I reached page
103 without having read a line, do you
know any likely bits?
Bradshaw looked up from his book.
He was attempting to get a general idea
of Thucydides style by reading
Pickwick.
What? he said.
I obliged with a repetition of my
remark.
Likely bits? Oh, you mean for the
Thucydides. I dont know. Mellish
never sets the bits any decent ordinary
individual would set. I should take my
chance if I were you.
What are you going to do?
Im going to read Pickwick.
422 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
Thicksides doesnt come within a mile
of it.
I thought so too.
But how about tomorrow?
Oh, I shant be there, he said, as if
it were the most ordinary of statements.
Not there! Why, have you been
sacked?
This really seemed the only possible
explanation. Such an event would not
have come as a surprise. It was always
a matter for wonder to me why the
authorities never sacked Bradshaw, or
at the least requested him to leave.
Possibly it was another case of the ass
and the bundles of hay. They could not
make up their minds which special
misdemeanour of his to attack first.
No, Ive not been sacked, said
Bradshaw.
A light dawned upon me.
Oh, I said, youre going to
slumber in. For the benefit of the
uninitiated, I may mention that to
slumber in is to stay in the House
during school on a pretence of illness.
That, replied the man of mystery,
with considerable asperity, is exactly
the silly rotten kids idea that would
come naturally to a complete idiot like
you.
As a rule, I resent being called a
complete idiot, but this was not the time
for asserting ones personal dignity. I
had to know what Bradshaws scheme
for evading the examination was.
Perhaps there might be room for two in
it; in which case I should have been
exceedingly glad to have lent my moral
support to it. I pressed for an
explanation.
You may jaw, said Bradshaw at
last, as much as you jolly well please,
but Im not going to give this away. All
youre going to know is that I shant be
there tomorrow.
I bet you are, and I bet you do a
jolly rank paper too, I said,
remembering that the sceptic is
sometimes vouchsafed revelations to
which the most devout believer may not
aspire. It is, for instance, always the
young man who scoffs at ghosts that the
family spectre chooses as his audience.
But it required more than a mere sneer
or an empty gibe to pump information
out of Bradshaw. He took me up at
once.
Whatll you bet? he said.
Now I was prepared to wager
imaginary sums to any extent he might
have cared to name, but as my actual
worldly wealth at that moment
consisted of one penny, and my
expectations were limited to the shilling
pocket-money which I should receive
on the following Saturdayhalf of
which was already mortgagedit
behoved me to avoid doing anything
rash with my ready money. But, since a
refusal would have meant the downfall
of my arguments, I was obliged to name
a figure. I named an even sixpence.
After all, I felt, I must win. By what
means, other than illness, could
Bradshaw possibly avoid putting in an
appearance at the Thucydides
examination?
All right, said Bradshaw, an even
sixpence. Youll lose.
Slumbering in barred.
Of course.
Real illness barred too, I said.
Bradshaw is a man of resource, and has
been known to make himself genuinely
ill in similar emergencies.
Right you are. Slumbering in and
real illness both barred. Anything else
youd like to bar?
I thought.
No. Unless an idea struck me
Youre not going to run away?
Bradshaw scorned to answer the
question.
 A SHOCKING AFFAIR
Now youd better buck up with your
work, he said, opening his book again.
Youve got about as long odds as
anyone ever got. But youll lose all the
same.
It scarcely seemed possible. And yet
Bradshaw was generally right. If he
said he had a scheme for doingthough
it was generally for not doing-
something, it rarely failed to come off.
I thought of my sixpence, my only
sixpence, and felt a distinct pang of
remorse. After all, only the other day
the chaplain had said how wrong it was
to bet. By Jove, so he had. Decent man
the chaplain. Pity to do anything he
would disapprove of. I was on the point
of recalling my wager, when before my
minds eye rose a vision of Bradshaw
rampant and sneering, and myself
writhing in my chair a crushed and
scored-off wreck. I drew the line at
that. I valued my self-respect at more
than sixpence. If it had been a shilling
now. So I set my teeth and turned
once more to my Thucydides.
Bradshaw, having picked up the thread
of his story again, emitted hoarse
chuckles like minute guns, until I very
nearly rose and fell upon him. It is
maddening to listen to a person
laughing and not to know the joke.
You will be allowed two hours for
this paper, said Mellish on the
following afternoon, as he returned to
his desk after distributing the
Thucydides questions. At five minutes
to four I shall begin to collect your
papers, but those who wish may go on
till ten past. Write only on one side of
the paper, and put your names in the top
right-hand corner. Marks will be given
for neatness. Any boy whom I see
looking at his neighbourswheres required an extra ten minutes to finish
Bradshaw?
It was already five minutes past the
hour. The latest of the late always had
423
the decency to appear at least by three
minutes past.
Has anybody seen Bradshaw?
repeated Mellish. You, whats-your-
name (I am whats-your-name, very
much at your service) you are in his
House. Have you seen him?
I could have pointed out with some
pleasure at this juncture that if Cain
expressed indignation at being asked
where his brother was, I, by a simple
sum in proportion, might with even
greater justice feel annoyed at having to
locate a person who was no relative of
mine at all. Did Mr Mellish expect me
to keep an eye on every member of my
House? Did Mr Mellishin short,
what did he mean by it?
This was what I thought. I said, No,
sir.
This is extraordinary, said Mellish,
most extraordinary. Why, the boy was
in school this morning.
This was true. The boy had been in
school that morning to some purpose,
having beaten all records (his own
records) in the gentle sport of Mellish-
baiting. This evidently occurred to
Mellish at the time, for he dropped the
subject at once, and told us to begin our
papers.
Now I have remarked already that I
dare not say what I think of Thucydides,
Book II. How then shall I frame my
opinion of that examination paper? It
was Thucydides, Book II, with the few
easy parts left out. It was Thucydides,
Book II, with special home-made
difficulties added. It waswell, in its
way it was a masterpiece. Without
going into detailsI dislike sensational
and realistic writingI may say that I
personally was not one of those who
their papers. I finished mine at half-
past two, and amused myself for the
remaining hour and a half by writing
424 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
neatly on several sheets of foolscap
exactly what I thought of Mr Mellish,
and precisely what I hoped would
happen to him some day. It was
grateful and comforting.
At intervals I wondered what had
become of Bradshaw. I was not
surprised at his absence. At first I had
feared that he would keep his word in
that matter. As time went on I knew
that he would. At more frequent
intervals I wondered how I should enjoy
being a bankrupt.
Four oclock came round, and found
me so engrossed in putting the finishing
touches to my excursus of Mr Mellishs
character, that I stayed on in the form-
room till ten past. Two other members
of the form stayed too, writing with the
despairing energy of those who had five
minutes to say what they would like to
spread over five hours. At last Mellish
collected the papers. He seemed a trifle
surprised when I gave up my modest
three sheets. Brown and Morrison, who
had their eye on the form prize, each
gave up reams. Brown told me
subsequently that he had only had time
to do sixteen sheets, and wanted to
know whether I had adopted
Rutherfords emendation in preference
to the old reading in Question II. My
prolonged stay had made him regard me
as a possible rival.
I dwell upon this part of my story,
because it has an important bearing on
subsequent events. If I had not waited
in the form-room I should not have
gone downstairs just behind Mellish.
And if I had not gone downstairs just
behind Mellish, I should not have been
in at the death, that is to say the
discovery of Bradshaw, and this story
would have been all beginning and
middle, and no ending, for I am certain
that Bradshaw would never have told
me a word. He was a most secretive
animal.
I went downstairs, as I say, just
behind Mellish. St Austins, you must
know, is composed of three blocks of
buildings, the senior, the middle, and
the junior, joined by cloisters. We left
the senior block by the door. To the
captious critic this information may
seem superfluous, but let me tell him
that I have left the block in my time,
and entered it, too, though never, it is
true, in the company of a master, in
other ways. There are windows.
Our procession of two, Mellish
leading by a couple of yards, passed
through the cloisters, and came to the
middle block, where the Masters
Common Room is. I had no particular
reason for going to that block, but it
was all on my way to the House, and I
knew that Mellish hated having his
footsteps dogged. That Thucydides
paper rankled slightly.
In the middle block, at the top of the
building, far from the haunts of men, is
the Science Museum, containingso I
have heard, I have never been near the
place myselftwo stuffed rats, a case
of mouldering butterflies, and other
objects of acute interest. The room has
a staircase all to itself, and this was the
reason why, directly I heard shouts
proceeding from that staircase, I
deduced that they came from the
Museum. I am like Sherlock Holmes, I
dont mind explaining my methods.
Help! shouted the voice. Help!
The voice was Bradshaws.
Mellish was talking to M. Gerard,
the French master, at the moment. He
had evidently been telling him of
Bradshaws non-appearance, for at the
sound of his voice they both spun
round, and stood looking at the staircase
like a couple of pointers.
Help, cried the voice again.
Mellish and Gerard bounded up the
 A SHOCKING AFFAIR
stairs. I had never seen a French master
run before. It was a pleasant sight. I
followed. As we reached the door of
the Museum, which was shut, renewed
shouts filtered through it. Mellish gave
tongue.
Bradshaw!
Yes, sir, from within.
Are you there? This I thought, and
still think, quite a superfluous question.
Yes, sir, said Bradshaw.
What are you doing in there,
Bradshaw? Why were you not in
school this afternoon? Come out at
once. This in deep and thrilling tones.
Please, sir, said Bradshaw
complainingly, I cant open the door.
Now, the immediate effect of telling a
person that you are unable to open a
door is to make him try his hand at it.
Someone observes that there are three
things which everyone thinks he can do
better than anyone else, namely poking
a fire, writing a novel, and opening a
door.
Gerard was no exception to the rule.
Cant open the door? he said.
Nonsense, nonsense. And, swooping
at the handle, he grasped it firmly, and
turned it.
At this point he made an attempt, a
very spirited attempt, to lower the
worlds record for the standing high
jump. I have spoken above of the
pleasure it gave me to see a French
master run. But for good, square
enjoyment, warranted free from all
injurious chemicals, give me a French
master jumping.
My dear Gerard, said the amazed
Mellish.
I have received a shock. Dear me, I
have received a most terrible shock.
So had I, only of another kind. I
really thought I should have expired in
my tracks with the effort of keeping my
enjoyment strictly to myself. I saw
425
what had happened. The Museum is lit
by electric light. To turn it on one has
to shoot the bolt of the door, which, like
the handle, is made of metal. It is on
the killing two birds with one stone
principle. You lock yourself in and
light yourself up with one movement. It
was plain that the current had gone
wrong somehow, run amock, as it
were. Mellish meanwhile, instead of
being warned by Gerards fate, had
followed his example, and tried to turn
the handle. His jump, though quite a
creditable effort, fell short of Gerards
by some six inches. I began to feel as if
some sort of round game were going
on. I hoped that they would not want
me to take a hand. I also hoped that the
thing would continue for a good while
longer. The success of the piece
certainly warranted the prolongation of
its run. But here I was disappointed.
The disturbance had attracted another
spectator, Blaize, the science and
chemistry master. The matter was
hastily explained to him in all its
bearings. There was Bradshaw
entombed within the Museum, with
every prospect of death by starvation,
unless he could support life for the next
few years on the two stuffed rats and
the case of butterflies. The authorities
did not see their way to adding a human
specimen (youths size) to the treasures
in the Museum, sohow was he to be
got out?
The scientific mind is equal to every
emergency.
Bradshaw, shouted Blaize through
the keyhole.
Sir?
Are you there?
I should imagine that Bradshaw was
growing tired of this question by this
time. Besides, it cast aspersions on the
veracity of Gerard and Mellish.
Bradshaw, with perfect politeness,
426 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
hastened to inform the gentleman that
he was there.
Have you a piece of paper?
Will an envelope do, sir?
Bless the boy, anything will do so
long as it is paper.
Dear me, I thought, is it as bad as all
that? Is Blaize, in despair of ever
rescuing the unfortunate prisoner, going
to ask him to draw up a last dying
words document, to be pushed under
the door and despatched to his
sorrowing guardian?
Put it over your hand, and then
shoot back the bolt.
But, sir, the electricity.
Pooh, boy!
The scientific mind is always
intolerant of lay ignorance.
Pooh, boy, paper is a non-
conductor. You wont get hurt.
Bradshaw apparently acted on his
instructions. From the other side of the
door came the sharp sound of the bolt as
it was shot back, and at the same time
the light ceased to shine through the
keyhole. A moment later the handle
turned, and Bradshaw stepped forth-
free!
Dear me, said Mellish. Now I
never knew that before, Blaize.
Remarkable. But this ought to be seen
to. In the meantime, I had better ask the
Headmaster to give out that the
Museum is closed until further notice, I
think.
And closed the Museum has been
ever since. That further notice has
never been given. And yet nobody
seems to feel as if an essential part of
their life had ceased to be, so to speak.
Curious. Bradshaw, after a short
explanation, was allowed to go away
without a stainthat is to say, without
any additional stainon his character.
We left the authorities discussing the
matter, and went downstairs.
Sixpence isnt enough, I said, take
this penny. Its all Ive got. You shall
have the sixpence on Saturday.
Thanks, said Bradshaw. Was the
Thucydides paper pretty warm?
Warmish. But, I say, didnt you get
a beastly shock when you locked the
door?
I did the week before last, the first
time I ever went to the place. This time
I was more or less prepared for it.
Blaize seems to think that paper dodge
a special invention of his own. Hell be
taking out a patent for it one of these
days. Why, every kid knows that paper
doesnt conduct electricity.
I didnt, I said honestly.
You dont know much, said
Bradshaw, with equal honesty.
I dont, I replied. Bradshaw,
youre a great man, but you missed the
best part of it all.
What, the Thucydides paper? asked
he with a grin.
No, you missed seeing Gerard jump
quite six feet.
Bradshaws face expressed keen
disappointment.
No, did he really? Oh, I say, I wish
Id seen it.
The moral of which is that the
wicked do not always prosper. If
Bradshaw had not been in the Museum,
he might have seen Gerard jump six
feet, which would have made him
happy for weeks. On second thoughts,
though, that does not work out quite
right, for if Bradshaw had not been in
the Museum, Gerard would not have
jumped at all. No, better put it this
way. I was virtuous, and I had the
pleasure of witnessing the sight I have
referred to. But then there was the
Thucydides paper, which Bradshaw
missed but which I did not. No. On
consideration, the moral of this story
shall be withdrawn and submitted to a
 A SHOCKING AFFAIR 427

committee of experts. Perhaps they will be able to say what it is.

428 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
THE BABE AND THE DRAGON
The annual inter-house football cup
at St Austins lay between Dacres, who
were the holders, and Merevales, who
had been runner-up in the previous
year, and had won it altogether three
times out of the last five. The cup was
something of a tradition in Merevales,
but of late Dacres had become serious
rivals, and, as has been said before,
were the present holders.
This year there was not much to
choose between the two teams. Dacres
had three of the First Fifteen and two of
the Second; Merevales two of the First
and four of the Second. St Austins
being not altogether a boarding-school,
many of the brightest stars of the teams
were day boys, and there was, of
course, always the chance that one of
these would suddenly see the folly of
his ways, reform, and become a
member of a House.
This frequently happened, and this
year it was almost certain to happen
again, for no less a celebrity than
MacArthur, commonly known as the
Babe, had been heard to state that he
was negotiating with his parents to that
end. Which House he would go to was
at present uncertain. He did not know
himself, but it would, he said, probably
be one of the two favourites for the
cup. This lent an added interest to the
competition, for the presence of the
Babe would almost certainly turn the
scale. The Babes nationality was
Scots, and, like most Scotsmen, he
could play football more than a little.
He was the safest, coolest centre three-
quarter the School had, or had had for
some time. He shone in all branches of
the game, but especially in tackling. To
see the Babe spring apparently from
nowhere, in the middle of an inter-
school match, and bring down with
violence a man who had passed the
back, was an intellectual treat. Both
Dacres and Merevales, therefore,
yearned for his advent exceedingly.
The reasons which finally decided his
choice were rather curious. They arose
in the following manner:
The Babes sister was at Girton. A
certain Miss Florence Beezley was also
at Girton. When the Babes sister
revisited the ancestral home at the end
of the term, she brought Miss Beezley
with her to spend a week. What she
saw in Miss Beezley was to the Babe a
matter for wonder, but she must have
liked her, or she would not have gone
out of her way to seek her company. Be
that as it may, the Babe would have
gone a very long way out of his way to
avoid her company. He led a fine,
healthy, out-of-doors life during that
week, and doubtless did himself a lot of
good. But times will occur when it is
imperative that a man shall be under the
family roof. Meal-times, for instance.
The Babe could not subsist without
food, and he was obliged, Miss Beezley
or no Miss Beezley, to present himself
on these occasions. This, by the way,
was in the Easter holidays, so that there
was no school to give him an excuse for
absence.
Breakfast was a nightmare, lunch
was rather worse, and as for dinner, it
was quite unspeakable. Miss Beezley
seemed to gather force during the day.
It was not the actual presence of the
lady that revolted the Babe, for that was
passable enough. It was her
conversation that killed. She refused to
let the Babe alone. She was intensely
learned herself, and seemed to take a
morbid delight in dissecting his
ignorance, and showing everybody the
pieces. Also, she persisted in calling
 THE BABE AND THE DRAGON
him Mr MacArthur in a way that
seemed somehow to point out and
emphasize his youthfulness. She added
it to her remarks as a sort of after-
thought or echo.
Do you read Browning, Mr
MacArthur? she would say suddenly,
having apparently waited carefully until
she saw that his mouth was full.
The Babe would swallow
convulsively, choke, blush, and finally
say
No, not much.
Ah! This in a tone of pity not
untinged with scorn.
When you say not much, Mr
MacArthur, what exactly do you mean?
Have you read any of his poems?
Oh, yes, one or two.
Ah! Have you read Pippa
Passes"?
No, I think not.
Surely you must know, Mr
MacArthur, whether you have or not.
Have you read Fifine at the Fair"?
No.
Have you read Sordello"?
No.
What have you read, Mr
MacArthur?
Brought to bay in this fashion, he
would have to admit that he had read
The Pied Piper of Hamelin, and not a
syllable more, and Miss Beezley would
look at him for a moment and sigh
softly. The Babes subsequent share in
the conversation, provided the Dragon
made no further onslaught, was not
large.
One never-to-be-forgotten day,
shortly before the end of her visit, a
series of horrible accidents resulted in
their being left to lunch together alone.
The Babe had received no previous
warning, and when he was suddenly
confronted with this terrible state of
affairs he almost swooned. The ladys
429
steady and critical inspection of his
style of carving a chicken completed his
downfall. His previous experience of
carving had been limited to those
entertainments which went by the name
of study-gorges, where, if you wanted
to help a chicken, you took hold of one
leg, invited an accomplice to attach
himself to the other, and pulled.
But, though unskilful, he was plucky
and energetic. He lofted the bird out of
the dish on to the tablecloth twice in the
first minute. Stifling a mad inclination
to call out Fore! or something to that
effect, he laughed a hollow, mirthless
laugh, and replaced the errant fowl.
When a third attack ended in the same
way, Miss Beezley asked permission to
try what she could do. She tried, and in
two minutes the chicken was neatly
dismembered. The Babe re-seated
himself in an over-wrought state.
Tell me about St Austins, Mr
MacArthur, said Miss Beezley, as the
Babe was trying to think of something
to saynot about the weather. Do you
play football?
Yes.
Ah!
A prolonged silence.
Do you began the Babe at last.
Tell me began Miss Beezley,
simultaneously.
I beg your pardon, said the Babe;
you were saying?
Not at all, Mr MacArthur. You were
saying?
I was only going to ask you if you
played croquet?
Yes; do you?
No.
Ah!
If this is going to continue, thought
the Babe, I shall be reluctantly
compelled to commit suicide.
There was another long pause.
Tell me the names of some of the
430 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
masters at St Austins, Mr MacArthur,
said Miss Beezley. She habitually
spoke as if she were an examination
paper, and her manner might have
seemed to some to verge upon the
autocratic, but the Babe was too
thankful that the question was not on
Browning or the higher algebra to
notice this. He reeled off a list of
names.
... Then theres Merevalerather a
decent sortand Dacre.
What sort of a man is Mr Dacre?
Rather a rotter, I think.
What is a rotter, Mr MacArthur?
Well, I dont know how to describe
it exactly. He doesnt play cricket or
anything. Hes generally considered
rather a crock.
Really! This is very interesting, Mr
MacArthur. And what is a crock? I
suppose what it comes to, she added,
as the Babe did his best to find a
definition, is this, that you yourself
dislike him. The Babe admitted the
impeachment. Mr Dacre had a finished
gift of sarcasm which had made him
writhe on several occasions, and
sarcastic masters are rarely very
popular.
Ah! said Miss Beezley. She made
frequent use of that monosyllable. It
generally gave the Babe the same sort
of feeling as he had been accustomed to
experience in the happy days of his
childhood when he had been caught
stealing jam.
Miss Beezley went at last, and the
Babe felt like a convict who has just
received a free pardon.
One afternoon in the following term
he was playing fives with Charteris, a
prefect in Merevales House. Charteris
was remarkable from the fact that he
edited and published at his own expense
an unofficial and highly personal paper,
called The Glow Worm, which was a
great deal more in demand than the
recognized School magazine, The
Austinian, and always paid its expenses
handsomely.
Charteris had the journalistic taint
very badly. He was always the first to
get wind of any piece of School news.
On this occasion he was in possession
of an exclusive item. The Babe was the
first person to whom he communicated
it.
Have you heard the latest romance
in high life, Babe? he observed, as they
were leaving the court. But of course
you havent. You never do hear
anything.
Well? asked the Babe, patiently.
You know Dacre?
I seem to have heard the name
somewhere.
Hes going to be married.
Yes. Dont trouble to try and look
interested. Youre one of those
offensive people who mind their own
business and nobody elses. Only I
thought Id tell you. Then youll have a
remote chance of understanding my
quips on the subject in next weeks
Glow Worm. You laddies frae the north
have to be carefully prepared for the
subtler flights of wit.
Thanks, said the Babe, placidly.
Good-night.
The Headmaster intercepted the
Babe a few days after he was going
home after a scratch game of football.
MacArthur, said he, you pass Mr
Dacres House, do you not, on your
way home? Then would you mind
asking him from me to take preparation
tonight? I find I shall be unable to be
there. It was the custom at St Austins
for the Head to preside at preparation
once a week; but he performed this
duty, like the celebrated Irishman, as
often as he could avoid it.
The Babe accepted the commission.
 THE BABE AND THE DRAGON
He was shown into the drawing-room.
To his consternation, for he was not a
society man, there appeared to be a
species of tea-party going on. As the
door opened, somebody was just
finishing a remark.
... faculty which he displayed in
such poems as Sordello", said the
voice.
The Babe knew that voice.
He would have fled if he had been
able, but the servant was already
announcing him. Mr Dacre began to do
the honours.
Mr MacArthur and I have met
before, said Miss Beezley, for it was
she. Curiously enough, the subject
which we have just been discussing is
one in which he takes, I think, a great
interest. I was saying, Mr MacArthur,
when you came in, that few of
Tennysons works show the poetic
faculty which Browning displays in
Sordello".
The Babe looked helplessly at Mr
Dacre.
I think you are taking MacArthur
out of his depth there, said Mr Dacre.
Was there something you wanted to
see me about, MacArthur?
The Babe delivered his message.
Oh, yes, certainly, said Mr Dacre.
Shall you be passing the School House
tonight? If so, you might give the
Headmaster my compliments, and say I
shall be delighted.
The Babe had had no intention of
going out of his way to that extent, but
431
the chance of escape offered by the
suggestion was too good to be missed.
He went.
On his way he called at Merevales,
and asked to see Charteris.
Look here, Charteris, he said, you
remember telling me that Dacre was
going to be married?
Yes.
Well, do you know her name by any
chance?
I ken it weel, ma braw Hielander.
She is a Miss Beezley.
Great Scott! said the Babe.
Hullo! Why, was your young heart
set in that direction? You amaze and
pain me, Babe. I think wed better have
a story on the subject in The Glow
Worm, with you as hero and Dacre as
villain. It shall end happily, of course.
Ill write it myself.
Youd better, said the Babe,
grimly. Oh, I say, Charteris.
Well?
When I come as a boarder, I shall
be a House-prefect, shant I, as Im in
the Sixth?
Yes.
And prefects have to go to breakfast
and supper, and that sort of thing, pretty
often with the House-beak, dont they?
Such are the facts of the case.
Thanks. Thats all. Go away and
do some work. Good-night.
The cup went to Merevales that
year. The Babe played a singularly
brilliant game for them.
432 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
Chapter 1
Might I observe, sir
You may observe whatever you
like, said the referee kindly. Twenty-
five.
The rules say
I have given my decision. Twenty-
five! A spot of red appeared on the
official cheek. The referee, who had
been heckled since the kick-off, was
beginning to be annoyed.
The ball went behind without
bouncing, and the rules say
Twenty-FIVE!! shouted the
referee. I am perfectly well aware
what the rules say. And he blew his
whistle with an air of finality. The
secretary of the Bargees F.C. subsided
reluctantly, and the game was restarted.
The Bargees match was a curious
institution. Their real name was the Old
Crockfordians. When, a few years
before, the St Austins secretary had
received a challenge from them, dated
from Stapleton, where their secretary
happened to reside, he had argued
within himself as follows: This sounds
all right. Old Crockfordians? Never
heard of Crockford. Probably some
large private school somewhere.
Anyhow, theyre certain to be decent
fellows. And he arranged the fixture.
It then transpired that Old Crockford
was a village, and, from the appearance
of the team on the day of battle, the Old
Crockfordians seemed to be composed
exclusively of the riff-raff of same.
They wore green shirts with a bright
yellow leopard over the heart, and
C.F.C. woven in large letters about the
chest. One or two of the outsides
played in caps, and the team to a man
criticized the referees decisions with
point and pungency. Unluckily, the
first year saw a weak team of
Austinians rather badly beaten, with the
result that it became a point of honour
to wipe this off the slate before the
fixture could be cut out of the card. The
next year was also unlucky. The
Bargees managed to score a penalty
goal in the first half, and won on that.
The match resulted in a draw in the
following season, and by this time the
thing had become an annual event.
Now, however, the School was
getting some of its own back. The
Bargees had brought down a player of
some reputation from the North, and
were as strong as ever in the scrum.
But St Austins had a great team, and
were carrying all before them.
Charteris and Graham at half had the
ball out to their centres in a way which
made Merevale, who looked after the
football of the School, feel that life was
worth living. And when once it was
out, things happened rapidly.
MacArthur, the captain of the team,
with Thomson as his fellow-centre, and
Welch and Bannister on the wings, did
what they liked with the Bargees three-
quarters. All the School outsides had
scored, even the back, who dropped a
neat goal. The player from the North
had scarcely touched the ball during the
whole game, and altogether the Bargees
were becoming restless and excited.
The kick-off from the twenty-five
line which followed upon the small
discussion alluded to above, reached
Graham. Under ordinary circumstances
he would have kicked, but in a winning
game original methods often pay. He
dodged a furious sportsman in green
and yellow, and went away down the
touch-line. He was almost through
when he stumbled. He recovered
himself, but too late. Before he could
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
pass, someone was on him. Graham
was not heavy, and his opponent was
muscular. He was swung off his feet,
and the next moment the two came
down together, Graham underneath. A
sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
A doctor emerged from the crowd
there is always a doctor in a crowd
and made an examination.
Anything bad? asked the referee.
Collar-bone, said the doctor. The shaken. He was also rather annoyed.
usual, you know. Rather badly
smashed. Nothing dangerous, of
course. Be all right in a month or so.
Stop his playing. Rather a pity. Much
longer before half-time?
No. I was just going to blow the
whistle when this happened.
The injured warrior was carried off,
and the referee blew his whistle for
half-time.
I say, Charteris, said MacArthur,
who the deuce am I to put half instead
of Graham?
Rogers used to play half in his
childhood, I believe. But, I say, did you
ever see such a scrag? Cant you
protest, or something?
My dear chap, how can I? Its on
our own ground. These Bargee beasts
are visitors, if you come to think of it.
Id like to wring the chaps neck who
did it. I didnt spot who it was. Did
you see?
Rather. Their secretary. That man
with the beard. Ill get Prescott to mark
him this half.
Prescott was the hardest tackler in
the School. He accepted the
commission cheerfully, and promised to
do his best by the bearded one.
Charteris certainly gave him every
opportunity. When he threw the ball
out of touch, he threw it neatly to the
criminal with the beard, and Prescott,
who stuck to him closer than a brother,
had generally tackled him before he
433
knew what had happened. After a time
he began to grow thoughtful, and when
there was a line-out went and stood
among the three-quarters. In this way
much of Charteriss righteous
retribution miscarried, but once or twice
he had the pleasure and privilege of
putting in a piece of tackling on his own
account. The match ended with the
enemy still intact, but considerably
He spoke to Charteris on the subject as
they were leaving the field.
I was watching you, he said,
apropos of nothing apparently.
That must have been nice for you,
said Charteris.
You wait.
Certainly. Any time youre passing,
Im sure
You aint eard the last of me yet.
Thats something of a blow, said
Charteris cheerfully, and they parted.
Charteris, having got into his blazer,
ran after Welch and MacArthur, and
walked back with them to the House.
All three of them were at Merevales.
Poor old Tony, said MacArthur.
Where have they taken him to? The
House?
Yes, said Welch. I say, Babe, you
ought to scratch this match next year.
Tell em the cards full up or
something.
Oh, I dont know. One expects
fairly rough play in this sort of game.
After all, we tackle pretty hard
ourselves. I know I always try and go
my hardest. If the man happens to be
brittle, thats his lookout, concluded
the bloodthirsty Babe.
My dear man, said Charteris,
theres all the difference between a
decent tackle and a bally scrag like the
one that doubled Tony up. You cant
break a chaps collar-bone without
trying to.
434 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
Well, if you come to think of it, I
suppose the man must have been fairly
riled. You cant expect a man to be in
an angelic temper when his sides been
licked by thirty points.
The Babe was one of those
thoroughly excellent persons who
always try, when possible, to make
allowances for everybody.
Well, dash it, said Charteris
indignantly, if he had lost his hair he
might have drawn the line at falling on
Tony like that. It wasnt the tackling
part of it that crocked him. The beast
simply jumped on him like a Hooligan.
Anyhow, I made him sit up a bit before
we finished. I gave Prescott the tip to
mark him out of touch. Have you ever
been collared by Prescott? Its a liberal
education. Now, there you are, you
see. Take Prescott. Hes never crocked
a man seriously in his life. I dont
count being winded. Thats absolutely
an accident. Well, there you are, then.
Prescott weighs thirteen-ten, and hes
all muscle, and he goes like a battering-
ram. Youll own that. He goes as hard
as he jolly well knows how, and yet the
worst he has ever done is to lay a man
out for a couple of minutes while he
gets his wind back. Well, compare him
with this Bargee man. The Bargee
weighs a stone less and isnt nearly as
strong, and yet he smashes Tonys
collar-bone. Its all very well, Babe,
but you cant get away from it. Prescott
tackles fairly and the Bargee scrags.
Yes, said MacArthur, I suppose
youre right.
Rather, said Charteris. I wish Id
broken his neck.
By the way, said Welch, you were
talking to him after the match. What
was he saying?
Charteris laughed.
By Jove, Id forgotten; he said I
hadnt heard the last of him, and that I
was to wait.
What did you say?
Oh, I behaved beautifully. I asked
him to be sure and look in any time he
was passing, and after a few chatty
remarks we parted.
I wonder if he meant anything.
I believe he means to waylay me
with a buckled belt. I shant stir out
except with the Old Man or some other
competent bodyguard. Orrible
outrage, shocking death of a St Austins
schoolboy. It would look rather well
on the posters.
Welch stuck strenuously to the point.
No, but, look here, Charteris, he
said seriously, Im not rotting. You
see, the man lives in Stapleton, and if he
knows anything of School rules
Which he doesnt probably. Why
should he? Well?If he knows
anything of the rules, hell know that
Stapletons out of bounds, and he may
book you there and run you in to
Merevale.
Yes, said MacArthur. I tell you
what, youd do well to knock off a few
of your expeditions to Stapleton. You
know you wouldnt go there once a
month if it wasnt out of bounds.
Youll be a prefect next term. I should
wait till then, if I were you.
My dear chap, what does it matter?
The worst that can happen to you for
breaking bounds is a couple of hundred
lines, and Ive got a capital of four
hundred already in stock. Besides,
things would be so slow if you always
kept in bounds. I always feel like a
cross between Dick Turpin and
Machiavelli when I go to Stapleton. Its
an awfully jolly feeling. Like warm
treacle running down your back. Its
cheap at two hundred lines.
Youre an awful fool, said Welch,
rudely but correctly.
Welch was a youth who treated the
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
affairs of other people rather too
seriously. He worried over them. This
is not a particularly common trait in the
character of either boy or man, but
Welch had it highly developed. He
could not probably have explained
exactly why he was worried, but he
undoubtedly was. Welch had a very
grave and serious mind. He shared a
study with Charterisfor Charteris,
though not yet a School-prefect, was
part owner of a studyand close
observation had convinced him that the
latter was not responsible for his
actions, and that he wanted somebody
to look after him. He had therefore
elected himself to the post of a species
of modified and unofficial guardian
angel to him. The duties were heavy,
and the remuneration exceedingly light.
Really, you know, said MacArthur,
I dont see what the point of all your
lunacy is. I dont know if youre aware
of it, but the Old Mans getting jolly
sick with you.
I didnt know, said Charteris, but suavity, when a member of one of the
Im very glad to hear it. For hist! I
have a ger-rudge against the person.
Beneath my ban that mystic man shall
suffer, cote que cote, Matilda. He sat
upon mepublicly, and the resultant
blot on my scutcheon can only be wiped
out with blood, or broken rules, he
added.
This was true. To listen to Charteris
on the subject, one might have thought
that he considered the matter rather
amusing than otherwise. This,
however, was simply due to the fact that
he treated everything flippantly in
conversation. But, like the parrot, he
thought the more. The actual casus
belli had been trivial. At least the mere
spectator would have considered it
trivial. It had happened after this
fashion. Charteris was a member of the
School corps. The orderly-room of the
435
School corps was in the junior part of
the School buildings. Charteris had
been to replace his rifle in that shrine of
Mars after a mid-day drill, and on
coming out into the passage had found
himself in the middle of a junior school
rag of the conventional type.
Somebodys cap had fallen off, and two
hastily picked teams were playing
football with it (Association rules).
Now, Charteris was not a prefect (that,
it may be observed in passing, was
another source of bitterness in him
towards the Powers, for he was fairly
high up in the Sixth, and others of his
set, Welch, Thomson, and Tony
Graham, who were also in the Sixth-
the two last below him in form order-
had already received their prefects
caps). Not being a prefect, it would
have been officious in him to have
stopped the game. So he was passing
on with what Mr Hurry Bungsho
Jabberjee, B.A., would have termed a
beaming simper of indescribable
opposing teams, in effecting a G. O.
Smithian dribble, cannoned into him.
To preserve his balancethis will
probably seem a very thin line of
defence, but I state but the factshe
grabbed at the disciple of Smith amidst
applause, and at that precise moment a
new actor appeared on the scenethe
Headmaster. Now, of all the things that
lay in his province, the Headmaster
most disliked to see a senior ragging
with a junior. He had a great idea of the
dignity of the senior school, and did all
that in him lay to see that it was kept
up. The greater number of the juniors
with whom the senior was found
ragging, the more heinous the offence.
Circumstantial evidence was dead
against Charteris. To all outward
appearances he was one of the players
in the impromptu football match. The
436 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
soft and fascinating beams of the
simper, to quote Mr Jabberjee once
more, had not yet faded from the act. A
well-chosen word or two from the
Headmagisterial lips put a premature
end to the football match, and Charteris
was proceeding on his way when the
Headmaster called him. He stopped.
The Headmaster was angry. So angry,
indeed, that he did what in a more lucid
interval he would not have done. He
hauled a senior over the coals in the
hearing of a number of juniors, one of
whom (unidentified) giggled loudly. As
Charteris had on previous occasions
observed, the Old Man, when he did
start to take a persons measure, didnt
leave out much. The address was not
long, but it covered a great deal of
ground. The section of it which chiefly
rankled in Charteriss mind, and which
had continued to rankle ever since, was
that in which the use of the word
buffoon had occurred. Everybody
who has a gift of humour and (very
naturally) enjoys exercising it, hates to
be called a buffoon. It was Charteriss
one weak spot. Every other abusive
epithet in the language slid off him
without penetrating or causing him the
least discomfort. The word buffoon
went home, right up to the hilt. And, to
borrow from Mr Jabberjee for
positively the very last time, he had
observed (mentally): Henceforward I
will perpetrate heaps of the lowest dregs
of vice. He had, in fact, started a
perfect bout of breaking rules, simply
because they were rules. The injustice
of the thing rankled. No one so dislikes
being punished unjustly as the person
who might have been punished justly on
scores of previous occasions, if he had
only been found out. To a certain
extent, Charteris ran amok. He broke
bounds and did little work, andhe
was beginning gradually to find this out
got thoroughly tired of it all.
Offended dignity, however, still kept
him at it, and much as he would have
preferred to have resumed a less
feverish type of existence, he did not do
so.
I have a ger-rudge against the man,
he said.
You are an idiot, really, said
Welch.
Welch, said Charteris, by way of
explanation to MacArthur, is a lad of
coarse fibre. He doesnt understand the
finer feelings. He cant see that I am
doing this simply for the Old Mans
good. Spare the rod, spile the choild.
Lets go and have a look at Tony when
were changed. Hell be in the sick-
room if hes anywhere.
All right, said the Babe, as he went
into his study. Buck up. Ill toss you
for first bath in a second.
Charteris walked on with Welch to
their sanctum.
You know, said Welch seriously,
stooping to unlace his boots, rotting
apart, you really are a most awful ass. I
wish I could get you to see it.
Never you mind, ducky, said
Charteris, Im all right. Ill look after
myself.
Chapter 2
It was about a week after the
Bargees match that the rules respecting
bounds were made stricter, much to the
popular indignation. The penalty for
visiting Stapleton without leave was
increased from two hundred lines to two
extra lessons. The venomous
characteristic of extra lesson was that it
cut into ones football, for the criminal
was turned into a form-room from two
till four on half-holidays, and so had to
scratch all athletic engagements for the
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
day, unless he chose to go for a solitary
run afterwards. In the cricket term the
effect of this was not so deadly. It was
just possible that you might get an
innings somewhere after four oclock,
even if only at the nets. But during the
football seasonit was now February
to be in extra lesson meant a total
loss of everything that makes life
endurable, and the School protested (to
one another, in the privacy of their
studies) with no uncertain voice against
this barbarous innovation.
The reason for the change had been
simple. At the corner of the High Street
at Stapleton was a tobacconists shop,
and Mr Prater, strolling in one evening
to renew his stock of Pioneer, was
interested to observe P. St H. Harrison,
of Merevales, purchasing a you like about it?
consignment of Girl of my Heart
cigarettes (at twopence-halfpenny the
packet of twenty, including a coloured
picture of Lord Kitchener). Now, Mr
Prater was one of the most
sportsmanlike of masters. If he had
merely met Harrison out of bounds, and
it had been possible to have overlooked
him, he would have done so. But such
a proceeding in the interior of a small
shop was impossible. There was
nothing to palliate the crime. The
tobacconist also kept the wolf from the
door, and lured the juvenile population
of the neighbourhood to it, by selling
various weird brands of sweets, but it
was only too obvious that Harrison was
not after these. Guilt was in his eye,
and the packet of cigarettes in his hand.
Also Harrisons House cap was fixed
firmly at the back of his head. Mr
Prater finished buying his Pioneer, and
went out without a word. That night it
was announced to Harrison that the
Headmaster wished to see him. The
Headmaster saw him, though for a
certain period of the interview he did
437
not see the Headmaster, having turned
his back on him by request. On the
following day Stapleton was placed
doubly out of bounds.
Tony, who was still in bed, had not
heard the news when Charteris came to
see him on the evening of the day on
which the edict had gone forth.
How are you getting on? asked
Charteris.
Oh, fairly well. Its rather slow.
The grub seems all right. Charteris
absently reached out for a slice of cake.
Not bad.
And you dont have to do any
work.
No.
Well, then, it seems to me youre
having a jolly good time. What dont
Its so slow, being alone all day.
Makes you appreciate intellectual
conversation all the more when you get
it. Mine, for instance.
I want something to read.
Ill bring you a Sidgwicks Greek
Prose Composition, if you like. Full of
racy stories.
Ive read em, thanks.
How about Jebbs Homer? Youd
like that. Awfully interesting. Proves
that there never was such a man as
Homer, you know, and that the Iliad
and the Odyssey were produced by
evolution. General style, quietly funny.
Make you roar.
Dont be an idiot. Im simply
starving for something to read. Havent
you got anything?
Youve read all mine.
Hasnt Welch got any books?
Not one. He bags mine when he
wants to read. Ill tell you what I will
do if you like.
What?
Go into Stapleton, and borrow
something from Adamson. Adamson
438 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
was the College doctor.
By Jove, thats not a bad idea.
Its a dashed good idea, which
wouldnt have occurred to anybody but
a genius. Ive been quite a pal of
Adamsons ever since I had the flu. I
go to tea with him occasionally, and we
talk medical shop. Have you ever tried
talking medical shop during tea?
Nothing like it for giving you an
appetite.
Has he got anything readable?
Rather. Have you ever tried
anything of James Payns?
Ive read Terminations, or
something, said Tony doubtfully, but
hes so obscure.
Dont, said Charteris sadly, please
dont. Terminations is by one Henry
James, and there is a substantial
difference between him and James
Payn. Anyhow, if you want a short
biography of James Payn, he wrote a
hundred books, and theyre all simply
ripping, and Adamson has got a good
many of them, and Im hoping to
borrow a coupleany two will do-
and youre going to read them. I know
one always bars a book thats
recommended to one, but youve got no
choice. Youre not going to get
anything else till youve finished those
two.
All right, said Tony. But
Stapletons out of bounds. I suppose
Merevalell give you leave to go in.
He wont, said Charteris. I shant Town Hall he was button-holed by a
ask him. On principle. So long.
On the following afternoon Charteris
went into Stapleton. The distance by
road was almost exactly one mile. If
you went by the fields it was longer,
because you probably lost your way.
Dr Adamsons house was in the
High Street. Charteris knocked at the
door. The servant was sorry, but the
doctor was out. Her tone seemed to
suggest that, if she had had any say in
the matter, he would have remained in.
Would Charteris come in and wait?
Charteris rather thought he would. He
waited for half an hour, and then, as the
absent medico did not appear to be
coming, took two books from the shelf,
wrote a succinct note explaining what
he had done, and why he had done it,
hoping the doctor would not mind, and
went out with his literary trophies into
the High Street again.
The time was now close on five
oclock. Lock-up was not till a quarter
past sixsix oclock nominally, but the
doors were always left open till a
quarter past. It would take him about
fifteen minutes to get back, less if he
trotted. Obviously, the thing to do here
was to spend a thoughtful quarter of an
hour or so inspecting the sights of the
town. These were ordinarily not
numerous, but this particular day
happened to be market day, and there
was a good deal going on. The High
Street was full of farmers, cows, and
other animals, the majority of the
former well on the road to intoxication.
It is, of course, extremely painful to see
a man in such a condition, but when
such a person is endeavouring to count
a perpetually moving drove of pigs, the
onlookers pain is sensibly diminished.
Charteris strolled along the High Street
observing these and other phenomena
with an attentive eye. Opposite the
perfect stranger, whom, by his
conversation, he soon recognized as the
Stapleton character. There is a
character in every small country
town. He is not a bad character; still
less is he a good character. He is just a
character pure and simple. This
particular manor rather, this man, for
he was anything but particular-
apparently took a great fancy to
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
Charteris at first sight. He backed him
gently against a wall, and insisted on
telling him an interminable anecdote of
his shady past, when, it seemed, he had
been a super in some travelling
company. The plot of the story, as far
as Charteris could follow it, dealt with a
theatrical tour in Dublin, where some
person or persons unknown had, with
malice prepense, scattered several
pounds of snuff on the stage previous to
a performance of Hamlet; and,
according to the character, when the
ghost of Hamlets father sneezed
steadily throughout his great scene,
there was not a dry eye in the house.
The character had concluded that
anecdote, and was half-way through
another, when Charteris, looking at his
watch, found that it was almost six
oclock. He interrupted one of the
characters periods by diving past him
and moving rapidly down the street.
The historian did not seem to object.
Charteris looked round and saw that he
had button-holed a fresh victim. He
was still gazing in one direction and
walking in another, when he ran into
somebody.
Sorry, said Charteris hastily.
Hullo!
It was the secretary of the Old
Crockfordians, and, to judge from the
scowl on that gentlemans face, the
recognition was mutual.
Its you, is it? said the secretary in
his polished way.
I believe so, said Charteris.
Out of bounds, observed the man.
Charteris was surprised. This grasp
of technical lore on the part of a total
outsider was as unexpected as it was
gratifying.
What do you know about bounds?
said Charteris.
I know you aint allowed to come
ere, and youll get it ot from your
439
master for coming.
Ah, but he wont know. I shant tell
him, and Im sure you will respect my
secret.
Charteris smiled in a winning
manner.
Ho! said the man, Ho indeed!
There is something very clinching
about the word Ho. It seems
definitely to apply the closure to any
argument. At least, I have never yet
met anyone who could tell me the
suitable repartee.
Well, said Charteris affably, dont
let me keep you. I must be going on.
Ho! observed the man once more.
Ho indeed!
Thats a wonderfully shrewd
remark, said Charteris. I can see that,
but I wish youd tell me exactly what it
means.
Youre out of bounds.
Your mind seems to run in a
groove. You cant get off that bounds
business. How do you know
Stapletons out of bounds?
I have made enquiries, said the
man darkly.
By Jove, said Charteris delightedly,
this is splendid. Youre a regular
sleuth-hound. I dare say youve found
out my name and House too?
I may ave, said the man, or I may
not ave.
Well, now you mention it, I suppose
one of the two contingencies is
probable. Well, Im awfully glad to
have met you. Good-bye. I must be
going.
Youre goin with me.
Arm in arm?
I dont want to ave to take you.
No, said Charteris, I should jolly
well advise you not to try. This is my
way.
He walked on till he came to the
road that led to St Austins. The
440 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
secretary of the Old Crockfordians
stalked beside him with determined
stride.
Now, said Charteris, when they
were on the road, you mustnt mind if I
walk rather fast. Im in a hurry.
Charteriss idea of walking rather
fast was to dash off down the road at
quarter-mile pace. The move took the
man by surprise, but, after a moment, he
followed with much panting. It was
evident that he was not in training.
Charteris began to feel that the walk
home might be amusing in its way.
After they had raced some three
hundred yards he slowed down to a
walk again. It was at this point that his
companion evinced a desire to do the
rest of the journey with a hand on the
collar of his coat.
If you touch me, observed
Charteris with a surprising knowledge
of legal minutiae, itll be a technical
assault, and youll get run in; and youll
get beans anyway if you try it on.
The man reconsidered matters, and
elected not to try it on.
Half a mile from the College
Charteris began to walk rather fast
again. He was a good half-miler, and
his companion was bad at every
distance. After a game struggle he
dropped to the rear, and finished a
hundred yards behind in considerable
straits. Charteris shot in at Merevales
door with five minutes to spare, and
went up to his study to worry Welch by
telling him about it.
Welch, you remember the Bargee
who scragged Tony? Well, there have
been all sorts of fresh developments.
Hes just been pacing me all the way
from Stapleton.
Stapleton! Have you been to
Stapleton? Did Merevale give you
leave?
No. I didnt ask him.
You are an idiot. And now this
Bargee man will go straight to the Old
Man and run you in. I wonder you
didnt think of that.
Curious I didnt.
I suppose he saw you come in
here?
Rather. He couldnt have had a
better view if hed paid for a seat. Half
a second; I must just run up with these
volumes to Tony.
When he came back he found Welch
more serious than ever.
I told you so, said Welch. Youre
to go to the Old Man at once. Hes just
sent over for you. I say, look here, if
its only lines I dont mind doing some
of them, if you like.
Charteris was quite touched by this
sporting offer.
Its awfully good of you, he said,
but it doesnt matter, really. I shall be
all right.
Ten minutes later he returned,
beaming.
Well, said Welch, whats he given
you?
Only his love, to give to you. It was
this way. He first asked me if I wasnt
perfectly aware that Stapleton was out
of bounds. Sir, says I, Ive known it
from childhoods earliest hour. Ah,
says he to me, did Mr Merevale give
you leave to go in this afternoon?
No, says I, I never consulted the
gent you mention."
Well?
Then he ragged me for ten minutes,
and finally told me I must go into extra
the next two Saturdays.
I thought so.
Ah, but mark the sequel. When he
had finished, I said that I was sorry I
had mistaken the rules, but I had
thought that a chap was allowed to go
into Stapleton if he got leave from a
master. But you said that Mr Merevale
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
did not give you leave, said he.
Friend of my youth, I replied
courteously, you are perfectly correct.
As always. Mr Merevale did not give
me leave, but, I added suavely, Mr
Dacre did. And I came away, chanting
hymns of triumph in a mellow baritone,
and leaving him in a dead faint on the
sofa. And the Bargee, who was present
during the conflict, swiftly and silently
vanished away, his morale considerably
shattered. And that, my gentle Welch,
concluded Charteris cheerfully, put me
one up. So pass the biscuits, and let us
rejoice if we never rejoice again.
Chapter 3
The Easter term was nearing its end.
Football, with the exception of the final
House-match, which had still to come
off, was over, and life was in
consequence a trifle less exhilarating
than it might have been. In some ways
the last few weeks before the Easter
holidays are quite pleasant. You can
put on running shorts and a blazer and
potter about the grounds, feeling strong
and athletic, and delude yourself into
the notion that you are training for the
sports. Ten minutes at the broad jump,
five with the weight, a few sprints on
the trackit is all very amusing and
harmless, but it is apt to become
monotonous after a time. And if the
weather is at all inclined to be chilly,
such an occupation becomes
impossible.
Charteris found things particularly
dull. He was a fair average runner, but
there were others far better at every
distance, so that he saw no use in
mortifying the flesh with strict training.
On the other hand, in view of the fact
that the final House-match had yet to be
played, and that Merevales was one of
441
the two teams that were going to play it,
it behoved him to keep himself at least
moderately fit. The genial muffin and
the cheery crumpet were still things to
be avoided. He thus found himself in a
position where, apparently, the few
things which it was possible for him to
do were barred, and the net result was
that he felt slightly dull.
To make matters worse, all the rest
of his set were working full time at their
various employments, and had no
leisure for amusing him. Welch
practised hundred-yard sprints daily,
and imagined that it would be quite a
treat for Charteris to be allowed to time
him. So he gave him the stopwatch,
saw him safely to the end of the track,
and at a given signal dashed off in the
approved American style. By the time
he reached the tape, dutifully held by
two sporting Merevalian juniors,
Charteriss attention had generally been
attracted elsewhere. What time?
Welch would pant. By Jove, Charteris
would observe blandly, I forgot to
look. About a minute and a quarter, I
fancy. At which Welch, who always
had a notion that he had done it in ten
and a fifth that time, at any rate, would
dissemble his joy, and mildly suggest
that somebody else should hold the
watch. Then there was Jim Thomson,
generally a perfect mine of elevating
conversation. He was in for the mile
and also the half, and refused to talk
about anything except those distances,
and the best methods for running them
in the minimum of time. Charteris
began to feel a blue melancholy stealing
over him. The Babe, again. He might
have helped to while away the long
hours, but unfortunately the Babe had
been taken very bad with a notion that
he was going to win the cross-country
run, and when, in addition to this, he
was seized with a panic with regard to
442 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
the prospects of the House team in the
final, and began to throw out hints
concerning strict training, Charteris
regarded him as a person to be avoided.
If he fled to the Babe for sympathy
now, the Babe would be just as likely as
not to suggest that he should come for a
ten-mile spin with him, to get him into
condition for the final Houser. The
very thought of a ten-mile spin made
Charteris feel faint. Lastly, there was
Tony. But Tonys company was worse
than none at all. He went about with his
arm in a sling, and declined to be
comforted. But for his injury, he would
by now have been training hard for the
Aldershot Boxing Competition, and the
fact that he was now definitely out of it
had a very depressing effect upon him.
He lounged moodily about the
gymnasium, watching Menzies, who
was to take his place, sparring with the
instructor, and refused consolation.
Altogether, Charteris found life a
distinct bore.
He was reduced to such straits for
amusement, that one Wednesday
afternoon, finding himself with nothing
else to do, he was working at a
burlesque and remarkably scurrilous
article on The Staff, by one who has
suffered, which he was going to insert
in The Glow Worm, an unofficial
periodical which he had started for the
amusement of the School and his own
and his contributors profit. He was just
warming to his work, and beginning to
enjoy himself, when the door opened
without a preliminary knock. Charteris
deftly slid a piece of blotting-paper over
his MS., for Merevale occasionally
entered a study in this manner. And
though there was nothing about
Merevale himself in the article, it would
be better perhaps, thought Charteris, if
he did not see it. But it was not
Merevale. It was somebody far worse.
The Babe.
The Babe was clothed as to his body
in football clothes, and as to face, in a
look of holy enthusiasm. Charteris
knew what that look meant. It meant
that the Babe was going to try and drag
him out for a run.
Go away, Babe, he said, Im
busy.
Why on earth are you slacking in
here on this ripping afternoon?
Slacking! said Charteris. I like
that. Im doing berrain work, Babe.
Im writing an article on masters and
their customs, which will cause a
profound sensation in the Common
Room. At least it would, if they ever
saw it, but they wont. Or I hope they
wont for their sake and mine. So run
away, my precious Babe, and dont
disturb your uncle when hes busy.
Rot, said the Babe firmly, you
havent taken any exercise for a week.
Charteris replied proudly that he had
wound up his watch only last night.
The Babe refused to accept the remark
as relevant to the matter in hand.
Look here, Alderman, he said,
sitting down on the table, and gazing
sternly at his victim, its all very well,
you know, but the final comes on in a
few days, and you know you arent in
any too good training.
I am, said Charteris, Im as fit as a
prize fighter. Simply full of beans.
Feel my ribs.
The Babe declined the offer.
No, but I say, he said plaintively, I
wish youd treat it seriously. Its
getting jolly serious, really. If Dacres
win that cup again this year, thatll
make four years running.
Not so, said Charteris, like the
mariner of infinite-resource-and-
sagacity; not so, but far otherwise. Itll
only make three.
Well, threes bad enough.
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
True, oh king, three is quite bad
enough.
Well, then, there you are. Now you
see.
Charteris looked puzzled.
Would you mind explaining that
remark? he said. Slowly.
But the Babe had got off the table,
and was prowling round the room,
opening cupboards and boxes.
What are you playing at? enquired
Charteris.
Where do you keep your footer
things?
What do you want with my footer
things, if you dont mind my asking?
Im going to help you put them on,
and then youre coming for a run.
Ah, said Charteris.
Yes. Just a gentle spin to keep you
in training. Hullo, this looks like them.
He plunged both hands into a box
near the window and flung out a mass
of football clothes. It reminded
Charteris of a terrier digging at a rabbit-
hole.
He protested.
Dont, Babe. Treat em tenderly.
Youll be spoiling the crease in those
bags if you heave em about like that.
Im very particular about how I look on
the football field. I was always taught to
dress myself like a little gentleman, so
to speak. Well, now youve seen them,
put em away.
Put em on, said the Babe firmly.
You are a beast, Babe. I dont want
to go for a run. Im getting too old for
violent exercise.
Buck up, said the Babe. We
mustnt chuck any chances away. Now
that Tony cant play, we shall have to
do all we know if we want to win.
I dont see what need there is to get
nervous about it. Considering weve
got three of the First three-quarter line,
and the Second Fifteen back, we ought
443
to do pretty well.
But look at Dacres scrum. Theres
Prescott, to start with. Hes worth any
two of our men put together. Then
theyve got Carter, Smith, and
Hemming out of the first, and Reeve-
Jones out of the second. And their
outsides arent so very bad, if you come
to think of it. Bannisters in the first,
and the other three-quarters are all
good. And theyve got both the second
halves. Youll have practically to look
after both of them now that Tonys
crocked. And Baddeley has come on a
lot this term.
Babe, said Charteris, you have
reason. I will turn over a new leaf. I
will be good. Give me my things and
Ill come for a run. Only please dont
let it be anything over twenty miles.
Good man, said the gratified Babe.
We wont go far, and will take it quite
easy.
I tell you what, said Charteris. Do
you know a place called Worbury? I
thought you wouldnt, probably. Its
only a sort of hamlet, two cottages,
three public-houses, and a duck-pond,
and that sort of thing. I only know it
because Welch and I ran there once last
year. Its in the Badgwick direction,
about three miles by road, mostly along
the level. I vote we muffle up fairly
well, blazers and sweaters and so on,
run to Worbury, tea at one of the
cottages, and back in time for lock-up.
How does that strike you?
It sounds all right. How about tea
though? Are you certain you can get
it?
Rather. The Oldest Inhabitant is
quite a pal of mine.
Charteriss circle of acquaintances
was a standing wonder to the Babe and
other Merevalians. He seemed to know
everybody in the county.
When once he was fairly started on
444 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
any business, physical or mental,
Charteris generally shaped well. It was
the starting that he found the difficulty.
Now that he was actually in motion, he
was enjoying himself thoroughly. He
wondered why on earth he had been so
reluctant to come for this run. The
knowledge that there were three miles
to go, and that he was equal to them,
made him feel a new man. He felt fit.
And there is nothing like feeling fit for
dispelling boredom. He swung along
with the Babe at a steady pace.
Theres the cottage, he said, as they
turned a bend of the road, and Worbury
appeared a couple of hundred yards
away. Lets sprint. They sprinted,
and arrived at the door of the cottage
with scarcely a yard between them,
much to the admiration of the Oldest
Inhabitant, who was smoking a
thoughtful pipe in his front garden. Mrs
Oldest Inhabitant came out of the
cottage at the sound of voices, and
Charteris broached the subject of tea.
The menu was sumptuous and varied,
and even the Babe, in spite of his
devotion to strict training, could scarce
forbear to smile happily at the mention
of hot cakes.
During the mauvais quart dheure
before the meal, Charteris kept up an
animated conversation with the Oldest
Inhabitant, the Babe joining in from
time to time when he could think of
anything to say. Charteris appeared to
be quite a friend of the family. He
enquired after the Oldest Inhabitants
rheumatics. It was gratifying to find
that they were distinctly better. How
had Mrs O. I. been since his last visit?
Prarper hearty? Excellent. How was
the O. I.s nevvy?
At the mention of his nevvy the O. I.
became discursive. He told his
audience everything that had happened
in connection with the said nevvy for
years back. After which he started to
describe what he would probably do in
the future. Amongst other things, there
were going to be some sports at Rutton
today week, and his nevvy was going to
try and win the cup for what the Oldest
Inhabitant vaguely described as a
race. He had won it last year. Yes,
prarper good runner, his nevvy. Where
was Rutton? the Babe wanted to know.
About eight miles out of Stapleton, said
Charteris, who was well up in local
geography. You got there by train. It
was the next station.
Mrs O. I. came out to say that tea
was ready, and, being drawn into the
conversation on the subject of the
Rutton sports, produced a programme
of the same, which her nevvy had sent
them. From this it seemed that the
nevvys spot event was the egg and
spoon race. An asterisk against his
name pointed him out as the last years
winner.
Hullo, said Charteris, I see theres
a strangers mile. Im a demon at the
mile when Im roused. I think I shall go
in for it.
He handed the programme back and
began his tea.
You know, Babe, he said, as they
were going back that evening, I really
think I shall go in for that race. It
would be a most awful rag. Its the day
before the House-match, so itll just get
me fit.
Dont be a fool, said the Babe.
There would be a fearful row about it if
you were found out. Youd get extras
for the rest of your life.
Well, the final Houser comes off on
a Thursday, so it wont affect that.
Yes, but still
I shall think about it, said
Charteris. You neednt go telling
anyone.
If youll take my advice, youll drop
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
it.
Your suggestion has been noted,
and will receive due attention, said
Charteris. Put on the pace a bit.
They lengthened their stride, and
conversation came to an abrupt end.
Chapter 4
I shall go, Babe, said Charteris on
the following night.
The Sixth Form had a slack day
before them on the morrow, there being
a temporary lull in the form-work which
occurred about once a week, when there
was no composition of any kind to be
done. The Sixth did four compositions
a week, two Greek and two Latin, and
except for these did not bother
themselves very much about overnight
preparation. The Latin authors which
the form were doing were Livy and
Virgil, and when either of these were on
the next days programme, most of the
Sixth considered that they were justified
in taking a night off. They relied on
their ability to translate both authors at
sight and without previous
acquaintance. The popular notion that
Virgil is hard rarely appeals to a
member of a public school. There are
two ways of translating Virgil, the
conscientious and the other. He prefers
the other.
On this particular night, therefore,
work was off. Merevale was over at
the Great Hall, taking preparation, and
the Sixth-Form Merevalians had
assembled in Charteriss study to talk
about things in general. It was after a
pause of some moments, that had
followed upon a lively discussion of the
Houses prospects in the forthcoming
final, that Charteris had spoken.
I shall go, Babe, said he.
Go where? asked Tony, from the
445
depths of a deck-chair.
Babe knows.
The Babe turned to the company and
explained.
The lunatics going in for the
strangers mile at some sports at Rutton
next week. Hell get booked for a cert.
He cant see that. I never saw such a
man.
Rally round, said Charteris, and
reason with me. Ill listen. Tony, what
do you think about it?
Tony expressed his opinion tersely,
and Charteris thanked him. Welch, who
had been reading, now awoke to the fact
that a discussion was in progress, and
asked for details. The Babe explained
once more, and Welch heartily
corroborated Tonys remarks. Charteris
thanked him too.
You arent really going, are you?
asked Welch.
Rather, said Charteris.
The Old Man wont give you
leave.
Shant worry the poor man with
such trifles.
But its miles out of bounds.
Stapleton station is out of bounds to
start with. Its against rules to go in a
train, and Ruttons even more out of
bounds than Stapleton.
And as there are sports there, said
Tony, the Old Man is certain to put
Rutton specially out of bounds for that
day. He always bars a St Austins chap
going to a place when theres anything
going on there.
I dont care. What have I to do with
the Old Mans petty prejudices? Now,
let me get at my time-table. Here we
are. Now then.
Dont be a fool, said Tony,
Certainly not. Look here, theres a
train starts from Stapleton at three. I
can catch that all right. Gets to Rutton
at three-twenty. Sports begin at three-
446 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
fifteen. At least, they are supposed to.
Over before five, I should think. At
least, my race will be, though I must
stop to see the Oldest Inhabitants
nevvy win the egg and spoon canter.
But that ought to come on before the
strangers race. Train back at a quarter
past five. Arrives at a quarter to six.
Lock up six-fifteen. That gives me half
an hour to get here from Stapleton.
What more do you want? I shall do it
easily, and ... the odds against my being
booked are about twenty-five to one.
At which price if any gent present cares
to deposit his money, I am willing to
take him. Now Ill treat you to a tune,
if youre good.
He went to the cupboard and
produced his gramophone. Charteriss
musical instruments had at one time
been strictly suppressed by the
authorities, and, in consequence, he had
laid in a considerable stock of them. At
last, when he discovered that there was
no rule against the use of musical
instruments in the House, Merevale had
yielded. The stipulation that Charteris
should play only before prep. was
rigidly observed, except when Merevale
was over at the Hall, and the Sixth had
no work. On such occasions Charteris
felt justified in breaking through the
rule. He had a gramophone, a banjo, a
penny whistle, and a mouth organ. The
banjo, which he played really well, was
the most in request, but the gramophone
was also popular.
Turn on Whistling Rufus",
observed Thomson.
Whistling Rufus was duly turned
on, giving way after an encore to
Bluebells.
I always weep when I hear this,
said Tony.
It is beautiful, isnt it? said
Charteris.
Ill be your sweetheart, if you-
will bemine,
All my life, Ill be your valentine.
Bluebells Ive gatheredgrrhhrh.
The needle of the gramophone, after
the manner of its kind, slipped raspingly
over the surface of the wax, and the rest
of the ballad was lost.
That, said Charteris, is how I feel
with regard to the Old Man. Id be his
sweetheart, if hed be mine. But he
makes no advances, and the stain on my
scutcheon is not yet wiped out. I must
say I havent tried gathering bluebells
for him yet, nor have I offered my
services as a perpetual valentine, but
Ive been very kind to him in other
ways.
Is he still down on you? asked the
Babe.
He hasnt done much lately. Were
in a state of truce at present. Did I tell
you how I scored about Stapleton?
Youve only told us about a
hundred times, said the Babe brutally.
I tell you what, though, hell score off
you if he finds you going to Rutton.
Lets hope he wont.
He wont, said Welch suddenly.
Why?
Because you wont go. Ill bet you
anything you like that you wont go.
That settled Charteris. It was the
sort of remark that always acted on him
like a tonic. He had been intending to
go all the time, but it was this speech of
Welchs that definitely clinched the
matter. One of his mottoes for
everyday use was Let not thyself be
scored off by Welch.
Thats all right, he said. Of course
I shall go. Whats the next item youd
like on this machine?
The day of the sports arrived, and the
Babe, meeting Charteris at Merevales
gate, made a last attempt to head him
off from his purpose.
How are you going to take your
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
things? he asked. You cant carry a
bag. The first beak you met would ask
questions.
If he had hoped that this would be a
crushing argument, he was
disappointed.
Charteris patted a bloated coat
pocket.
Bags, he said laconically. Vest,
he added, doing the same to his other
pocket. Shoes, he concluded, you
will observe I am carrying in a handy
brown paper parcel, and if anybody
wants to know whats in it, I shall tell
them its acid drops. Sure you wont
come, too?
Quite, thanks.
All right. So long then. Be good
while Im gone.
And he passed on down the road that
led to Stapleton.
The Rutton Recreation Ground
presented, as the Stapleton Herald
justly remarked in its next weeks issue,
a gay and animated appearance.
There was a larger crowd than Charteris
had expected. He made his way
through them, resisting without
difficulty the entreaties of a hoarse
gentleman in a check suit to have three
to two on Enery something for the
hundred yards, and came at last to the
dressing-tent.
At this point it occurred to him that it
would be judicious to find out when his
race was to start. It was rather a chilly
day, and the less time he spent in the
undress uniform of shorts the better. He
bought a correct card for twopence, and
scanned it. The strangers mile was
down for four-fifty. There was no need
to change for an hour yet. He wished
the authorities could have managed to
date the event earlier.
Four-fifty was running it rather fine.
The race would be over by about five to
five, and it was a walk of some ten
447
minutes to the station, less if he
hurried. That would give him ten
minutes for recovering from the effects
of the race, and changing back into his
ordinary clothes again. It would be
quick work. But, having come so far,
he was not inclined to go back without
running in the race. He would never be
able to hold his head up again if he did
that. He left the dressing-tent, and
started on a tour of the field.
The scene was quite different from
anything he had ever witnessed before
in the way of sports. The sports at St
Austins were decorous to a degree.
These leaned more to the rollickingly
convivial. It was like an ordinary race-
meeting, except that men were running
instead of horses. Rutton was a quiet
little place for the majority of the year,
but it woke up on this day, and was
evidently out to enjoy itself. The Rural
Hooligan was a good deal in evidence,
and though he was comparatively quiet
just at present, the frequency with
which he visited the various
refreshment stalls that dotted the ground
gave promise of livelier times in the
future. Charteris felt that the afternoon
would not be dull.
The hour soon passed, and Charteris,
having first seen the Oldest Inhabitants
nevvy romp home in the egg and spoon
event, took himself off to the dressing-
tent, and began to get into his running
clothes. The bell for his race was just
ringing when he left the tent. He trotted
over to the starting place.
Apparently there was not a very
large field. Two weedy-looking
youths of about Charteriss age, dressed
in blushing pink, put in an appearance,
and a very tall, thin man came up
almost immediately afterwards.
Charteris had just removed his coat, and
was about to get to his place on the line,
when another competitor arrived, and,
448 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
to judge by the applause that greeted his
appearance, he was evidently a
favourite in the locality. It was with
shock that Charteris recognized his old
acquaintance, the Bargees secretary.
He was clad in running clothes of a
bright orange and a smile of conscious
superiority, and when somebody in the
crowd called out Go it, Jarge! he
accepted the tribute as his due, and
waved a condescending hand in the
speakers direction.
Some moments elapsed before he
recognized Charteris, and the latter had
time to decide upon his line of action.
If he attempted concealment in any
way, the man would recognize that on
this occasion, at any rate, he had, to use
an adequate if unclassical expression,
got the bulge, and then there would be
trouble. By brazening things out,
however, there was just a chance that he
might make him imagine that there was
more in the matter than met the eye, and
that, in some mysterious way, he had
actually obtained leave to visit Rutton
that day. After all, the man didnt know
very much about School rules, and the
recollection of the recent fiasco in
which he had taken part would make
him think twice about playing the
amateur policeman again, especially in
connection with Charteris.
So he smiled genially, and expressed
a hope that the man enjoyed robust
health.
The man replied by glaring in a
simple and unaffected manner.
Looked up the Headmaster lately?
asked Charteris.
What are you doing here?
Im going to run. Hope you dont
mind.
Youre out of bounds.
Thats what you said before. Youd
better enquire a bit before you make
rash statements. Otherwise, theres no
knowing what may happen. Perhaps
Mr Dacre has given me leave.
The man said something objurgatory
under his breath, but forbore to continue
the discussion. He was wondering, as
Charteris had expected that he would,
whether the latter had really got leave or
not. It was a difficult problem.
Whether such a result was due to his
mental struggles, or whether it was
simply to be attributed to his poor
running, is open to question, but the fact
remains that the secretary of the Old
Crockfordians did not shine in the
strangers mile. He came in last but
one, vanquishing the pink sportsman by
a foot. Charteris, after a hot finish, was
beaten on the tape by one of the weedy
youths, who exhibited astounding
sprinting powers in the last two hundred
yards, overhauling Charteris, who had
led all the time, in fine style, and
scoring what the Stapleton Herald
described as a highly popular victory.
As soon as he had recovered his
normal stock of windwhich was not
immediatelyit was borne in upon
Charteris that if he wanted to catch the
five-fifteen back to Stapleton, he had
better be beginning to change. He went
to the dressing-tent, and on examining
his watch was horrified to find that he
had just ten minutes in which to do
everything, and the walk to the station,
he reflected, was a long five minutes.
He literally hurled himself into his
clothes, and, disregarding the Bargee,
who had entered the tent and seemed to
wish to continue the discussion at the
point where they had left off, shot off
towards the gate nearest the station. He
had exactly four minutes and twenty-
five seconds in which to complete the
journey, and he had just run a mile.
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
Chapter 5
Fortunately the road was mainly
level. On the other hand, he was
hampered by an overcoat. After the
first hundred yards he took this off, and
carried it in an unwieldy parcel. This,
he found, answered admirably.
Running became easier. He had
worked the stiffness out of his legs by
this time, and was going well. Three
hundred yards from the station it was
anybodys race. The exact position of
the other competitor, the train, could not
be defined. It was at any rate not yet
within earshot, which meant that it still
had at least a quarter of a mile to go.
Charteris considered that he had earned
a rest. He slowed down to a walk, but
after proceeding at this pace for a few
yards, thought that he heard a distant
whistle, and dashed on again. Suddenly
a raucous bellow of laughter greeted his
ears from a spot in front of him, hidden
from his sight by a bend in the road.
Somebody slightly tight, thought
Charteris, rapidly diagnosing the case.
By Jove, if he comes rotting about with
me Ill kill him. Having to do anything
in a desperate hurry always made
Charteriss temper slightly villainous.
He turned the corner at a sharp trot, and
came upon two youths who seemed to
be engaged in the harmless occupation
of trying to ride a bicycle. They were
of the type which he held in especial
aversion, the Rural Hooligan type, and
one at least of the two had evidently
been present at a recent circulation of
the festive bowl. He was wheeling the
bicycle about the road in an aimless
manner, and looked as if he wondered
what was the matter with it that it would
not stay in the same place for two
consecutive seconds. The other youth
was apparently of the Charles-his-
friend variety, content to look on and
449
applaud, and generally to play chorus to
his companions lead. He was
standing at the side of the road, smiling
broadly in a way that argued feebleness
of mind. Charteris was not quite sure
which of the two types he loathed the
more. He was inclined to call it a tie.
However, there seemed to be nothing
particularly lawless in what they were
doing now. If they were content to let
him pass without hindrance, he, for his
part, was content generously to
overlook the insult they offered him in
daring to exist, and to maintain a state
of truce. But, as he drew nearer, he saw
that there was more in this business
than the casual spectator might at first
have supposed. A second and keener
inspection of the reptiles revealed fresh
phenomena. In the first place, the
bicycle which Hooligan number one
was playing with was a ladys bicycle,
and a small one at that. Now, up to the
age of fourteen and the weight of ten
stone, a beginner at cycling often finds
it more convenient to learn to ride on a
ladys machine than on a gentlemans.
The former offers greater facilities for
rapid dismounting, a quality not to be
despised in the earlier stages of
initiation. But, though this is
undoubtedly the case, and though
Charteris knew that it was so, yet he felt
instinctively that there was something
wrong here. Hooligans of twenty years
and twelve stone do not learn to ride on
small ladies machines, or, if they do, it
is probably without the permission of
the small lady who owns the same.
Valuable as his time was, Charteris felt
that it behoved him to spend a
thoughtful minute or so examining into
this affair. He slowed down once again
to a walk, and, as he did so, his eye fell
upon the character in the drama whose
absence had puzzled him, the owner of
the bicycle. And from that moment he
450 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
felt that life would be a hollow mockery
if he failed to fall upon those revellers
and slay them. She stood by the hedge
on the right, a forlorn little figure in
grey, and she gazed sadly and
helplessly at the manoeuvres that were
going on in the middle of the road. Her
age Charteris put down at a venture at
twelvea correct guess. Her state of
mind he also conjectured. She was
letting I dare not wait upon I would,
like the late Macbeth, the cat i the
adage, and numerous other celebrities.
She evidently had plenty of remarks to
make on the subject in hand, but
refrained from motives of prudence.
Charteris had no such scruples. The
feeling of fatigue that had been upon
him had vanished, and his temper,
which had been growing steadily worse
for some twenty minutes, now boiled
over gleefully at the prospect of
something solid to work itself off upon.
Even without a cause Charteris detested
the Rural Hooligan. Now that a real,
copper-bottomed motive for this dislike
had been supplied to him, he felt
himself capable of dealing with a whole
regiment of the breed. The criminal
with the bicycle had just let it fall with a
crash to the ground when Charteris
went for him low, in the style which the
Babe always insisted on seeing in
members of the First Fifteen on the
football field, and hove him without
comment into a damp ditch. Charles
his friend uttered a shout of
disapproval and rushed into the fray.
Charteris gave him the straight left, of
the type to which the great John
Jackson is reported to have owed so
much in the days of the old Prize Ring,
and Charles, taking it between the eyes,
stopped in a discouraged and
discontented manner, and began to rub
the place. Whereupon Charteris dashed
in, and, to use an expression suitable to
the deed, swung his right at the mark.
The mark, it may be explained for the
benefit of the non-pugilistic, is that
portion of the anatomy which lies hid
behind the third button of the human
waistcoat. It coversin a most
inadequate waythe wind, and even a
gentle tap in the locality is apt to
produce a fleeting sense of discomfort.
A genuine flush hit on the spot,
shrewdly administered by a muscular
arm with the weight of the body behind
it, causes the passive agent in the
transaction to wish fervently, as far as
he is at the moment physically capable
of wishing anything, that he had never
been born. Charles his friend
collapsed like an empty sack, and
Charteris, getting a grip of the outlying
portions of his costume, dragged him to
the ditch and rolled him in on top of his
friend, who had just recovered
sufficiently to be thinking about getting
out again. The pair of them lay there in
a tangled heap. Charteris picked up the
bicycle and gave it a cursory
examination. The enamel was a good
deal scratched, but no material damage
had been done. He wheeled it across to
its owner.
It isnt much hurt, he said, as they
walked on slowly together. Bit
scratched, thats all.
Thanks awfully, said the small
lady.
Oh, not at all, replied Charteris. I
enjoyed it. (He felt he had said the
right thing there. Your real hero always
enjoys it.) Im sorry those bargees
frightened you.
They did rather. Butshe added
triumphantly after a pauseI didnt
cry.
Rather not, said Charteris. You
were awfully plucky. I noticed. But
hadnt you better ride on? Which way
were you going?
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
I wanted to get to Stapleton.
Oh. Thats simple enough. Youve
merely got to go straight on down this
road, as straight as ever you can go.
But, look here, you know, you
shouldnt be out alone like this. It isnt
safe. Why did they let you?
The lady avoided his eye. She bent
down and inspected the left pedal.
They shouldnt have sent you out
alone, said Charteris, why did they?
Theythey didnt. I came.
There was a world of meaning in the
phrase. Charteris felt that he was in the
same case. They had not let him. He
had come. Here was a kindred spirit,
another revolutionary soul, scorning the
fetters of convention and the so-called
authority of self-constituted rules, aha!
Bureaucrats!
Shake hands, he said, Im in just
the same way.
They shook hands gravely.
You know, said the lady, Im
awfully sorry I did it now. It was very
naughty.
Im not sorry yet, said Charteris,
Im rather glad than otherwise. But I
expect I shall be sorry before long.
Will you be sent to bed?
I dont think so.
Will you have to learn beastly
poetry?
Probably not.
She looked at him curiously, as if to
enquire, then if you wont have to learn
poetry and you wont get sent to bed,
what on earth is there for you to worry
about?
She would probably have gone on to
investigate the problem further, but at
that moment there came the sound of a
whistle. Then another, closer this time.
Then a faint rumbling, which increased
in volume steadily. Charteris looked
back. The railway line ran by the side
of the road. He could see the smoke of
451
a train through the trees. It was quite
close now, and coming closer every
minute, and he was still quite a hundred
and fifty yards from the station gates.
I say, he cried. Great Scott, here
comes my train. I must rush. Good-
bye. You keep straight on.
His legs had had time to grow stiff
again. For the first few strides running
was painful. But his joints soon
adapted themselves to the strain, and in
ten seconds he was sprinting as fast as
he had ever sprinted off the running-
track. When he had travelled a quarter
of the distance the small cyclist
overtook him.
Be quick, she said, its just in
sight.
Charteris quickened his stride, and,
paced by the bicycle, spun along in fine
style. Forty yards from the station the
train passed him. He saw it roll into the
station. There were still twenty yards to
go, exclusive of the stations steps, and
he was already running as fast as it lay
in him to run. Now there were only
ten. Now five. And at last, with a
hurried farewell to his companion, he
bounded up the steps and on to the
platform. At the end of the platform the
line took a sharp curve to the left.
Round that curve the tail end of the
guards van was just disappearing.
Missed it, sir, said the solitary
porter, who managed things at Rutton,
cheerfully. He spoke as if he was
congratulating Charteris on having done
something remarkably clever.
Whens the next? panted Charteris.
Eight-thirty, was the porters
appalling reply.
For a moment Charteris felt quite ill.
No train till eight-thirty! Then was he
indeed lost. But it couldnt be true.
There must be some sort of a train
between now and then.
Are you certain? he said. Surely
452 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
theres a train before that?
Why, yes, sir, said the porter
gleefully, but they be all exprusses.
Eight-thirty be the only un what starps
at Rootton.
Thanks, said Charteris with marked
gloom, I dont think thatll be much pleasure. What glorious comfort. He
good to me. My aunt, what a hole Im
in.
The porter made a sympathetic and
interrogative noise at the back of his
throat, as if inviting him to explain
everything. But Charteris felt unequal
to conversation. There are moments
when one wants to be alone. He went
down the steps again. When he got out
into the road, his small cycling friend
had vanished. Charteris was conscious
of a feeling of envy towards her. She
was doing the journey comfortably on a
bicycle. He would have to walk it.
Walk it! He didnt believe he could.
The strangers mile, followed by the
Homeric combat with the two
Hooligans and that ghastly sprint to
wind up with, had left him decidedly
unfit for further feats of pedestrianism.
And it was eight miles to Stapleton, if it
was a yard, and another mile from
Stapleton to St Austins. Charteris,
having once more invoked the name of
his aunt, pulled himself together with an
effort, and limped gallantly on in the
direction of Stapleton. But fate, so long
hostile to him, at last relented. A rattle
of wheels approached him from behind.
A thrill of hope shot through him at the
sound. There was the prospect of a lift.
He stopped, and waited for the dog-cart
it sounded like a dog-cartto arrive.
Then he uttered a shout of rapture, and
began to wave his arms like a
semaphore. The man in the dog-cart
was Dr Adamson.
Hullo, Charteris, said the Doctor,
pulling up his horse, what are you
doing here?
Give me a lift, said Charteris, and
Ill tell you. Its a long yarn. Can I get
in?
Come along. Plenty of room.
Charteris climbed up, and sank on to
the cushioned seat with a sigh of
had never enjoyed anything more in his
life.
Im nearly dead, he said, as the
dog-cart went on again. This is how it
all happened. You see, it was this way
And he embarked forthwith upon his
narrative.
Chapter 6
By special request the Doctor
dropped Charteris within a hundred
yards of Merevales door.
Good-night, he said. I dont
suppose you will value my advice at all,
but you may have it for what it is
worth. I recommend you stop this sort
of game. Next time something will
happen.
By Jove, yes, said Charteris,
climbing painfully down from the dog-
cart, Ill take that advice. Im a
reformed character from this day
onwards. This sort of thing isnt good
enough. Hullo, theres the bell for lock-
up. Good-night, Doctor, and thanks
most awfully for the lift. It was
frightfully kind of you.
Dont mention it, said Dr
Adamson, it is always a privilege to be
in your company. When are you
coming to tea with me again?
Whenever youll have me. I must
get leave, though, this time.
Yes. By the way, hows Graham?
It is Graham, isnt it? The fellow who
broke his collar-bone?
Oh, hes getting on splendidly. Still
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
in a sling, but its almost well again
now. But I must be off. Good-night.
Good-night. Come to tea next
Monday.
Right, said Charteris; thanks
awfully.
He hobbled in at Merevales gate,
and went up to his study. The Babe was
in there talking to Welch.
Hullo, said the Babe, heres
Charteris.
Whats left of him, said Charteris.
How did it go off?
Dont, please.
Did you win? asked Welch.
No. Second. By a yard. Oh, Lord,
I am dead.
Hot race?
Rather. It wasnt that, though. I
had to sprint all the way to the station,
and missed my train by ten seconds at
the end of it all.
Then how did you get here?
That was the one stroke of luck Ive
had this afternoon. I started to walk
back, and after Id gone about a quarter
of a mile, Adamson caught me up in his
dog-cart. I suggested that it would be a
Christian act on his part to give me a
lift, and he did. I shall remember
Adamson in my will.
Tell us what happened.
Ill tell thee everything I can, said
Charteris. Theres little to relate. I
saw an aged, aged man a-sitting on a
gate. Where do you want me to begin?
At the beginning. Dont rot.
I was born, began Charteris, of
poor but honest parents, who sent me to
school at an early age in order that I
might acquire a grasp of the Greek and
Latin languages, now obsolete. I
How did you lose? enquired the
Babe.
The other man beat me. If he
hadnt, I should have won hands down.
Oh, I say, guess who I met at Rutton.
453
Not a beak?
No. Almost as bad, though. The
Bargee man who paced me from
Stapleton. Man who crocked Tony.
Great Scott! cried the Babe. Did
he recognize you?
Rather. We had a very pleasant
conversation.
If he reports you, began the Babe.
Whos that?
Charteris looked up. Tony Graham
had entered the study.
Hullo, Tony! Adamson told me to
remember him to you.
So youve got back?
Charteris confirmed the hasty guess.
But what are you talking about,
Babe? said Tony. Whos going to be
reported, and whos going to report?
The Babe briefly explained the
situation.
If the man, he said, reports
Charteris, he may get run in tomorrow,
and then we shall have both our halves
away against Dacres. Charteris, you
are a fool to go rotting about out of
bounds like this.
Nay, dry the starting tear, said
Charteris cheerfully. In the first place,
I shouldnt get kept in on a Thursday
anyhow. I should be shoved into extra
on Saturday. Also, I shrewdly
conveyed to the Bargee the impression
that I was at Rutton by special
permission.
Hes bound to know that that cant
be true, said Tony.
Well, I told him to think it over.
You see, he got so badly left last time
he tried to compass my downfall, that I
shouldnt be a bit surprised if he let the
job alone this journey.
Lets hope so, said the Babe
gloomily.
Thats right, Babby, remarked
Charteris encouragingly, nodding at the
pessimist.
454 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
You buck up and keep looking on
the bright side. Itll be all right. You
see if it wont. If theres any running in
to be done, I shall do it. I shall be
frightfully fit tomorrow after all this
dashing about today. I havent an
ounce of superfluous flesh on me. Im
a fine, strapping specimen of sturdy
young English manhood. And Im
going to play a very selfish game
tomorrow, Babe.
Oh, my dear chap, you mustnt.
The Babes face wore an expression of
horror. The success of the House-team
in the final was very near to his heart.
He could not understand anyone jesting
on the subject. Charteris respected his
anguish, and relieved it speedily.
I was only ragging, he said.
Considering that our three-quarter line
is our one strong point, Im not likely to
keep the ball from it, if I get a chance of
getting it out. Make your mind easy,
Babe.
The final House-match was always a
warmish game. The rivalry between the
various Houses was great, and the
football cup especially was fought for
with immense keenness. Also, the
match was the last fixture of the season,
and there was a certain feeling in the
teams that if they did happen to disable
a man or two, it would not matter
much. The injured sportsman would
not be needed for School-match
purposes for another six months. As a
result of which philosophical reflection,
the tackling was ruled slightly
energetic, and the handing-off was done
with vigour.
This year, to add a sort of finishing
touch, there was just a little ill-feeling
between Dacres and Merevales. The
cause of it was the Babe. Until the
beginning of the term he had been a day
boy. Then the news began to circulate
that he was going to become a boarder,
either at Dacres or at Merevales. He
chose the latter, and Dacres felt
slightly aggrieved. Some of the less
sportsmanlike members of the House
had proposed that a protest should be
made against his being allowed to play,
but, fortunately for the credit of
Dacres, Prescott, the captain of the
House Fifteen, had put his foot down
with an emphatic bang at the
suggestion. As he sagely pointed out,
there were some things which were bad
form, and this was one of them. If the
team wanted to express their
disapproval, said he, let them do it on
the field by tackling their very hardest.
He personally was going to do his best,
and he advised them to do the same.
The rumour of this bad blood had
got about the School in some
mysterious manner, and when Swift,
Merevales only First Fifteen forward,
kicked off up the hill, a large crowd was
lining the ropes. It was evident from
the outset that it would be a good game.
Dacres were the better sideas a
team. They had no really weak spot.
But Merevales extraordinarily strong
three-quarter line somewhat made up
for an inferior scrum. And the fact that
the Babe was in the centre was worth
much.
At first Dacres pressed. Their pack
was unusually heavy for a House-team,
and they made full use of it. They took
the ball down the field in short rushes
till they were in Merevales twenty-
five. Then they began to heel, and, if
things had been more or less exciting
for the Merevalians before, they became
doubly so now. The ground was dry,
and so was the ball, and the game
consequently waxed fast. Time after
time the ball went along Dacres three-
quarter line, only to end by finding
itself hurled, with the wing who was
carrying it, into touch. Occasionally the
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
centres, instead of feeding their wings,
would try to dodge through themselves.
And that was where the Babe came in.
He was admittedly the best tackler in
the School, but on this occasion he
excelled himself. His man never had a
chance of getting past. At last a lofty
kick into touch over the heads of the
spectators gave the players a few
seconds rest.
The Babe went up to Charteris.
Look here, he said, its risky, but I
think well try having the ball out a bit.
In our own twenty-five? said
Charteris.
Wherever we are. I believe it will
come off all right. Anyway, well try
it. Tell the forwards.
For forwards playing against a pack
much heavier than themselves, it is
easier to talk about letting the ball out
than to do it. The first half dozen times
that Merevales scrum tried to heel they
were shoved off their feet, and it was on
the enemys side that the ball went out.
But the seventh attempt succeeded. Out
it came, cleanly and speedily. Daintree,
who was playing instead of Tony,
switched it across to Charteris.
Charteris dodged the half who was
marking him, and ran. Heeling and
passing in ones own twenty-five is like
smokingan excellent practice if
indulged in in moderation. On this
occasion it answered perfectly.
Charteris ran to the half-way line, and
handed the ball on to the Babe. The
Babe was tackled from behind, and
passed to Thomson. Thomson dodged
his man, and passed to Welch on the
wing. Welch was the fastest sprinter in
the School. It was a pleasureif you
did not happen to be one of the
opposing sideto see him race down
the touch-line. He was off like an
arrow. Dacres back made a futile
attempt to get at him. Welch could
455
have given the back fifteen yards in a
hundred. He ran round him, and,
amidst terrific applause from the
Merevales-supporting section of the
audience, scored between the posts.
The Babe took the kick and converted
without difficulty. Five minutes
afterwards the whistle blew for half-
time.
The remainder of the game does not
call for detailed description. Dacres
pressed nearly the whole of the last half
hour, but twice more the ball came out
and went down Merevales three-
quarter line. Once it was the Babe who
scored with a run from his own goal-
line, and once Charteris, who got in
from half-way, dodging through the
whole team. The last ten minutes of the
game was marked by a slight excess of
energy on both sides. Dacres forwards
were in a decidedly bad temper, and
fought like tigers to break through, and
Merevales played up to them with
spirit. The Babe seemed continually to
be precipitating himself at the feet of
rushing forwards, and Charteris felt as
if at least a dozen bones were broken in
various portions of his anatomy. The
game ended on Merevales line, but
they had won the match and the cup by
two goals and a try to nothing.
Charteris limped off the field,
cheerful but damaged. He ached all
over, and there was a large bruise on his
left cheek-bone. He and Babe were
going to the House, when they were
aware that the Headmaster was
beckoning to them.
Well, MacArthur, and what was the
result of the match?
We won, sir, boomed the Babe.
Two goals and a try to nil.
You have hurt your cheek,
Charteris?
Yes, sir.
How did you do that?
456 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
I got a kick, sir, in one of the
rushes.
Ah. I should bathe it, Charteris.
Bathe it well. I hope it will not be very
painful. Bathe it well in warm water.
He walked on.
You know, said Charteris to the
Babe, as they went into the House, the
Old Man isnt such a bad sort after all.
He has his points, dont you think?
The Babe said that he did.
Im going to reform, you know,
continued Charteris confidentially.
Its about time, said the Babe.
You can have the bath first if you like.
Only buck up.
Charteris boiled himself for ten
minutes, and then dragged his weary
limbs to his study. It was while he was
sitting in a deck-chair eating mixed
biscuits, and wondering if he would
ever be able to summon up sufficient
energy to put on garments of
civilization, that somebody knocked at
the door.
Yes, shouted Charteris. What is
it? Dont come in. Im changing.
The melodious treble of Master
Crowinshaw, his fag, made itself heard
through the keyhole.
The Head told me to tell you that he
wanted to see you at the School House
as soon as you can go.
All right, shouted Charteris.
Thanks.
Now what, he continued to
himself, does the Old Man want to see
me for? Perhaps he wants to make
certain that Ive bathed my cheek in
warm water. Anyhow, I suppose I must
go.
A quarter of an hour later he
presented himself at the
Headmagisterial door. The sedate
Parker, the Heads butler, who always
filled Charteris with a desire to dig him
hard in the ribs just to see what would
happen, ushered him into the study.
The Headmaster was reading by the
light of a lamp when Charteris came in.
He laid down his book, and motioned
him to a seat; after which there was an
awkward pause.
I have just received, began the
Head at last, a most unpleasant
communication. Most unpleasant.
From whom it comes I do not know. It
is, in facteranonymous. I am sorry
that I ever read it.
He stopped. Charteris made no
comment. He guessed what was
coming. He, too, was sorry that the
Head had ever read the letter.
The writer says that he saw you,
that he actually spoke to you, at the
athletic sports at Rutton yesterday. I
have called you in to tell me if that is
true. The Head fastened an accusing
eye on his companion.
It is quite true, sir, said Charteris
steadily.
What! said the Head sharply. You
were at Rutton?
Yes, sir.
You were perfectly aware, I
suppose, that you were breaking the
School rules by going there, Charteris?
enquired the Head in a cold voice.
Yes, sir. There was another pause.
This is very serious, began the
Head. I cannot overlook this. I
There was a slight scuffle of feet in
the passage outside. The door flew
open vigorously, and a young lady
entered. It was, as Charteris recognized
in a minute, his acquaintance of the
afternoon, the young lady of the
bicycle.
Uncle, she said, have you seen my
book anywhere?
Hullo! she broke off as her eye fell
on Charteris.
Hullo! said Charteris, affably, not
to be outdone in the courtesies.
 THE MANUVRES OF CHARTERIS
Did you catch your train?
No. Missed it.
Hullo! whats the matter with your
cheek?
I got a kick on it.
Oh, does it hurt?
Not much, thanks.
Here the Head, feeling perhaps a
little out of it, put in his oar.
Dorothy, you must not come here
now. I am busy. And how, may I ask,
do you and Charteris come to be
acquainted?
Why, hes him, said Dorothy
lucidly.
The Head looked puzzled.
Him. The chap, you know.
It is greatly to the Heads credit that
he grasped the meaning of these words.
Long study of the classics had
quickened his faculty for seeing sense
in passages where there was none. The
situation dawned upon him.
Do you mean to tell me, Dorothy,
that it was Charteris who came to your
assistance yesterday?
Dorothy nodded energetically.
He gave the men beans, she said.
He did, really, she went on, regardless
of the Heads look of horror. He used
right and left with considerable effect.
Dorothys brother, a keen follower
of the Ring, had been good enough
some days before to read her out an
extract from an account in The
Sportsman of a match at the National
Sporting Club, and the account had
been much to her liking. She regarded
it as a masterpiece of English
composition.
Dorothy, said the Headmaster, run
away to bed. A suggestion which she
457
treated with scorn, it wanting a clear
two hours to her legal bedtime. I must
speak to your mother about your
deplorable habit of using slang. Dear
me, I must certainly speak to her.
And, shamefully unabashed,
Dorothy retired.
The Head was silent for a few
minutes after she had gone; then he
turned to Charteris again.
In consideration of this, Charteris, I
shallermitigate slightly the
punishment I had intended to give you.
Charteris murmured his gratification.
But, continued the Head sternly, I
cannot overlook the offence. I have my
duty to consider. You will therefore
write meerten lines of Virgil by
tomorrow evening, Charteris.
Yes, sir.
Latin and English, said the
relentless pedagogue.
Yes, sir.
And, CharterisI am speaking now
erunofficially, not as a headmaster,
you understandif in future you would
cease to break School rules simply as a
matter of principle, for that, I fancy, is
what it amounts to, Ierwell, I think
we should get on better together. And
that is, on my part at least, a
consummationerdevoutly to be
wished. Good-night, Charteris.
Good-night, sir.
The Head extended a large hand.
Charteris took it, and his departure.
The Headmaster opened his book
again, and turned over a new leaf.
Charteris at the same moment, walking
slowly in the direction of Merevales,
was resolving for the future to do the
very same thing. And he did.
458 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
HOW PAYNE BUCKED UP
I cert., and hes slacking on the strength
It was Walkinshaws affair from the
first. Grey, the captain of the St
Austins Fifteen, was in the infirmary
nursing a bad knee. To him came
Charles Augustus Walkinshaw with a
scheme. Walkinshaw was football
secretary, and in Greys absence acted
as captain. Besides these two there
were only a couple of last years team
leftReade and Barrett, both of
Philpotts House.
Hullo, Grey, hows the knee? said
Walkinshaw.
Hows the team getting on? he
said.
Well, as far as I can see, said
Walkinshaw, we ought to have a rather
good season, if youd only hurry up and
come back. We beat a jolly hot lot of
All Comers yesterday. Smith was
playing for them. The Blue, you know.
And lots of others. We got a goal and a
try to nil.
Good, said Grey. Who did
anything for us? Who scored?
I got in once. Payne got the other.
By Jove, did he? What sort of a
game is he playing this year?
The moment had come for
Walkinshaw to unburden himself to his
scheme. He proceeded to do so.
Not up to much, he said. Look
here, Grey, Ive got rather an idea. Its
my opinion Paynes not bucking up
nearly as much as he might. Do you
mind if I leave him out of the next
game?
Grey stared. The idea was
revolutionary.
What! Leave him out? My good
man, hell be the next chap to get his
colours. Hes a cert. for his cap.
Thats just it. He knows hes a
of it. Now, my idea is that if you slung
him out for a match or two, hed buck
up extra hard when he came into the
team again. Cant I have a shot at it?
Grey weighed the matter.
Walkinshaw pressed home his
arguments.
You see, it isnt like cricket. At
cricket, of course, it might put a chap
off awfully to be left out, but I dont see
how it can hurt a mans play at footer.
Besides, hes beginning to stick on side
already.
Is he, by Jove? said Grey. This
was the unpardonable sin. Well, Ill
tell you what you can do if you like.
Get up a scratch game, First Fifteen v.
Second, and make him captain of the
Second.
Right, said Walkinshaw, and
retired beaming.
Walkinshaw, it may be remarked at
once, to prevent mistakes, was a well-
meaning idiot. There was no doubt
about his being well-meaning. Also,
there was no doubt about his being an
idiot. He was continually getting insane
ideas into his head, and being unable to
get them out again. This matter of
Payne was a good example of his
customary methods. He had put his
hand on the one really first-class
forward St Austins possessed, and
proposed to remove him from the team.
And yet through it all he was perfectly
well-meaning. The fact that personally
he rather disliked Payne had, to do him
justice, no weight at all with him. He
would have done the same by his bosom
friend under like circumstances. This is
the only excuse that can be offered for
him. It was true that Payne regarded
himself as a certainty for his colours, as
far as anything can be considered
 HOW PAYNE BUCKED UP
certain in this vale of sorrow. But to
accuse him of trading on this, and, to
use the vernacular, of putting on side,
was unjust to a degree.
On the afternoon following this
conversation Payne, who was a member
of Dacres House, came into his study
and banged his books down on the table
with much emphasis. This was a sign
that he was feeling dissatisfied with the
way in which affairs were conducted in
the world. Bowden, who was asleep in
an armchairhe had been staying in
with a coldwoke with a start.
Bowden shared Paynes study. He
played centre three-quarter for the
Second Fifteen.
Hullo! he said.
Payne grunted. Bowden realized
that matters had not been going well
with him. He attempted to soothe him
with conversation, choosing what he
thought would be a congenial topic.
Whats on on Saturday? he asked.
Scratch game. First v. Second.
Bowden groaned.
I know those First v. Second
games, he said. They turn the Second
out to get butchered for thirty-five
minutes each way, to improve the
Firsts combination. It may be fun for
the First, but its not nearly so rollicking
for us. Look here, Payne, if you find
me with the pill at any time, you can let
me down easy, you know. You neednt
go bringing off any of your beastly
gallery tackles.
I wont, said Payne. To start with,
it would be against rules. We happen to
be on the same side.
Rot, man; Im not playing for the
First. This was the only explanation
that occurred to him.
Im playing for the Second.
What! Are you certain?
Ive seen the list. Theyre playing
Babington instead of me.
459
But why? Babingtons no good.
I think they have a sort of idea Im
slacking or something. At any rate,
Walkinshaw told me that if I bucked up
I might get tried again.
Silly goat, said Bowden. What are
you going to do?
Im going to take his advice, and
buck up.
II
He did. At the beginning of the
game the ropes were lined by some
thirty spectators, who had come to
derive a languid enjoyment from seeing
the First pile up a record score. By
half-time their numbers had risen to an
excited mob of something over three
hundred, and the second half of the
game was fought out to the
accompaniment of a storm of yells and
counter yells such as usually only
belonged to school-matches. The
Second Fifteen, after a poor start,
suddenly awoke to the fact that this was
not going to be the conventional
massacre by any means. The First had
scored an unconverted try five minutes
after the kick-off, and it was after this
that the Second began to get together.
The school back bungled the drop out
badly, and had to find touch in his own
twenty-five, and after that it was
anyones game. The scrums were a
treat to behold. Payne was a monument
of strength. Time after time the Second
had the ball out to their three-quarters,
and just after half-time Bowden slipped
through in the corner. The kick failed,
and the two teams, with their scores
equal now, settled down grimly to fight
the thing out to a finish. But though
they remained on their opponents line
for most of the rest of the game, the
Second did not add to their score, and
460 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
the match ended in a draw of three
points all.
The first intimation Grey received of
this came to him late in the evening. He
had been reading a novel which,
whatever its other merits may have
been, was not interesting, and it had
sent him to sleep. He awoke to hear a
well-known voice observe with some
unction: Ah! Myes. Leeches and hot
fomentations. This effectually
banished sleep. If there were two things
in the world that he loathed, they were
leeches and hot fomentations, and the
School doctor apparently regarded them
as a panacea for every kind of bodily
ailment, from a fractured skull to a cold
in the head. It was this gentleman who
had just spoken, but Greys alarm
vanished as he perceived that the words
had no personal application to himself.
The object of the remark was a fellow-
sufferer in the next bed but one. Now
Grey was certain that when he had
fallen asleep there had been nobody in
that bed. When, therefore, the medical
expert had departed on his fell errand,
the quest of leeches and hot
fomentations, he sat up and gave
tongue.
Whos that in that bed? he asked.
Hullo, Grey, replied a voice.
Didnt know you were awake. Ive
come to keep you company.
That you, Barrett? Whats up with
you?
Collar-bone. Dislocated it or
something. Reades over in that
corner. He has bust his ankle. Oh, yes,
weve been having a nice, cheery
afternoon, concluded Barrett bitterly.
Great Scott! How did it happen?
Payne.
Where? In your collar-bone?
Yes. That wasnt what I meant,
though. What I was explaining was that
Payne got hold of me in the middle of
the field, and threw me into touch.
After which he fell on me. That was
enough for my simple needs. Im not
grasping.
How about Reade?
The entire Second scrum collapsed
on top of Reade. When we dug him out
his ankle was crocked. Mainspring
gone, probably. Then they gathered up
the pieces and took them gently away. I
dont know how it all ended.
Just then Walkinshaw burst into the
room. He had a large bruise over one
eye, his arm was in a sling, and he
limped. But he was in excellent spirits.
I knew I was right, by Jove, he
observed to Grey. I knew he could
buck up if he liked.
I know it now, said Barrett.
Whos this youre talking about?
said Grey.
Payne. Ive never seen anything
like the game he played today. He was
everywhere. And, by Jove, his
tackling!
Dont, said Barrett, wearily.
Its the best match I ever played in,
said Walkinshaw, bubbling over with
enthusiasm. Do you know, the Second
had all the best of the game.
What was the score?
Draw. One try all.
And now I suppose youre
satisfied? enquired Barrett. The great
scheme for the regeneration of Payne
had been confided to him by its proud
patentee.
Almost, said Walkinshaw. Well
continue the treatment for one more
game, and then well have him simply
fizzing for the Windybury match.
Thats next Saturday. By the way, Im
afraid youll hardly be fit again in time
for that, Barrett, will you?
I may possibly, said Barrett, coldly,
be getting about again in time for the
Windybury match of the year after
 HOW PAYNE BUCKED UP
next. This year Im afraid I shall not
have the pleasure. And I should
strongly advise you, if you dont want
to have to put a team of cripples into the
field, to discontinue the treatment, as
you call it.
Oh, I dont know, said
Walkinshaw.
On the following Wednesday
evening, at five oclock, something was
carried in on a stretcher, and deposited
in the bed which lay between Grey and
Barrett. Close scrutiny revealed the fact
that it was what had once been Charles
Augustus Walkinshaw. He was slightly
broken up.
Payne? enquired Grey in chilly
tones.
Walkinshaw admitted the
impeachment.
Grey took a pencil and a piece of
paper from the table at his side. If you
want to know what Im doing, he said,
Im writing out the team for the
Windybury match, and Im going to
make Payne captain, as the senior
Second Fifteen man. And if we win Im
jolly well going to give him his cap
461
after the match. If we dont win, itll be
the fault of a raving lunatic of the name
of Walkinshaw, with his beastly Colney
Hatch schemes for reforming slack
forwards. You utter rotter!
Fortunately for the future peace of
mind of C. A. Walkinshaw, the latter
contingency did not occur. The School,
in spite of its absentees, contrived to
pull the match off by a try to nil.
Payne, as was only right and proper,
scored the try, making his way through
the ranks of the visiting team with the
quiet persistence of a steam-roller.
After the game he came to tea, by
request, at the infirmary, and was
straightaway invested by Grey with his
First Fifteen colours. On his arrival he
surveyed the invalids with interest.
Rough game, footer, he observed at
length.
Dont mention it, said Barrett
politely. Leeches, he added dreamily.
Leeches and hot fomentations. Boiling
fomentations. Will somebody kindly
murder Walkinshaw!
Why? asked Payne, innocently.
462 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
AUTHOR!
J. S. M. Babington, of Dacres
House, was on the horns of a dilemma.
Circumstances over which he had had
no control had brought him, like another
Hercules, to the cross-roads, and had
put before him the choice between
pleasure and duty, or, rather, between
pleasure and what those in authority
called duty. Being human, he would
have had little difficulty in making his
decision, had not the path of pleasure
been so hedged about by danger as to
make him doubt whether after all the
thing could be carried through.
The facts in the case were these. It
was the custom of the mathematical set
to which J. S. M. Babington belonged,
4B to wit, to relieve the tedium of the
daily lesson with a species of round
game which was played as follows. As
soon as the master had taken his seat,
one of the players would execute a
manoeuvre calculated to draw attention
on himself, such as dropping a book or
upsetting the blackboard. Called up to
the desk to give explanation, he would
embark on an eloquent speech for the
defence. This was the cue for the next
player to begin. His part consisted in
making his way to the desk and
testifying to the moral excellence of his
companion, and giving in full the
reasons why he should be discharged
without a stain upon his character. As
soon as he had warmed to his work he
would be followed by a third player,
and so on until the standing room
around the desk was completely filled
with a great cloud of witnesses. The
duration of the game varied, of course,
considerably. On some occasions it
could be played through with such
success, that the master would enter into
the spirit of the thing, and do his best to
book the names of all offenders at one
and the same time, a feat of no
inconsiderable difficulty. At other
times matters would come to a head
more rapidly. In any case, much
innocent fun was to be derived from it,
and its popularity was great. On the
day, however, on which this story
opens, a new master had been
temporarily loosed into the room in
place of the Rev. Septimus Brown, who
had been there as long as the oldest
inhabitant could remember. The Rev.
Septimus was a wrangler, but knew
nothing of the ways of the human boy.
His successor, Mr Reginald Seymour,
was a poor mathematician, but a good
master. He had been, moreover, a
Cambridge Rugger Blue. This fact
alone should have ensured him against
the customary pleasantries, for a Blue is
a man to be respected. It was not only
injudicious, therefore, but positively
wrong of Babington to plunge against
the blackboard on his way to his place.
If he had been a student of Tennyson,
he might have remembered that the old
order is in the habit of changing and
yielding place to the new.
Mr Seymour looked thoughtfully for
a moment at the blackboard.
That was rather a crude effort, he
said pleasantly to Babington, you lack
finesse. Pick it up again, please.
Babington picked it up without
protest. Under the rule of the Rev.
Septimus this would have been the
signal for the rest of the class to leave
their places and assist him, but now
they seemed to realize that there was a
time for everything, and that this was
decidedly no time for indoor games.
Thank you, said Mr Seymour,
when the board was in its place again.
What is your name? Eh, what? I
didnt quite hear.
 AUTHOR!
Babington, sir.
Ah. You had better come in
tomorrow at two and work out
examples three hundred to three-twenty
in Hall and Knight. There is really
plenty of room to walk in between that
desk and the blackboard. It only wants
practice.
What was left of Babington then
went to his seat. He felt that his
reputation as an artistic player of the
game had received a shattering blow.
Then there was the imposition. This in
itself would have troubled him little.
To be kept in on a half-holiday is
annoying, but it is one of those ills
which the flesh is heir to, and your true
philosopher can always take his gruel
like a man.
But it so happened that by the
evening post he had received a letter
from a cousin of his, who was a student
at Guys, and from all accounts was
building up a great reputation in the
medical world. From this letter it
appeared that by a complicated process
of knowing people who knew other
people who had influence with the
management, he had contrived to obtain
two tickets for a morning performance
of the new piece that had just been
produced at one of the theatres. And if
Mr J. S. M. Babington wished to avail
himself of the opportunity, would he
write by return, and be at Charing Cross
Underground bookstall at twenty past
two.
Now Babington, though he objected
strongly to the drama of ancient Greece,
was very fond of that of the present day,
and he registered a vow that if the
matter could possibly be carried
through, it should be. His choice was
obvious. He could cut his engagement
with Mr Seymour, or he could keep it.
The difficulty lay rather in deciding
upon one or other of the alternatives.
463
The whole thing turned upon the extent
of the penalty in the event of detection.
That was his dilemma. He sought
advice.
I should risk it, said his bosom
friend Peterson.
I shouldnt advise you to, remarked
Jenkins.
Jenkins was equally a bosom friend,
and in the matter of wisdom in no way
inferior to Peterson.
What would happen, do you think?
asked Babington.
Sack, said one authority.
Jaw, and double impt, said
another.
The Daily Telegraph, muttered the
tempter in a stage aside, calls it the best
comedy since Sheridan.
So it does, thought Babington. Ill
risk it.
Youll be a fool if you do, croaked
the gloomy Jenkins. Youre bound to
be caught. But the Ayes had it.
Babington wrote off that night
accepting the invitation.
It was with feelings of distinct relief
that he heard Mr Seymour express to
another master his intention of catching
the twelve-fifteen train up to town. It
meant that he would not be on the scene
to see him start on the Hall and
Knight. Unless luck were very much
against him, Babington might
reasonably hope that he would accept
the imposition without any questions.
He had taken the precaution to get the
examples finished overnight, with the
help of Peterson and Jenkins, aided by a
weird being who actually appeared to
like algebra, and turned out ten of the
twenty problems in an incredibly short
time in exchange for a couple of works
of fiction (down) and a tea (at a date).
He himself meant to catch the one-
thirty, which would bring him to town
in good time. Peterson had promised to
464 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
answer his name at roll-call, a delicate
operation, in which long practice had
made him, like many others of the
junior members of the House, no mean
proficient.
It would be pleasant for a
conscientious historian to be able to say
that the one-thirty broke down just
outside Victoria, and that Babington
arrived at the theatre at the precise
moment when the curtain fell and the
gratified audience began to stream out.
But truth, though it crush me. The one-
thirty was so punctual that one might
have thought that it belonged to a line
other than the line to which it did
belong. From Victoria to Charing Cross
is a journey that occupies no
considerable time, and Babington found
himself at his destination with five
minutes to wait. At twenty past his
cousin arrived, and they made their way
to the theatre. A brief skirmish with a
liveried menial in the lobby, and they
were in their seats.
Some philosopher, of extraordinary
powers of intuition, once informed the
world that the best of things come at
last to an end. The statement was
tested, and is now universally accepted
as correct. To apply the general to the
particular, the play came to an end
amidst uproarious applause, to which
Babington contributed an unstinted
quotum, about three hours after it had
begun.
What do you say to going and
grubbing somewhere? asked
Babingtons cousin, as they made their
way out.
Hullo, theres that man Richards,
he continued, before Babington could
reply that of all possible actions he
considered that of going and grubbing
somewhere the most desirable. Fellow
I know at Guys, you know, he added,
in explanation. Ill get him to join us.
Youll like him, I expect.
Richards professed himself
delighted, and shook hands with
Babington with a fervour which seemed
to imply that until he had met him life
had been a dreary blank, but that now
he could begin to enjoy himself again.
I should like to join you, if you dont
mind including a friend of mine in the
party, said Richards. He was to meet
me here. By the way, hes the author of
that new pieceThe Way of the
World.
Why, weve just been there.
Oh, then you will probably like to
meet him. Here he is.
As he spoke a man came towards
them, and, with a shock that sent all the
blood in his body to the very summit of
his head, and then to the very
extremities of his boots, Babington
recognized Mr Seymour. The assurance
of the programme that the play was by
Walter Walsh was a fraud. Nay worse,
a downright and culpable lie. He
started with the vague idea of making a
rush for safety, but before his paralysed
limbs could be induced to work, Mr
Seymour had arrived, and he was being
introduced (oh, the tragic irony of it) to
the man for whose benefit he was at that
very moment supposed to be working
out examples three hundred to three-
twenty in Hall and Knight.
Mr Seymour shook hands, without
appearing to recognize him.
Babingtons blood began to resume its
normal position again, though he felt
that this seeming ignorance of his
identity might be a mere veneer, a wile
of guile, as the bard puts it. He
remembered, with a pang, a story in
some magazine where a prisoner was
subjected to what the light-hearted
inquisitors called the torture of hope.
He was allowed to escape from prison,
and pass guards and sentries apparently
 AUTHOR!
without their noticing him. Then, just
as he stepped into the open air, the chief
inquisitor tapped him gently on the
shoulder, and, more in sorrow than in
anger, reminded him that it was
customary for condemned men to
remain inside their cells. Surely this
was a similar case. But then the thought
came to him that Mr Seymour had only
seen him once, and so might possibly
have failed to remember him, for there
was nothing special about Babingtons
features that arrested the eye, and
stamped them on the brain for all time.
He was rather ordinary than otherwise
to look at. At tea, as bad luck would
have it, the two sat opposite one
another, and Babington trembled. Then
the worst happened. Mr Seymour, who
had been looking attentively at him for
some time, leaned forward and said in a
tone evidently devoid of suspicion:
Havent we met before somewhere? I
seem to remember your face.
Erno, no, replied Babington.
That is, I think not. We may have.
I feel sure we have. What school
are you at?
Babingtons soul began to writhe
convulsively.
What, what school? Oh, what
school? Why, erIm ater-
Uppingham.
Mr Seymours face assumed a
pleased expression.
Uppingham? Really. Why, I know
several Uppingham fellows. Do you
know Mr Morton? Hes a master at
Uppingham, and a great friend of mine.
The room began to dance briskly
before Babingtons eyes, but he
clutched at a straw, or what he thought
was a straw.
Uppingham? Did I say
Uppingham? Of course, I mean Rugby,
you know, Rugby. Ones always
mixing the two up, you know. Isnt
465
one?
Mr Seymour looked at him in
amazement. Then he looked at the
others as if to ask which of the two was
going mad, he or the youth opposite
him. Babingtons cousin listened to the
wild fictions which issued from his lips
in equal amazement. He thought he
must be ill. Even Richards had a
fleeting impression that it was a little
odd that a fellow should forget what
school he was at, and mistake the name
Rugby for that of Uppingham, or vice
versa. Babington became an object of
interest.
I say, Jack, said the cousin, youre
feeling all right, arent you? I mean,
you dont seem to know what youre
talking about. If youre going to be ill,
say so, and Ill prescribe for you.
Is he at Rugby? asked Mr
Seymour.
No, of course hes not. How could
he have got from Rugby to London in
time for a morning performance? Why,
hes at St Austins.
Mr Seymour sat for a moment in
silence, taking this in. Then he
chuckled. Its all right, he said, hes
not ill. We have met before, but under
such painful circumstances that Master
Babington very thoughtfully
dissembled, in order not to remind me
of them.
He gave a brief synopsis of what had
occurred. The audience, exclusive of
Babington, roared with laughter.
I suppose, said the cousin, you
wont prosecute, will you? Its really
such shocking luck, you know, that you
ought to forget youre a master.
Mr Seymour stirred his tea and
added another lump of sugar very
carefully before replying. Babington
watched him in silence, and wished that
he would settle the matter quickly, one
way or the other.
466 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
Fortunately for Babington, said Mr
Seymour, and unfortunately for the
cause of morality, I am not a master. I
was only a stop-gap, and my term of
office ceased today at one oclock.
Thus the prisoner at the bar gets off on a
technical point of law, and I trust it will
be a lesson to him. I suppose you had
the sense to do the imposition?
Yes, sir, I sat up last night.
Good. Now, if youll take my
advice, youll reform, or another day
youll come to a bad end. By the way,
how did you manage about roll-call
today?
I thought that was an awfully good
part just at the end of the first act, said
Babington.
Mr Seymour smiled. Possibly from
gratification.
Well, how did it go off? asked
Peterson that night.
Dont, old chap, said Babington,
faintly.
I told you so, said Jenkins at a
venture.
But when he had heard the whole
story he withdrew the remark, and
commented on the wholly undeserved
good luck some people seemed to
enjoy.
 THE TABBY TERROR
THE TABBY TERROR
The struggle between Praters cat
and Praters cats conscience was short,
and ended in the hollowest of victories
for the former. The conscience really
had no sort of chance from the
beginning. It was weak by nature and
flabby from long want of exercise,
while the cat was in excellent training,
and was, moreover, backed up by a
strong temptation. It pocketed the
stakes, which consisted of most of the
contents of a tin of sardines, and left
unostentatiously by the window. When
Smith came in after football, and found
the remains, he was surprised, and even
pained. When Montgomery entered
soon afterwards, he questioned him on
the subject.
I say, have you been having a sort
of preliminary canter with the banquet?
No, said Montgomery. Why? was a footprint.
Somebody has, said Smith,
exhibiting the empty tin. Doesnt seem
to have had such a bad appetite, either.
This reminds me of the story of the
great bear, the medium bear, and the
little ditto, observed Montgomery, who
was apt at an analogy. You may
remember that when the great bear
found his porridge tampered with, he
At this point Shawyer entered. He
had been bidden to the feast, and was
feeling ready for it.
Hullo, tea ready? he asked.
Smith displayed the sardine tin in
much the same manner as the conjurer
shows a pack of cards when he entreats
you to choose one, and remember the
number.
You havent finished already,
surely? Why, its only just five.
We havent even begun, said
Smith. Thats just the difficulty. The
question is, who has been on the raid in
here?
467
No human being has done this
horrid thing, said Montgomery. He
always liked to introduce a Holmes-
Watsonian touch into the conversation.
In the first place, the door was locked,
wasnt it, Smith?
By Jove, so it was. Then how on
earth?
Through the window, of course.
The cat, equally of course. I should like
a private word with that cat.
I suppose it must have been.
Of course it was. Apart from the
merely circumstantial evidence, which
is strong enough to hang it off its own
bat, we have absolute proof of its guilt.
Just cast your eye over that butter. You
follow me, Watson?
The butter was submitted to
inspection. In the very centre of it there
I traced his little footprints in the
butter, said Montgomery. Now, is that
the mark of a human foot?
The jury brought in a unanimous
verdict of guilty against the missing
animal, and over a sorrowful cup of tea,
eked out with bread and jambutter
appeared to be unpopulardiscussed
the matter in all its bearings. The cat
had not been an inmate of Praters
House for a very long time, and up till
now what depredation it had committed
had been confined to the official larder.
Now, however, it had evidently got its
hand in, and was about to commence
operations upon a more extensive scale.
The Tabby Terror had begun. Where
would it end? The general opinion was
that something would have to be done
about it. No one seemed to know
exactly what to do. Montgomery spoke
darkly of bricks, bits of string, and
horse-ponds. Smith rolled the word
rat-poison luxuriously round his
468 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
tongue. Shawyer, who was something
of an expert on the range, babbled of
air-guns.
At tea on the following evening the
first really serious engagement of the
campaign took place. The cat strolled
into the tea-room in the patronizing way
characteristic of his kind, but was
heavily shelled with lump-sugar, and
beat a rapid retreat. That was the signal
for the outbreak of serious hostilities.
From that moment its paw was against
every man, and the tale of the things it
stole is too terrible to relate in detail. It
scored all along the line. Like Death in
the poem, it knocked at the doors of the
highest and the lowest alike. Or rather,
it did not exactly knock. It came in
without knocking. The palace of the
prefect and the hovel of the fag suffered
equally. Trentham, the head of the
House, lost sausages to an incredible
amount one evening, and the next day
Ripton, of the Lower Third, was robbed
of his one ewe lamb in the shape of half
a tin of anchovy paste. Panic reigned.
It was after this matter of the
sausages that a luminous idea occurred
to Trentham. He had been laid up with
a slight football accident, and his
family, reading between the lines of his
written statement that he had got
crocked at footer, nothing much, only
(rather a nuisance) might do him out of
the House-matches, a notification of
mortal injuries, and seeming to hear a
death-rattle through the words felt
rather chippy yesterday, had come
down en masse to investigate. En
masse, that is to say, with the exception
of his father, who said he was too busy,
but felt sure it was nothing serious.
(Why, when I was a boy, my dear, I
used to think nothing of an occasional
tumble. Theres nothing the matter with
Dick. Why, etc., etc.)
Trenthams sister was his first
visitor.
I say, said he, when he had
satisfied her on the subject of his health,
would you like to do me a good turn?
She intimated that she would be
delighted, and asked for details.
Buy the beaks cat, hissed
Trentham, in a hoarse whisper.
Dick, it was your leg that you hurt,
wasnt it? Notnot your head? she
replied. I mean
No, I really mean it. Why cant
you? Its a perfectly simple thing to
do.
But what is a beak? And why
should I buy its cat?
A beaks a master. Surely you
know that. You see, Praters got a cat
lately, and the beast strolls in and raids
the studies. Got round over half a
pound of prime sausages in here the
other night, and hes always bagging
things everywhere. Youd be doing
everyone a kindness if you would take
him on. Hell get lynched some day if
you dont. Besides, you want a cat for
your new house, surely. Keep down the
mice, and that sort of thing, you know.
This animals a demon for mice. This
was a telling argument. Trenthams
sister had lately been married, and she
certainly had had some idea of investing
in a cat to adorn her home. As for
beetles, continued the invalid, pushing
home his advantage, they simply
darent come out of their lairs for fear
of him.
If he eats beetles, objected his
sister, he cant have a very good coat.
He doesnt eat them. Just squashes
them, you know, like a policeman.
Hes a decent enough beast as far as
looks go.
But if he steals things
No, dont you see, he only does that
here, because the Praters dont interfere
with him and dont let us do anything to
 THE TABBY TERROR
him. He wont try that sort of thing on
with you. If he does, get somebody to
hit him over the head with a boot-jack
or something. Hell soon drop it then.
You might as well, you know. The
Housell simply black your boots if you
do.
But would Mr Prater let me have the
cat?
Try him, anyhow. Pitch it fairly
warm, you know. Only cat you ever
loved, and that sort of thing.
Very well. Ill try.
Thanks, awfully. And, I say, you
might just look in here on your way out
and report.
Mrs James Williamson, nee Miss
Trentham, made her way dutifully to the
Merevales part of the House. Mrs
Prater had expressed a hope that she
would have some tea before catching
her train. With tea it is usual to have
milk, and with milk it is usual, if there
is a cat in the house, to have feline
society. Captain Kettle, which was the
name thought suitable to this cat by his
godfathers and godmothers, was on
hand early. As he stood there pawing
the mat impatiently, and mewing in a
minor key, Mrs Williamson felt that
here was the cat for her. He certainly
was good to look upon. His black heart
was hidden by a sleek coat of tabby fur,
which rendered stroking a luxury. His
scheming brain was out of sight in a
shapely head.
Oh, what a lovely cat! said Mrs
Williamson.
Yes, isnt he, agreed Mrs Prater.
We are very proud of him.
Such a beautiful coat!
And such a sweet purr!
He looks so intelligent. Has he any
tricks?
Had he any tricks! Why, Mrs
Williamson, he could do everything
except speak. Captain Kettle, you bad
469
boy, come here and die for your
country. Puss, puss.
Captain Kettle came at last
reluctantly, died for his country in
record time, and flashed back again to
the saucer. He had an important
appointment. Sorry to appear rude and
all that sort of thing, dont you know,
but he had to see a cat about a mouse.
Well? said Trentham, when his
sister looked in upon him an hour later.
Oh, Dick, its the nicest cat I ever
saw. I shall never be happy if I dont
get it.
Have you bought it? asked the
practical Trentham.
My dear Dick, I couldnt. We
couldnt bargain about a cat during tea.
Why, I never met Mrs Prater before this
afternoon.
No, I suppose not, admitted
Trentham, gloomily. Anyhow, look
here, if anything turns up to make the
beak want to get rid of it, Ill tell him
youre dead nuts on it. See?
For a fortnight after this episode
matters went on as before. Mrs
Williamson departed, thinking
regretfully of the cat she had left behind
her.
Captain Kettle died for his country
with moderate regularity, and on one
occasion, when he attempted to extract
some milk from the very centre of a
fags tea-party, almost died for another
reason. Then the end came suddenly.
Trentham had been invited to supper
one Sunday by Mr Prater. When he
arrived it became apparent to him that
the atmosphere was one of subdued
gloom. At first he could not understand
this, but soon the reason was made
clear. Captain Kettle had, in the
expressive language of the man in the
street, been and gone and done it. He
had been left alone that evening in the
drawing-room, while the House was at
470 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
church, and his eye, roaming restlessly
about in search of evil to perform, had
lighted upon a cage. In that cage was a
special sort of canary, in its own line as
accomplished an artiste as Captain
Kettle himself. It sang with taste and
feeling, and made itself generally
agreeable in a number of little ways.
But to Captain Kettle it was merely a
bird. One of the poets sings of an
acquaintance of his who was so
constituted that a primrose by the
rivers brim a simple primrose was to
him, and it was nothing more. Just so
with Captain Kettle. He was not the cat
to make nice distinctions between
birds. Like the cat in another poem, he
only knew they made him light and
salutary meals. So, with the exercise of
considerable ingenuity, he extracted that
canary from its cage and ate it. He was
now in disgrace.
We shall have to get rid of him,
said Mr Prater.
Im afraid so, said Mrs Prater.
If you werent thinking of giving
him to anyone in particular, sir, said
Trentham, my sister would be awfully
glad to take him, I know. She was very
keen on him when she came to see me.
Thats excellent, said Prater. I
was afraid we should have to send him
to a home somewhere.
I suppose we cant keep him after
all? suggested Mrs Prater.
Trentham waited in suspense.
No, said Prater, decidedly. I think
not. So Captain Kettle went, and the
House knew him no more, and the
Tabby Terror was at an end.
 THE PRIZE POEM
THE PRIZE POEM
Some quarter of a century before the
period with which this story deals, a
certain rich and misanthropic man was
seized with a bright idea for
perpetuating his memory after death,
and at the same time harassing a certain
section of mankind. So in his will he
set aside a portion of his income to be
spent on an annual prize for the best
poem submitted by a member of the
Sixth Form of St Austins College, on a
subject to be selected by the
Headmaster. And, he addedone
seems to hear him chuckling to himself
every member of the form must
compete. Then he died. But the evil
that men do lives after them, and each
year saw a fresh band of unwilling
bards goaded to despair by his bequest.
True, there were always one or two who
hailed this ready market for their
sonnets and odes with joy. But the
majority, being barely able to rhyme
dove with love, regarded the annual send it up. If it gets the prize
announcement of the subject chosen
with feelings of the deepest disgust.
The chains were thrown off after a
period of twenty-seven years in this
fashion.
Reynolds of the Remove was
indirectly the cause of the change. He
was in the infirmary, convalescing after
an attack of German measles, when he
received a visit from Smith, an
ornament of the Sixth.
By Jove, remarked that gentleman,
gazing enviously round the sick-room,
they seem to do you pretty well here.
Yes, not bad, is it? Take a seat.
Anything been happening lately?
Nothing much. I suppose you know
we beat the M.C.C. by a wicket?
Yes, so I heard. Anything else?
Prize poem, said Smith, without
enthusiasm. He was not a poet.
471
Reynolds became interested at once.
If there was one rle in which he
fancied himself (and, indeed, there were
a good many), it was that of a versifier.
His great ambition was to see some of
his lines in print, and he had contracted
the habit of sending them up to various
periodicals, with no result, so far,
except the arrival of rejected MSS. at
meal-times in embarrassingly long
envelopes. Which he blushingly
concealed with all possible speed.
Whats the subject this year? he
asked.
The Collegeof all idiotic things.
Couldnt have a better subject for an
ode. By Jove, I wish I was in the
Sixth.
Wish I was in the infirmary, said
Smith.
Reynolds was struck with an idea.
Look here, Smith, he said, if you
like Ill do you a poem, and you can
Oh, it wont get the prize, Smith
put in eagerly. Rogers is a cert. for
that.
If it gets the prize, repeated
Reynolds, with asperity, youll have to
tell the Old Man all about it. Hell
probably curse a bit, but that cant be
helped. Hows this for a beginning?
Imposing pile, reared up midst
pleasant grounds,
The scene of many a battle, lost or
won,
At cricket or at football; whose red
walls
Full many a sun has kissed ere day is
done."
Grand. Couldnt you get in
something about the M.C.C. match?
You could make cricket rhyme with
wicket. Smith sat entranced with his
ingenuity, but the other treated so
472 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
material a suggestion with scorn.
Well, said Smith, I must be off Montgomery of the Sixth happened to
now. Weve got a House-match on.
Thanks awfully about the poem.
Left to himself, Reynolds set himself
seriously to the composing of an ode
that should do him justice. That is to
say, he drew up a chair and table to the
open window, wrote down the lines he
had already composed, and began
chewing a pen. After a few minutes he
wrote another four lines, crossed them
out, and selected a fresh piece of paper.
He then copied out his first four lines
again. After eating his pen to a stump,
he jotted down the two words boys
and joys at the end of separate lines.
This led him to select a third piece of
paper, on which he produced a sort of
edition de luxe in his best handwriting,
with the title Ode to the College in
printed letters at the top. He was
admiring the neat effect of this when
the door opened suddenly and violently,
and Mrs Lee, a lady of advanced years
and energetic habits, whose duty it was
to minister to the needs of the sick and
wounded in the infirmary, entered with
his tea. Mrs Lees method of entering a
room was in accordance with the advice
of the Psalmist, where he says, Fling
wide the gates. She flung wide the
gate of the sick-room, and the result
was that what is commonly called a
thorough draught was established. The
air was thick with flying papers, and
when calm at length succeeded storm,
two editions of Ode to the College
were lying on the grass outside.
Reynolds attacked the tea without
attempting to retrieve his vanished
work. Poetry is good, but tea is better.
Besides, he argued within himself, he
remembered all he had written, and
could easily write it out again. So, as
far as he was concerned, those three
sheets of paper were a closed book.
Later on in the afternoon,
be passing by the infirmary, when Fate,
aided by a sudden gust of wind, blew a
piece of paper at him. Great Scott, he
observed, as his eye fell on the words
Ode to the College. Montgomery, like
Smith, was no expert in poetry. He had
spent a wretched afternoon trying to
hammer out something that would pass
muster in the poem competition, but
without the least success. There were
four lines on the paper. Two more, and
it would be a poem, and capable of
being entered for the prize as such. The
words imposing pile, with which the
fragment in his hand began, took his
fancy immensely. A poetic afflatus
seized him, and in less than three hours
he had added the necessary couplet,
How truly sweet it is for such as
me
To gaze on thee.
And dashed neat, too, he said, with
satisfaction, as he threw the manuscript
into his drawer. I dont know whether
me shouldnt be I, but theyll have
to lump it. Its a poem, anyhow, within
the meaning of the act. And he strolled
off to a neighbours study to borrow a
book.
Two nights afterwards, Morrison,
also of the Sixth, was enjoying his usual
during prep siesta in his study. A tap at
the door roused him. Hastily seizing a
lexicon, he assumed the attitude of the
seeker after knowledge, and said,
Come in. It was not the House-
master, but Evans, Morrisons fag, who
entered with pride on his face and a
piece of paper in his hand.
I say, he began, you remember
you told me to hunt up some tags for
the poem. Will this do?
Morrison took the paper with a
judicial air. On it were the words:
Imposing pile, reared up midst
 THE PRIZE POEM
pleasant grounds,
The scene of many a battle, lost or
won,
At cricket or at football; whose red
walls
Full many a sun has kissed ere day is
done.
Thats ripping, as far as it goes,
said Morrison. Couldnt be better.
Youll find some apples in that box.
Better take a few. But look here, with
sudden suspicion, I dont believe you
made all this up yourself. Did you?
Evans finished selecting his apples
before venturing on a reply. Then he
blushed, as much as a member of the
junior school is capable of blushing.
Well, he said, I didnt exactly.
You see, you only told me to get the
tags. You didnt say how.
But how did you get hold of this?
Whose is it?
Dunno. I found it in the field
between the Pavilion and the infirmary.
Oh! well, it doesnt matter much.
Theyre just what I wanted, which is the
great thing. Thanks. Shut the door,
will you? Whereupon Evans retired,
the richer by many apples, and
Morrison resumed his siesta at the point
where he had left off.
Got that poem done yet? said
Smith to Reynolds, pouring out a cup of
tea for the invalid on the following
Sunday.
Two lumps, please. No, not quite.
Great Csar, man, whenll it be
ready, do you think? Its got to go in
tomorrow.
Well, Im really frightfully sorry,
but I got hold of a grand book. Ever
read?
Isnt any of it done? asked Smith.
Only the first verse, Im afraid.
But, look here, you arent keen on
getting the prize. Why not send in only
the one verse? It makes a fairly decent
473
poem.
Hum! Think the Old Unll pass
it?
Hell have to. Theres nothing in
the rules about length. Here it is if you
want it.
Thanks. I suppose itll be all right?
So long! I must be off.
The Headmaster, known to the world
as the Rev. Arthur James Perceval,
M.A., and to the School as the Old Un,
was sitting at breakfast, stirring his
coffee, with a look of marked perplexity
upon his dignified face. This was not
caused by the coffee, which was
excellent, but by a letter which he held
in his left hand.
Hum! he said. Then Umph! in a
protesting tone, as if someone had
pinched him. Finally, he gave vent to a
long-drawn Um-m-m, in a deep bass.
Most extraordinary. Really, most
extraordinary. Exceedingly. Yes.
Um. Very. He took a sip of coffee.
My dear, said he, suddenly. Mrs
Perceval started violently. She had
been sketching out in her mind a little
dinner, and wondering whether the cook
would be equal to it.
Yes, she said.
My dear, this is a very extraordinary
communication. Exceedingly so. Yes,
very.
Who is it from?
Mr Perceval shuddered. He was a
purist in speech. From whom, you
should say. It is from Mr Wells, a great
College friend of mine. Iah-
submitted to him for examination the
poems sent in for the Sixth Form Prize.
He writes in a very flippant style. I
must say, very flippant. This is his
letter:Dear Jimmy (really, really, he
should remember that we are not so
young as we were); dearahem-
Jimmy. The poems to hand. I have
read them, and am writing this from my
474 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
sick-bed. The doctor tells me I may
pull through even yet. There was only
one any good at all, that was Rogerss,
which, thoughersquiffy (tut!) in
parts, was a long way better than any of
the others. But the most taking part of
the whole programme was afforded by
the three comedians, whose efforts I
enclose. You will notice that each
begins with exactly the same four lines.
Of course, I deprecate cribbing, but you
really cant help admiring this sort of
thing. There is a reckless daring about
it which is simply fascinating. A
horrible thoughthave they been
pulling your dignified leg? By the way,
do you rememberthe rest of the
letter iseron different matters.
James! How extraordinary!
Um, yes. I am reluctant to suspect
ercollusion, but really here there
can be no doubt. No doubt at all. No.
Unless, began Mrs Perceval,
tentatively. No doubt at all, my dear,
snapped Reverend Jimmy. He did not
wish to recall the other possibility, that
his dignified leg was being pulled.
Now, for what purpose did I
summon you three boys? asked Mr
Perceval, of Smith, Montgomery, and
Morrison, in his room after morning
school that day. He generally began a
painful interview with this question.
The method had distinct advantages. If
the criminal were of a nervous
disposition, he would give himself away
upon the instant. In any case, it was
likely to startle him. For what
purpose? repeated the Headmaster,
fixing Smith with a glittering eye.
I will tell you, continued Mr
Perceval. It was because I desired
information, which none but you can
supply. How comes it that each of your
compositions for the Poetry Prize
commences with the same four lines?
The three poets looked at one another in
speechless astonishment.
Here, he resumed, are the three
papers. Compare them. Now,after
the inspection was over what
explanation have you to offer? Smith,
are these your lines?
Ierahwrote them, sir.
Dont prevaricate, Smith. Are you
the author of those lines?
No, sir.
Ah! Very good. Are you,
Montgomery?
No, sir.
Very good. Then you, Morrison,
are exonerated from all blame. You
have been exceedingly badly treated.
The first-fruit of your brain has been-
ahplucked by others, who toiled not
neither did they spin. You can go,
Morrison.
But, sir
Well, Morrison?
I didnt write them, sir.
Iahdont quite understand you,
Morrison. You say that you are
indebted to another for these lines?
Yes, sir.
To Smith?
No, sir.
To Montgomery?
No, sir.
Then, Morrison, may I ask to whom
you are indebted?
I found them in the field on a piece
of paper, sir. He claimed the discovery
himself, because he thought that Evans
might possibly prefer to remain outside
this tangle.
So did I, sir. This from
Montgomery. Mr Perceval looked
bewildered, as indeed he was.
And did you, Smith, also find this
poem on a piece of paper in the field?
There was a metallic ring of sarcasm in
his voice.
No, sir.
Ah! Then to what circumstance
 THE PRIZE POEM
were you indebted for the lines?
I got Reynolds to do them for me,
sir.
Montgomery spoke. It was near the
infirmary that I found the paper, and
Reynolds is in there.
So did I, sir, said Morrison,
incoherently.
Then am I to understand, Smith,
that to gain the prize you resorted to
such underhand means as this?
No, sir, we agreed that there was no
danger of my getting the prize. If I had
got it, I should have told you
everything. Reynolds will tell you that,
sir.
Then what object had you in
pursuing this deception?
Well, sir, the rules say everyone
must send in something, and I cant
write poetry at all, and Reynolds likes
475
it, so I asked him to do it.
And Smith waited for the storm to
burst. But it did not burst. Far down in
Mr Percevals system lurked a quiet
sense of humour. The situation
penetrated to it. Then he remembered
the examiners letter, and it dawned
upon him that there are few crueller
things than to make a prosaic person
write poetry.
You may go, he said, and the three
went.
And at the next Board Meeting it
was decided, mainly owing to the
influence of an exceedingly eloquent
speech from the Headmaster, to alter
the rules for the Sixth Form Poetry
Prize, so that from thence onward no
one need compete unless he felt himself
filled with the immortal fire.
476 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
WORK
With a pleasure thats emphatic
We retire to our attic
With the satisfying feeling that our
duty has been done.
Oh! philosophers
may sing
Of the troubles of a
king
But of pleasures there
are many and of
troubles there are
none,
And the culminating
pleasure
Which we treasure
beyond measure
Is the satisfying
feeling that our duty
has been done.
W. S. Gilbert
Work is supposed to be the centre
round which school life revolvesthe
hub of the school wheel, the lode-star of
the schoolboys existence, and a great
many other things. You come to
school to work, is the formula used by
masters when sentencing a victim to the
wailing and gnashing of teeth provided
by two hours extra tuition on a hot
afternoon. In this, I think, they err, and
my opinion is backed up by numerous
scholars of my acquaintance, who have
even gone so faron occasions when
they themselves have been the victims
as to express positive disapproval of
the existing state of things. In the dear,
dead days (beyond recall), I used often
to long to put the case to my form-
master in its only fair aspect, but always
refrained from motives of policy.
Masters are so apt to take offence at the
well-meant endeavours of their form to
instruct them in the way they should go.
What I should have liked to have
done would have been something after
this fashion. Entering the sanctum of
the Headmaster, I should have motioned
him to his seatif he were seated
already, have assured him that to rise
was unnecessary. I should then have
taken a seat myself, taking care to
preserve a calm fixity of demeanour,
and finally, with a preliminary cough, I
should have embarked upon the
following moving address: My dear
sir, my dear Reverend Jones or Brown
(as the case may be), believe me when I
say that your whole system of work is
founded on a fallacious dream and reeks
of rottenness. No, no, I beg that you
will not interrupt me. The real state of
the case, if I may say so, is briefly this:
a boy goes to school to enjoy himself,
and, on arriving, finds to his
consternation that a great deal more
work is expected of him than he is
prepared to do. What course, then,
Reverend Jones or Brown, does he
take? He proceeds to do as much work
as will steer him safely between the, ah
I may say, the Scylla of punishment
and the Charybdis of being considered
what my, erfellow-pupils
euphoniously term a swot. That, I
think, is all this morning. Good day.
Pray do not trouble to rise. I will find
my way out. I should then have made
for the door, locked it, if possible, on
the outside, and, rushing to the railway
station, have taken a through ticket to
Spitzbergen or some other place where
Extradition treaties do not hold good.
But twas not mine to play the Tib.
Gracchus, to emulate the O. Cromwell.
So far from pouring my opinions like so
much boiling oil into the ear of my task-
 WORK
master, I was content to play the part of
audience while he did the talking, my
sole remark being Yesr at fixed
intervals.
And yet I knew that I was in the
right. My bosom throbbed with the
justice of my cause. For why? The
ambition of every human new boy is
surely to become like J. Essop of the
First Eleven, who can hit a ball over
two ponds, a wood, and seven villages,
rather than to resemble that pale young
student, Mill-Stuart, who, though he can
speak Sanskrit like a native of
Sanskritia, couldnt score a single off a
slow long-hop.
And this ambition is a laudable one.
For the athlete is the product of nature
a step towards the more perfect type
of animal, while the scholar is the
outcome of artificiality. What, I ask,
does the scholar gain, either morally or
physically, or in any other way, by
knowing who was tribune of the people
in 284 BC or what is the precise
difference between the various
constructions of cum? It is not as if
ignorance of the tribunes identity
caused him any mental unrest. In short,
what excuse is there for the student?
None, shrieks Echo enthusiastically.
None whatever.
Our children are being led to ruin by
this system. They will become dons
and think in Greek. The victim of the
craze stops at nothing. He puns in
Latin. He quips and quirks in Ionic and
Doric. In the worst stages of the
disease he will edit Greek plays and say
that Merry quite misses the fun of the
passage, or that Jebb is mediocre.
Think, I beg of you, paterfamilias, and
you, mater ditto, what your feelings
would be were you to find Henry or
Archibald Cuthbert correcting proofs of
The Agamemnon, and inventing nasty
ones for Mr Sidgwick! Very well
477
then. Be warned.
Our bright-eyed lads are taught
insane constructions in Greek and Latin
from morning till night, and they come
for their holidays, in many cases,
without the merest foundation of a
batting style. Ask them what a Yorker
is, and they will say: A man from
York, though I presume you mean a
Yorkshireman. They will read
Herodotus without a dictionary for
pleasure, but ask them to translate the
childishly simple sentence: Trott was
soon in his timber-yard with a length
un that whipped across from the off,
and theyll shrink abashed and swear
they have not skill at that, as Gilbert
says.
The papers sometimes contain
humorous forecasts of future education,
when cricket and football shall come to
their own. They little know the
excellence of the thing they mock at.
When we get schools that teach nothing
but games, then will the sun definitely
refuse to set on the roast beef of old
England. May it be soon. Some day,
mayhap, I shall gather my great-great-
grandsons round my knee, and tell them
as one tells tales of Faerythat I can
remember the time when Work was
considered the be-all and the end-all of
a school career. Perchance, when my
great-great-grandson John (called John
after the famous Jones of that name) has
brought home the prize for English
Essay on Rugby v. Association, I shall
pat his head (gently) and the tears will
come to my old eyes as I recall the time
when I, too, might have won a prize-
for that obsolete subject, Latin Prose-
and was only prevented by the superior
excellence of my thirty-and-one fellow
students, coupled, indeed, with my own
inability to conjugate sum.
Such days, I say, may come. But
now are the Dark Ages. The only thing
478 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
that can possibly make Work anything
but an unmitigated nuisance is the
prospect of a Varsity scholarship, and
the thought that, in the event of failure,
a Varsity career will be out of the
question.
With this thought constantly before
him, the student can put a certain
amount of enthusiasm into his work,
and even go to the length of rising at
five oclock o mornings to drink yet
deeper of the cup of knowledge. I have
done it myself. Varsity means games
and yellow waistcoats and Proctors, and
that sort of thing. It is worth working
for.
But for the unfortunate individual
who is barred by circumstances from
participating in these joys, what
inducement is there to work? Is such a
one to leave the school nets in order to
stew in a stuffy room over a
Thucydides? I trow not.
Chapter one of my great forthcoming
work, The Compleat Slacker, contains
minute instructions on the art of
avoiding preparation from beginning to
end of term. Foremost among the
words of advice ranks this maxim: Get
an official list of the books you are to
do, and examine them carefully with a
view to seeing what it is possible to do
unseen. Thus, if Virgil is among these
authors, you can rely on being able to
do him with success. People who ought
to know better will tell you that Virgil is
hard. Such a shallow falsehood needs
little comment. A scholar who cannot
translate ten lines of The Aeneid
between the time he is put on and the
time he begins to speak is unworthy of
pity or consideration, and if I meet him
in the street I shall assuredly cut him.
Aeschylus, on the other hand, is a
demon, and needs careful watching,
though in an emergency you can always
say the reading is wrong.
Sometimes the compleat slacker falls
into a trap. The saddest case I can
remember is that of poor Charles
Vanderpoop. He was a bright young
lad, and showed some promise of rising
to heights as a slacker. He fell in this
fashion. One Easter term his form had
half-finished a speech of Demosthenes,
and the form-master gave them to
understand that they would absorb the
rest during the forthcoming term.
Charles, being naturally anxious to do
as little work as possible during the
summer months, spent his Easter
holidays carefully preparing this
speech, so as to have it ready in
advance. What was his horror, on
returning to School at the appointed
date, to find that they were going to
throw Demosthenes over altogether,
and patronize Plato. Threats, entreaties,
prayersall were accounted nothing by
the master who had led him into this
morass of troubles. It is believed that
the shock destroyed his reason. At any
rate, the fact remains that that term (the
summer term, mark you) he won two
prizes. In the following term he won
three. To recapitulate his outrages from
that time to the present were a
harrowing and unnecessary task.
Suffice it that he is now a Regius
Professor, and I saw in the papers a
short time ago that a lecture of his on
The Probable Origin of the Greek
Negative, created quite a furore. If this
is not Tragedy with a big T, I should
like to know what it is.
As an exciting pastime, unseen
translation must rank very high.
Everyone who has ever tried translating
unseen must acknowledge that all other
forms of excitement seem but feeble
makeshifts after it. I have, in the course
of a career of sustained usefulness to
the human race, had my share of thrills.
I have asked a strong and busy porter, at
 WORK
Paddington, when the Brighton train
started. I have gone for the broad-jump
record in trying to avoid a motor-car. I
have played Spillikins and Ping-Pong.
But never again have I felt the
excitement that used to wander athwart
my moral backbone when I was put on
to translate a passage containing a
notorious crux and seventeen doubtful
readings, with only that innate genius,
which is the wonder of the civilized
world, to pull me through. And what a
glow of pride one feels when it is all
over; when one has made a glorious,
golden guess at the crux, and trampled
the doubtful readings under foot with
inspired ease. It is like a day at the
seaside.
Work is bad enough, but
Examinations are worse, especially the
Board Examinations. By doing from
ten to twenty minutes prep every night,
the compleat slacker could get through
most of the term with average success.
Then came the Examinations. The
dabbler in unseen translations found
himself caught as in a snare. Gone was
the peaceful security in which he had
lulled to rest all the well-meant efforts
of his guardian angel to rouse him to a
sense of his duties. There, right in front
of him, yawned the abyss of
Retribution.
Alas! poor slacker. I knew him,
Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of
most excellent fancy. Where be his
gibes now? How is he to cope with the
fiendish ingenuity of the examiners?
How is he to master the contents of a
book of Thucydides in a couple of
days? It is a fearsome problem.
Perhaps he will get up in the small
hours and work by candle light from
two till eight oclock. In this case he
will start his day a mental and physical
wreck. Perhaps he will try to work and
be led away by the love of light reading.
479
In any case he will fail to obtain
enough marks to satisfy the examiners,
though whether examiners ever are
satisfied, except by Harry the hero of
the school story (Every Lads Library,
uniform edition, 2s 6d), is rather a
doubtful question.
In such straits, matters resolve
themselves into a sort of drama with
three characters. We will call our hero
Smith.
Scene: a Study
Dramatis Personae:
SMITH
CONSCIENCE
MEPHISTOPHELES
Enter SMITH (down centre)
He seats himself at table and opens
a Thucydides.
Enter CONSCIENCE through
ceiling (R.), MEPHISTOPHELES
through floor (L.).
CONSCIENCE (with a kindly
smile): Precisely what I was about to
remark, my dear lad. A little
Thucydides would be a very good
thing. Thucydides, as you doubtless
know, was a very famous Athenian
historian. Date?
SMITH: Erumlet me see.
MEPH. (aside): Look in the
Introduction and pretend you did it by
accident.
SMITH (having done so): 431 B.C.
circ.
CONSCIENCE wipes away a tear.
CONSCIENCE: Thucydides made
himself a thorough master of the
concisest of styles.
MEPH.: And in doing so became
infernally obscure. Excuse shop.
SMITH (gloomily): Hum!
MEPH. (sneeringly): Ha!
Long pause.
CONSCIENCE (gently): Do you not
think, my dear lad, that you had better
begin? Time and tide, as you are aware,
480 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
wait for no man. And
SMITH: Yes?
CONSCIENCE: You have not, I
fear, a very firm grasp of the subject.
However, if you work hard till eleven
SMITH (gloomily): Hum! Three
hours!
MEPH. (cheerily): Exactly so.
Three hours. A little more if anything.
By the way, excuse me asking, but have
you prepared the subject thoroughly
during the term?
SMITH: My dear sir! Of course!
CONSCIENCE
(reprovingly):???!!??!
SMITH: Well, perhaps, not quite so
much as I might have done. Such a lot
of things to do this term. Cricket, for
instance.
MEPH.: Rather. Talking of cricket,
you seemed to be shaping rather well
last Saturday. I had just run up on
business, and someone told me you
made eighty not out. Get your century
all right?
SMITH (brightening at the
recollection): Just a bit117 not out. I
hitbut perhaps youve heard?
MEPH.: Not at all, not at all. Lets
hear all about it.
CONSCIENCE seeks to interpose,
but is prevented by MEPH., who eggs
SMITH on to talk cricket for over an
hour.
CONSCIENCE (at last; in an acid
voice): That is a history of the
Peloponnesian War by Thucydides on
the table in front of you. I thought I
would mention it, in case you had
forgotten.
SMITH: Great Scott, yes! Here, I
say, I must start.
CONSCIENCE: Hear! Hear!
MEPH. (insinuatingly): One
moment. Did you say you had prepared
this book during the term? Afraid Im a
little hard of hearing. Eh, what?
SMITH: Wellerno, I have not.
Have you ever played billiards with a
walking-stick and five balls?
MEPH.: Quite so, quite so. I quite
understand. Dont you distress
yourself, old chap. You obviously cant
get through a whole book of
Thucydides in under two hours, can
you?
CONSCIENCE (severely): He
might, by attentive application to study,
master a considerable portion of the
historians chef doeuvre in that time.
MEPH.: Yes, and find that not one
of the passages he had prepared was set
in the paper.
CONSCIENCE: At the least, he
would, if he were to pursue the course
which I have indicated, greatly benefit
his mind.
MEPH. gives a short, derisive
laugh. Long pause.
MEPH. (looking towards
bookshelf): Hullo, youve got a decent
lot of books, pommy word you have.
Rodney Stone, Vice Versa, Many
Cargoes. Ripping. Ever read Many
Cargoes?
CONSCIENCE (glancing at his
watch): I am sorry, but I must really go
now. I will see you some other day.
Exit sorrowfully.
MEPH.: Well, thank goodness hes
gone. Never saw such a fearful old
bore in my life. Cant think why you let
him hang on to you so. We may as well
make a night of it now, eh? No use
your trying to work at this time of night.
SMITH: Not a bit.
MEPH.: Did you say youd not read
Many Cargoes?
SMITH: Never. Only got it today.
Good?
MEPH.: Simply ripping. All short
stories. Make you yell.
SMITH (with a last effort): But
 WORK
dont you think
MEPH.: Oh no. Besides, you can
easily get up early tomorrow for the
Thucydides.
SMITH: Of course I can. Never
thought of that. Heave us Many
Cargoes. Thanks.
Begins to read. MEPH. grins
fiendishly, and vanishes through floor
481
enveloped in red flame. Sobbing heard
from the direction of the ceiling.
Scene closes._
Next morning, of course, he will
oversleep himself, and his Thucydides
paper will be of such a calibre that that
eminent historian will writhe in his
grave.
482 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
NOTES
Of all forms of lettered effusiveness,
that which exploits the
original work of others and professes to
supply us with right
opinions thereanent is the least wanted.
Kenneth Grahame
It has always seemed to me one of
the worst flaws in our mistaken social
system, that absolutely no distinction is
made between the master who forces
the human boy to take down notes from
dictation and the rest of mankind. I
mean that, if in a moment of righteous
indignation you rend such a one limb
from limb, you will almost certainly be
subjected to the utmost rigour of the
law, and you will be lucky if you escape
a heavy fine of five or ten shillings,
exclusive of the costs of the case. Now,
this is not right on the face of it. It is
even wrong. The law should take into
account the extreme provocation which
led to the action. Punish if you will the
man who travels second-class with a
third-class ticket, or who borrows a
pencil and forgets to return it; but there
are occasions when justice should be
tempered with mercy, and this
murdering of pedagogues is
undoubtedly such an occasion.
It should be remembered, however,
that there are two varieties of notes.
The printed notes at the end of your
Thucydides or Homer are distinctly
useful when they aim at acting up to
their true vocation, namely, the
translating of difficult passages or
words. Sometimes, however, the author
will insist on airing his scholarship, and
instead of translations he supplies
parallel passages, which neither interest,
elevate, nor amuse the reader. This, of
course, is mere vanity. The author,
sitting in his comfortable chair with
something short within easy reach,
recks nothing of the misery he is
inflicting on hundreds of people who
have done him no harm at all. He turns
over the pages of his book of Familiar
Quotations with brutal callousness, and
for every tricky passage in the work
which he is editing, finds and makes a
note of three or four even trickier ones
from other works. Who has not in his
time been brought face to face with a
word which defies translation? There
are two courses open to you on such an
occasion, to look the word up in the
lexicon, or in the notes. You, of course,
turn up the notes, and find: See line
80. You look up line 80, hoping to see
a translation, and there you are told that
a rather similar construction occurs in
Xenophades Lyrics from a Padded
Cell. On this, the craven of spirit will
resort to the lexicon, but the man of
mettle will close his book with an
emphatic bang, and refuse to have
anything more to do with it. Of a
different sort are the notes which simply
translate the difficulty and subside.
These are a boon to the scholar.
Without them it would be almost
impossible to prepare ones work
during school, and we should be
reduced to the prosaic expedient of
working in prep. time. What we want is
the commentator who translates mensa
as a table without giving a page and a
half of notes on the uses of the table in
ancient Greece, with an excursus on the
habit common in those times of retiring
underneath it after dinner, and a list of
the passages in Apollonius Rhodius
where the word table is mentioned.
These voluminous notes are apt to
prove a nuisance in more ways than
one. Your average master is generally
inordinately fond of them, and will
frequently ask some member of the
 NOTES
form to read his note on so-and-so out
to his fellows. This sometimes leads to
curious results, as it is hardly to be
expected that the youth called upon will
be attending, even if he is awake, which
is unlikely. On one occasion an
acquaintance of mine, whose name I
am not at liberty to divulge, was
suddenly aware that he was being
addressed, and, on giving the matter his
attention, found that it was the form-
master asking him to read out his note
on Balbus murum aedificavit. My
friend is a kind-hearted youth and of an
obliging disposition, and would
willingly have done what was asked of
him, but there were obstacles, first and
foremost of which ranked the fact that,
taking advantage of his position on the
back desk (whither he thought the
basilisk eye of Authority could not
reach), he had substituted Bab Ballads
for the words of Virgil, and was
engrossed in the contents of that
modern classic. The subsequent
explanations lasted several hours. In
fact, it is probable that the master does
not understand the facts of the case
thoroughly even now. It is true that he
called him a loathsome, slimy,
repulsive toad, but even this seems to
fall short of the grandeur of the
situation.
Those notes, also, which are, alas!
only too common nowadays, that deal
with peculiarities of grammar, how
supremely repulsive they are! It is
impossible to glean any sense from
them, as the Editor mixes up
Nipperwicks view with Sidgeleys
reasoning and
Spreckendzedeutscheims surmise with
Donnerundblitzendorfs conjecture in a
way that seems to argue a thorough
unsoundness of mind and morals, a
cynical insanity combined with a blatant
indecency. He occasionally starts in a
483
reasonable manner by giving one view
as (1) and the next as (2). So far
everyone is happy and satisfied. The
trouble commences when he has
occasion to refer back to some former
view, when he will say: Thus we see
(1) and (14) that, etc. The unlucky
student puts a finger on the page to keep
the place, and hunts up view one.
Having found this, and marked the spot
with another finger, he proceeds to look
up view fourteen. He places another
finger on this, and reads on, as follows:
Zmpe, however, maintains that
Schrumpff (see 3) is practically insane,
that Spleckzh (see 34) is only a little
better, and that Rswkg (see 97 a (b) C3)
is so far from being right that his views
may be dismissed as readily as those of
Xkryt (see 5x). At this point brain-
fever sets in, the victims last coherent
thought being a passionate wish for
more fingers. A friend of mine who
was the wonder of all who knew him, in
that he was known to have scored ten
per cent in one of these papers on
questions like the above, once divulged
to an interviewer the fact that he owed
his success to his methods of learning
rather than to his ability. On the night
before an exam, he would retire to some
secret, solitary place, such as the boot-
room, and commence learning these
notes by heart. This, though a
formidable task, was not so bad as the
other alternative. The result was that,
although in the majority of cases he
would put down for one question an
answer that would have been right for
another, yet occasionally, luck being
with him, he would hit the mark. Hence
his ten per cent.
Another fruitful source of discomfort
is provided by the type of master who
lectures on a subject for half an hour,
and then, with a bland smile, invites, or
rather challenges, his form to write a
484 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
good, long note on the quintessence of
his discourse. For the inexperienced
this is an awful moment. They must
write somethingbut what? For the
last half hour they have been trying to
impress the master with the fact that
they belong to the class of people who
can always listen best with their eyes
closed. Nor poppy, nor mandragora,
nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
can ever medicine them to that sweet
sleep that they have just been enjoying.
And now they must write a good, long
note. It is in such extremities that your
veteran shows up well. He does not
betray any discomfort. Not he. He
rather enjoys the prospect, in fact, of
being permitted to place the masters
golden eloquence on paper. So he takes
up his pen with alacrity. No need to
think what to write. He embarks on an
essay concerning the master, showing
up all his flaws in a pitiless light, and
analysing his thorough worthlessness of
character. On so congenial a subject he
can, of course, write reams, and as the
master seldom, if ever, desires to read
the good, long note, he acquires a
well-earned reputation for attending in
school and being able to express
himself readily with his pen. Vivat
floreatque.
But all these forms of notes are as
nothing compared with the notes that
youths even in this our boasted land of
freedom are forced to take down from
dictation. Of the good, long note your
French scholar might well remark:
Cest terrible, but justice would
compel him to add, as he thought of the
dictation note: mas ce nest pas l capable of absorbing sixty pages of a
diable. For these notes from dictation
are, especially on a warm day,
indubitably l diable.
Such notes are always dictated so
rapidly that it is impossible to do
anything towards understanding them as
you go. You have to write your hardest
to keep up. The beauty of this, from
one point of view, is that, if you miss a
sentence, you have lost the thread of the
whole thing, and it is useless to attempt
to take it up again at once. The only
plan is to wait for some perceptible
break in the flow of words, and dash in
like lightning. It is much the same sort
of thing as boarding a bus when in
motion. And so you can take a long
rest, provided you are in an obscure part
of the room. In passing, I might add
that a very pleasing indoor game can be
played by asking the master, what
came after so-and-so? mentioning a
point of the oration some half-hour
back. This always provides a respite of
a few minutes while he is thinking of
some bitter repartee worthy of the
occasion, and if repeated several times
during an afternoon may cause much
innocent merriment.
Of course, the real venom that lurks
hid within notes from dictation does not
appear until the time for examination
arrives. Then you find yourself face to
face with sixty or seventy closely and
badly written pages of a note-book, all
of which must be learnt by heart if you
would aspire to the dizzy heights of
half-marks. It is useless to tell your
examiner that you had no chance of
getting up the subject. Why, he will
reply, I gave you notes on that very
thing myself. You did, sir, you say,
as you advance stealthily upon him,
but as you dictated those notes at the
rate of two hundred words a minute,
and as my brain, though large, is not
note-book in one night, how the
suggestively asterisked aposiopesis do
you expect me to know them? Ah-h-h!
The last word is a war-cry, as you fling
yourself bodily on him, and tear him
courteously, but firmly, into minute
 NOTES
fragments. Experience, which, as we
all know, teaches, will in time lead you
into adopting some method by which
you may evade this taking of notes. A
good plan is to occupy yourself with the
composition of a journal, an unofficial
magazine not intended for the eyes of
the profane, but confined rigidly to your
own circle of acquaintances. The chief
advantage of such a work is that you
will continue to write while the notes
are being dictated. To throw your pen
down with an air of finality and begin
reading some congenial work of fiction
would be a gallant action, but impolitic.
No, writing of some sort is essential,
and as it is out of the question to take
down the notes, what better substitute
than an unofficial journal could be
found? To one whose contributions to
the School magazine are constantly
being cut down to mere skeletons by the
hands of censors, there is a rapture
otherwise unattainable in a page of
really scurrilous items about those in
authority. Try it yourselves, my
beamish lads. Think of something
really bad about somebody. Write it
down and gloat over it. Sometimes,
indeed, it is of the utmost use in
determining your future career. You
will probably remember those Titanic
articles that appeared at the beginning
of the war in The Weekly Luggage-
Train, dealing with all the crimes of the
War Officethe generals, the soldiers,
the enemyof everybody, in fact,
except the editor, staff and office-boy of
The W.L.T. Well, the writer of those
epoch-making articles confesses that he
485
owes all his skill to his early training,
when, a happy lad at his little desk in
school, he used to write trenchantly in
his note-book on the subject of the
authorities. There is an example for
you. Of course we can never be like
him, but let, oh! let us be as like him as
were able to be. A final word to those
lost ones who dictate the notes. Why
are our ears so constantly assailed with
unnecessary explanations of, and
opinions on, English literature? Prey
upon the Classics if you will. It is a
revolting habit, but too common to
excite overmuch horror. But surely
anybody, presupposing a certain bias
towards sanity, can understand the
Classics of our own language, with the
exception, of course, of Browning.
Take Tennyson, for example. How
often have we been forced to take down
from dictation the miserable
maunderings of some commentator on
the subject of Maud. A person reads
Maud, and either likes it or dislikes it.
In any case his opinion is not likely to
be influenced by writing down at
express speed the opinions of somebody
else concerning the methods or
objectivity and subjectivity of the
author when he produced the work.
Somebody told me a short time ago
that Shelley was an example of
supreme, divine, superhuman genius. It
is the sort of thing Mr Gilberts
rapturous maidens might have said:
How Botticellian! How Fra
Angelican! How perceptively intense
and consummately utter! There is
really no material difference.
486 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
NOW, TALKING ABOUT CRICKET
In the days of yore, when these white
hairs were brownor was it black? At
any rate, they were not whiteand I
was at school, it was always my
custom, when Fate obliged me to walk
to school with a casual acquaintance, to
whom I could not unburden my soul of
those profound thoughts which even
then occupied my mind, to turn the
struggling conversation to the relative
merits of cricket and football.
Do you like cricket better than
footer? was my formula. Now, though
at the time, in order to save fruitless
argument, I always agreed with my
companion, and praised the game he
praised, in the innermost depths of my
sub-consciousness, cricket ranked a
long way in front of all other forms of
sport. I may be wrong. More than once
in my career it has been represented to
me that I couldnt play cricket for nuts.
My captain said as much when I ran
him out in the match of the season after
he had made forty-nine and looked like
stopping. A bowling acquaintance
heartily endorsed his opinion on the
occasion of my missing three catches
off him in one over. This, however, I
attribute to prejudice, for the man I
missed ultimately reached his century,
mainly off the deliveries of my bowling
acquaintance. I pointed out to him that,
had I accepted any one of the three
chances, we should have missed seeing
the prettiest century made on the ground
that season; but he was one of those
bowlers who sacrifice all that is
beautiful in the game to mere wickets.
A sordid practice.
Later on, the persistence with which
my county ignored my claims to
inclusion in the team, convinced me that
I must leave cricket fame to others.
True, I did figure, rather prominently,
too, in one county match. It was at the
Oval, Surrey v. Middlesex. How well I
remember that occasion! Albert Trott
was bowling (Bertie we used to call
him); I forget who was batting.
Suddenly the ball came soaring in my
direction. I was not nervous. I put
down the sandwich I was eating, rose
from my seat, picked the ball up neatly,
and returned it with unerring aim to a
fieldsman who was waiting for it with
becoming deference. Thunders of
applause went up from the crowded
ring.
That was the highest point I ever
reached in practical cricket. But, as the
historian says of Mr Winkle, a man may
be an excellent sportsman in theory,
even if he fail in practice. Thats me.
Reader (if any), have you ever played
cricket in the passage outside your
study with a walking-stick and a ball of
paper? Thats the game, my boy, for
testing your skill of wrist and eye. A
century v. the M.C.C. is well enough in
its way, but give me the man who can
watch em in a narrow passage, lit only
by a flickering gas-jetone for every
hit, four if it reaches the end, and six if
it goes downstairs full-pitch, any pace
bowling allowed. To make double
figures in such a match is to taste life.
Only you had better do your tasting
when the House-master is out for the
evening.
I like to watch the young cricket idea
shooting. I refer to the lower games,
where next man in umpires with his
pads on, his loins girt, and a bat in his
hand. Many people have wondered
why it is that no budding umpire can
officiate unless he holds a bat. For my
part, I think there is little foundation for
the theory that it is part of a semi-
religious rite, on the analogy of the
 NOW, TALKING ABOUT CRICKET
Freemasons special handshake and the
like. Nor do I altogether agree with the
authorities who allege that man, when
standing up, needs something as a prop
or support. There is a shadow of
reason, I grant, in this supposition, but
after years of keen observation I am
inclined to think that the umpire keeps
his bat by him, firstly, in order that no
unlicensed hand shall commandeer it
unbeknownst, and secondly, so that he
shall be ready to go in directly his
predecessor is out. There is an ill-
concealed restiveness about his
movements, as he watches the batsmen
getting set, that betrays an overwrought
spirit. Then of a sudden one of them
plays a ball on to his pad. s that? asks
the bowler, with an overdone
carelessness. Clean out. Now Im in,
and already he is rushing up the middle
of the pitch to take possession. When
he gets to the wicket a short argument
ensues. Look here, you idiot, I hit it
hard. Rot, man, out of the way.
!!??! Look here, Smith, are you
going to dispute the umpires decision?
Chorus of fieldsmen: Get out, Smith,
you ass. Youve been given out years
ago. Overwhelmed by popular
execration, Smith reluctantly departs,
registering in the black depths of his
soul a resolution to take on the
umpireship at once, with a view to
gaining an artistic revenge by giving his
enemy run out on the earliest possible
occasion. There is a primeval
insouciance about this sort of thing
which is as refreshing to a mind jaded
with the stiff formality of professional
umpires as a cold shower-bath.
I have made a special study of last-
wicket men; they are divided into two
classes, the deplorably nervous, or the
outrageously confident. The nervous
largely outnumber the confident. The
launching of a last-wicket man, when
487
there are ten to make to win, or five
minutes left to make a draw of a losing
game, is fully as impressive a ceremony
as the launching of the latest battleship.
An interested crowd harasses the poor
victim as he is putting on his pads.
Feel in a funk? asks some tactless
friend. N-n-no, norrabit. Thats
right, says the captain encouragingly,
bowlings as easy as anything.
This cheers the wretch up a little,
until he remembers suddenly that the
captain himself was distinctly at sea
with the despised trundling, and
succumbed to his second ball, about
which he obviously had no idea
whatever. At this he breaks down
utterly, and, if emotional, will sob into
his batting glove. He is assisted down
the Pavilion steps, and reaches the
wickets in a state of collapse. Here,
very probably, a reaction will set in.
The sight of the crease often comes as a
positive relief after the vague terrors
experienced in the Pavilion.
The confident last-wicket man, on
the other hand, goes forth to battle with
a light quip upon his lips. The lot of a
last-wicket batsman, with a good eye
and a sense of humour, is a very
enviable one. The incredulous disgust
of the fast bowler, who thinks that at
last he may safely try that slow head-
ball of his, and finds it lifted genially
over the leg-boundary, is well worth
seeing. I remember in one school
match, the last man, unfortunately on
the opposite side, did this three times in
one over, ultimately retiring to a fluky
catch in the slips with forty-one to his
name. Nervousness at cricket is a
curious thing. As the author of Willow
the King, himself a county cricketer, has
said, it is not the fear of getting out that
causes funk. It is a sort of intangible je
ne sas quoi. I trust I make myself
clear. Some batsmen are nervous all
488 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
through a long innings. With others the
feeling disappears with the first
boundary.
A young ladyit is, of course, not
polite to mention her age to the minute,
but it ranged somewhere between eight
and tenwas taken to see a cricket
match once. After watching the game
with interest for some time, she gave
out this profound truth: They all attend
specially to one man. It would be
difficult to sum up the causes of funk
more lucidly and concisely. To be an
object of interest is sometimes pleasant,
but when ten fieldsmen, a bowler, two
umpires, and countless spectators are
eagerly watching your every movement,
the thing becomes embarrassing.
That is why it is, on the whole,
preferable to be a cricket spectator
rather than a cricket player. No game
affords the spectator such unique
opportunities of exerting his critical
talents. You may have noticed that it is
always the reporter who knows most
about the game. Everyone, moreover,
is at heart a critic, whether he represent
the majesty of the Press or not. From
the lady of Hoxton, who crushes her
friends latest confection with the
words, My, wot an at! down to that
lowest class of all, the persons who call
your attention (in print) to the sinister
meaning of everything Clytemnestra
says in The Agamemnon, the whole
world enjoys expressing an opinion of
its own about something.
In football you are vouchsafed fewer
chances. Practically all you can do is to
shout off-side whenever an opponent
scores, which affords but meagre
employment for a really critical mind.
In cricket, however, nothing can escape
you. Everything must be done in full
sight of everybody. There the players
stand, without refuge, simply inviting
criticism.
It is best, however, not to make
ones remarks too loud. If you do, you
call down upon yourself the attention of
others, and are yourself criticized. I
remember once, when I was of tender
years, watching a school match, and one
of the batsmen lifted a ball clean over
the Pavilion. This was too much for my
sensitive and critical young mind. On
the carpet, sir, I shouted sternly, well
up in the treble clef, keep em on the
carpet. I will draw a veil. Suffice it to
say that I became a sport and derision,
and was careful for the future to
criticize in a whisper. But the reverse
by no means crushed me. Even now I
take a melancholy pleasure in watching
school matches, and saying So-and-So
will make quite a fair school-boy bat in
time, but he must get rid of that stroke
of his on the off, and that shocking leg-
hit, and a few of those awful strokes in
the slips, but that on the whole, he is by
no means lacking in promise. I find it
refreshing. If, however, you feel
compelled not merely to look on, but to
play, as one often does at schools where
cricket is compulsory, it is impossible
to exaggerate the importance of white
boots. The game you play before you
get white boots is not cricket, but a
weak imitation. The process of
initiation is generally this. One plays in
shoes for a few years with the most dire
result, running away to square leg from
fast balls, and so on, till despair seizes
the soul. Then an angel in human form,
in the very effective disguise of the man
at the school boot-shop, hints that, for
an absurdly small sum in cash, you may
become the sole managing director of a
pair of white buckskin boots with real
spikes. You try them on. They fit, and
the initiation is complete. You no
longer run away from fast balls. You
turn them neatly off to the boundary. In
a word, you begin for the first time to
 NOW, TALKING ABOUT CRICKET
play the game, the whole game, and
nothing but the game.
There are misguided people who
complain that cricket is becoming a
business more than a game, as if that
were not the most fortunate thing that
could happen. When it ceases to be a
mere business and becomes a religious
ceremony, it will be a sign that the
millennium is at hand. The person who
regards cricket as anything less than a
business is no fit companion, gentle
reader, for the likes of you and me. As
long as the game goes in his favour the
cloven hoof may not show itself. But
give him a good steady spell of leather-
hunting, and you will know him for
what he is, a mere dilettante, a dabbler,
in a word, a worm, who ought never to
be allowed to play at all. The worst of
this species will sometimes take
advantage of the fact that the game in
which they happen to be playing is only
a scratch game, upon the result of which
no very great issues hang, to pollute the
air they breathe with verbal, and the
ground they stand on with physical,
buffooneries. Many a time have I, and
many a time have you, if you are what I
take you for, shed tears of blood, at the
sight of such. Careless returns,
overthrowsbut enough of a painful
subject. Let us pass on.
I have always thought it a better fate
for a man to be born a bowler than a
489
bat. A batsman certainly gets a
considerable amount of innocent fun by
snicking good fast balls just off his
wicket to the ropes, and standing
stolidly in front against slow leg-
breaks. These things are good, and help
one to sleep peacefully o nights, and
enjoy ones meals. But no batsman can
experience that supreme emotion of
something attempted, something done,
which comes to a bowler when a ball
pitches in a hole near points feet, and
whips into the leg stump. It is one
crowded second of glorious life. Again,
the words retired hurt on the score-
sheet are far more pleasant to the
bowler than the batsman. The groan of
a batsman when a loose ball hits him
full pitch in the ribs is genuine. But the
Awfully-sorry-old-chap-it-slipped of
the bowler is not. Half a loaf is better
than no bread, as Mr Chamberlain
might say, and if he cannot hit the
wicket, he is perfectly contented with
hitting the man. In my opinion,
therefore, the bowlers lot, in spite of
billiard table wickets, red marl, and
such like inventions of a degenerate
age, is the happier one.
And here, glowing with pride of
originality at the thought that I have
written of cricket without mentioning
Alfred Mynn or Fuller Pilch, I heave a
reminiscent sigh, blot my MS., and
thrust my pen back into its sheath.
490 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
THE TOM BROWN QUESTION
The man in the corner had been
trying to worry me into a conversation
for some time. He had asked me if I
objected to having the window open.
He had said something rather bitter
about the War Office, and had hoped I
did not object to smoking. Then,
finding that I stuck to my book through
everything, he made a fresh attack.
I see you are reading Tom Browns
Schooldays, he said.
This was a plain and uninteresting
statement of fact, and appeared to me to
require no answer. I read on.
Fine book, sir.
Very.
I suppose you have heard of the
Tom Brown Question?
I shut my book wearily, and said I
had not.
It is similar to the Homeric
Question. You have heard of that, I
suppose?
I knew that there was a discussion
about the identity of the author of the
Iliad. When at school I had been made
to take down notes on the subject until I
had grown to loathe the very name of
Homer.
You see, went on my companion,
the difficulty about Tom Browns
Schooldays is this. It is obvious that
part one and part two were written by
different people. You admit that, I
suppose?
I always thought Mr Hughes wrote
the whole book.
Dear me, not really? Why, I
thought everyone knew that he only
wrote the first half. The question is,
who wrote the second. I know, but I
dont suppose ten other people do. No,
sir.
What makes you think he didnt
write the second part?
My dear sir, just read it. Read part
one carefully, and then read part two.
Why, you can see in a minute.
I said I had read the book three
times, but had never noticed anything
peculiar about it, except that the second
half was not nearly so interesting as the
first.
Well, just tell me this. Do you think
the same man created East and Arthur?
Now then.
I admitted that it was difficult to
understand such a thing.
There was a time, of course,
continued my friend, when everybody
thought as you do. The book was
published under Hughess name, and it
was not until Professor Burkett-Smith
wrote his celebrated monograph on the
subject that anybody suspected a dual,
or rather a composite, authorship.
Burkett-Smith, if you remember, based
his arguments on two very significant
points. The first of these was a
comparison between the football match
in the first part and the cricket match in
the second. After commenting upon the
truth of the former description, he went
on to criticize the latter. Do you
remember that match? You do? Very
well. You recall how Tom wins the
toss on a plumb wicket?
Yes.
Then with the usual liberality of
young hands (I quote from the book) he
put the M.C.C. in first. Now, my dear
sir, I ask you, would a school captain do
that? I am young, says one of Gilberts
characters, the Grand Duke, I think, but,
he adds, I am not so young as that.
Tom may have been young, but would
he, could he have been young enough to
put his opponents in on a true wicket,
when he had won the toss? Would the
Tom Brown of part one have done such
 THE TOM BROWN QUESTION
a thing?
Never, I shouted, with enthusiasm.
But thats nothing to what he does
afterwards. He permits, he actually sits
there and permits, comic songs and
speeches to be made during the
luncheon interval. Comic Songs! Do
you hear me, sir? COMIC SONGS!!
And this when he wanted every minute
of time he could get to save the match.
Would the Tom Brown of part one have
done such a thing?
Never, never. I positively shrieked
the words this time.
Burkett-Smith put that point very
well. His second argument is founded
on a single remark of Toms, or rather
Or rather, I interrupted, fiercely,
or rather of the wretched miserable
Contemptible, said my friend.
Despicable, scoundrelly, impostor
who masquerades as Tom in the second
half of the book.
Exactly, said he. Thank you very
much. I have often thought the same
myself. The remark to which I refer is
that which he makes to the master while
he is looking on at the M.C.C. match.
In passing, sir, might I ask you whether
the Tom Brown of part one would have
been on speaking terms with such a
master?
I shook my head violently. I was too
exhausted to speak.
You remember the remark? The
master commented on the fact that
Arthur is a member of the first eleven. I
forget Toms exact words, but the
substance of them is this, that, though
on his merits Arthur was not worth his
place, he thought it would do him such
a lot of good being in the team. Do I
make myself plain, sir? Hethought
itwoulddo himsucha- been written by anyone except the
lotofgoodbeinginthe- author of the fight with Flashman in the
team!!!
491
There was a pause. We sat looking
at one another, forming silently with
our lips the words that still echoed
through the carriage.
Burkett-Smith, continued my
companion, makes a great deal of that
remark. His peroration is a very fine
piece of composition. Whether
(concludes he) the captain of a school
cricket team who could own
spontaneously to having been guilty of
so horrible, so terrible an act of
favouritismical jobbery, who could sit
unmoved and see his team being beaten
in the most important match of the
season (and, indeed, for all that the
author tells us it may have been the only
match of the season), for no other
reason than that he thought a first
eleven cap would prove a valuable tonic
to an unspeakable personal friend of
his, whether, I say, the Tom Brown who
acted thus could have been the Tom
Brown who headed the revolt of the
fags in part one, is a question which, to
the present writer, offers no difficulties.
I await with confidence the verdict of a
free, enlightened, and conscientious
public of my fellow-countrymen. Fine
piece of writing, that, sir?
Very, I said.
That pamphlet, of course, caused a
considerable stir. Opposing parties
began to be formed, some maintaining
that Burkett-Smith was entirely right,
others that he was entirely wrong, while
the rest said he might have been more
wrong if he had not been so right, but
that if he had not been so mistaken he
would probably have been a great deal
more correct. The great argument put
forward by the supporters of what I may
call the One Author view, was, that
the fight in part two could not have
school-house hall. And this is the point
492 TALES OF ST. AUSTIN'S
which has led to all the discussion.
Eliminate the Slogger Williams episode,
and the whole of the second part stands
out clearly as the work of another hand.
But there is one thing that seems to
have escaped the notice of everybody.
Yes? I said.
He leant forward impressively, and
whispered. Only the actual fight is the
work of the genuine author. The
interference of Arthur has been
interpolated!
By Jove! I said. Not really? not supposed to be perfect.
Yes. Fact, I assure you. Why, think
for a minute. Could a man capable of
describing a fight as that fight is
described, also be capable of stopping it
just as the man the reader has backed all
through is winning? It would be brutal.
Positively brutal, sir!
Then, how do you explain it?
A year ago I could not have told
you. Now I can. For five years I have
been unravelling the mystery by the aid
of that one clue. Listen. When Mr
Hughes had finished part one, he threw
down his pen and started to Wales for a
holiday. He had been there a week or
more, when one day, as he was
reclining on the peak of a mountain
looking down a deep precipice, he was
aware of a body of men approaching
him. They were dressed soberly in
garments of an inky black. Each had
side whiskers, and each wore
spectacles. Mr Hughes, I believe?
said the leader, as they came up to him.
"Your servant, sir, said he.
"We have come to speak to you on
an important matter, Mr Hughes. We
are the committee of the Secret Society
For Putting Wholesome Literature
Within The Reach Of Every Boy, And
Seeing That He Gets It. I, sir, am the
president of the
S.S.F.P.W.L.W.T.R.O.E.B.A.S.T.H.G.I.
He bowed.
"Really, sir, Ierdont think I
have the pleasure, began Mr Hughes.
"You shall have the pleasure, sir.
We have come to speak to you about
your book. Our representative has read
Part I, and reports unfavourably upon
it. It contains no moral. There are
scenes of violence, and your hero is far
from perfect.
"I think you mistake my object,
said Mr Hughes; Tom is a boy, not a
patent medicine. In other words, he is
"Well, I am not here to bandy
words. The second part of your book
must be written to suit the rules of our
Society. Do you agree, or shall we
throw you over that precipice?
"Never. I mean, I dont agree.
"Then we must write it for you.
Remember, sir, that you will be
constantly watched, and if you attempt
to write that second part yourself
(he paused dramatically). So the
second part was written by the
committee of the Society. So now you
know.
But, said I, how do you account
for the fight with Slogger Williams?
The president relented slightly
towards the end, and consented to Mr
Hughes inserting a chapter of his own,
on condition that the Society should
finish it. And the Society did. See?
But
Ticket.
Eh?
Ticket, please, sir.
I looked up. The guard was standing
at the open door. My companion had
vanished.
Guard, said I, as I handed him my
ticket, wheres the gentleman who
travelled up with me?
Gentleman, sir? I havent seen
nobody.
Not a man in tweeds with red hair?
 THE TOM BROWN QUESTION 493

I mean, in tweeds and owning red hair. dreamed it, sir.

No, sir. Youve been alone in the Possibly I did.
carriage all the way up. Must have