A PREFECT'S UNCLE

by P. G. Wodehouse

1903

[Dedication]TO W. TOWNEND

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 Leicester's 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

[1]

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 broughtWilliam into the room. William was attached to Leicester's House, Beckford College, as a mixture of butler and bootboy. He carried a pailof water in his hand. He had been engaged in cleaning up the Houseagainst the conclusion of the summer holidays, of which this was thelast evening, by the simple process of transferring all dust, dirt, andother foreign substances from the floor to his own person. 

''Ullo, Mr Marriott, ' he said. 

'Hullo, William, ' said Marriott. 'How are you? Still jogging along?That's a mercy. I say, look here, I want a quiet word in season withthe authorities. They must have known I was coming back this evening. Of course they did. Why, they specially wrote and asked me. Well, where's the red carpet? Where's the awning? Where's the brass band thatought to have met me at the station? Where's anything? I tell you whatit is, William, my old companion, there's a bad time coming for theHeadmaster if he doesn't mind what he's doing. He must learn that lifeis stern and life is earnest, William. Has Gethryn come back yet?'

William, who had been gasping throughout this harangue, for theintellectual pressure of Marriott's conversation (of which there wasalways plenty) was generally too much for him, caught thankfully at thelast remark as being the only intelligible one uttered up to presentdate, and made answer--

'Mr Gethryn 'e's gorn out on to the field, Mr Marriott. 'E come 'arf anhour ago. '

'Oh! Right. Thanks. Goodbye, William. Give my respects to the cook, andmind you don't work too hard. Think what it would be if you developedheart disease. Awful! You mustn't do it, William. '

Marriott vanished, and William, slightly dazed, went about hisprofessional duties once more. Marriott walked out into the grounds insearch of Gethryn. Gethryn was the head of Leicester's this term, _vice_ Reynolds departed, and Marriott, who was second man up, shared a study with him. Leicester's had not a good name at Beckford, in spite of the fact that it was generally in the running for thecricket and football cups. The fact of the matter was that, with theexception of Gethryn, Marriott, a boy named Reece, who kept wicket forthe School Eleven, and perhaps two others, Leicester's seniors were nota good lot. To the School in general, who gauged a fellow's characterprincipally by his abilities in the cricket and football fields, itseemed a very desirable thing to be in Leicester's. They had beenrunners-up for the House football cup that year, and this term mighteasily see the cricket cup fall to them. Amongst the few, however, itwas known that the House was passing through an unpleasant stage in itscareer. A House is either good or bad. It is seldom that it can combinethe advantages of both systems. Leicester's was bad. 

This was due partly to a succession of bad Head-prefects, and partly toLeicester himself, who was well-meaning but weak. His spirit waswilling, but his will was not spirited. When things went on that oughtnot to have gone on, he generally managed to avoid seeing them, and thethings continued to go on. Altogether, unless Gethryn's rule should actas a tonic, Leicester's was in a bad way. 

The Powers that Be, however, were relying on Gethryn to effect someimprovement. He was in the Sixth, the First Fifteen, and the FirstEleven. Also a backbone was included in his anatomy, and if he made uphis mind to a thing, that thing generally happened. 

The Rev. James Beckett, the Headmaster of Beckford, had formed a veryfair estimate of Gethryn's capabilities, and at the moment whenMarriott was drawing the field for the missing one, that worthy wassitting in the Headmaster's study with a cup in his right hand and amuffin (half-eaten) in his left, drinking in tea and wisdomsimultaneously. The Head was doing most of the talking. He had led upto the subject skilfully, and, once reached, he did not leave it. Thetext of his discourse was the degeneracy of Leicester's. 

'Now, you know, Gethryn--another muffin? Help yourself. You know, Reynolds--well, he was a capital boy in his way, capital, and I'm surewe shall all miss him very much--_but_ he was not a good head of aHouse. He was weak. Much too weak. Too easy-going. You must avoid that, Gethryn. Reynolds.... ' And much more in the same vein. Gethryn left theroom half an hour later full of muffins and good resolutions. He metMarriott at the fives-courts. 

'Where have you been to?' asked Marriott. 'I've been looking for youall over the shop. '

'I and my friend the Headmaster, ' said Gethryn, 'have been having aquiet pot of tea between us. '

'Really? Was he affable?'

'Distinctly affable. '

'You know, ' said Marriott confidentially, 'he asked me in, but I toldhim it wasn't good enough. I said that if he would consent to make histea with water that wasn't two degrees below lukewarm, and bring on hismuffins cooked instead of raw, and supply some butter to eat with them, I might look him up now and then. Otherwise it couldn't be done at theprice. But what did he want you for, really?'

'He was ragging me about the House. Quite right, too. You know, there'sno doubt about it, Leicester's does want bucking up. '

'We're going to get the cricket cup, ' said Marriott, for the defence. 

'We may. If it wasn't for the Houses in between. School House andJephson's especially. And anyhow, that's not what I meant. The gamesare all right. It's--'

'The moral _je-ne-sais-quoi_, so to speak, ' said Marriott. 'That'll be all right. Wait till we get at 'em. What I want you to turnyour great brain to now is this letter. '

He produced a letter from his pocket. 'Don't you bar chaps who show youtheir letters?' he said. 'This was written by an aunt of mine. I don'twant to inflict the whole lot on you. Just look at line four. You seewhat she says: "A boy is coming to Mr Leicester's House this term, whomI particularly wish you to befriend. He is the son of a great friend ofa friend of mine, and is a nice, bright little fellow, very jolly andfull of spirits. "'

'That means, ' interpolated Gethryn grimly, 'that he is up to the eyesin pure, undiluted cheek, and will want kicking after every meal andbefore retiring to rest. Go on. '

'His name is--'

'Well?'

'That's the point. At this point the manuscript becomes absolutelyillegible. I have conjectured Percy for the first name. It may beRichard, but I'll plunge on Percy. It's the surname that stumps me. Personally, I think it's MacCow, though I trust it isn't, for the kid'ssake. I showed the letter to my brother, the one who's at Oxford. Heswore it was Watson, but, on being pressed, hedged with Sandys. You mayas 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. It's Duncan. '

'Think so?' said Marriott doubtfully. 'Well, let's go and ask thematron if she knows anything about him. '

'Miss Jones, ' he said, when they had reached the House, 'have you onyour list of new boys a sportsman of the name of MacCow or Watson? I amalso prepared to accept Sandys or Duncan. The Christian name is eitherRichard or Percy. There, that gives you a fairly wide field to choosefrom. '

'There's a P. V. Wilson on the list, ' said the matron, after aninspection of that document. 

'That must be the man, ' said Marriott. 'Thanks very much. I suppose hehasn't 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. I'llcome down for him later on. '

They strolled out on to the field again. 

'In _re_ the proposed bucking-up of the House, ' said Marriott, 'it'll be rather a big job. '

'Rather. I should think so. We ought to have a most fearfully sportingtime. It's got to be done. The Old Man talked to me like severalfathers. '

'What did he say?'

'Oh, heaps of things. '

'I know. Did he mention amongst other things that Reynolds was theworst 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 thegelatine-backboned worm. That's not my own, but it's the onlydescription of him that really suits. Monk and Danvers and the mob ingeneral used to do what they liked with him. Talking of Monk, when youembark on your tour of moral agitation, I should advise you to startwith him. '

'Yes. And Danvers. There isn't much to choose between them. It's a pitythey're both such good bats. When you see a chap putting them throughthe slips like Monk does, you can't help thinking there must besomething in him. '

'So there is, ' said Marriott, 'and it's all bad. I bar the man. He'sslimy. It's 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. Monk's going to Heidelberg tostudy German, and Danvers is going into his pater's business in theCity. I got that from Waterford. '

'Waterford is another beast, ' said Gethryn thoughtfully. 'I supposehe's not leaving by any chance?'

'Not that I know of. But he'll be nothing without Monk and Danvers. He's simply a sort of bottle-washer to the firm. When they go he'llcollapse. Let's be strolling towards the House now, shall we? Hullo!Our only Reece! Hullo, Reece!'

'Hullo!' said the new arrival. Reece was a weird, silent individual, whom everybody in the School knew up to a certain point, but very fewbeyond that point. His manner was exactly the same when talking to thesmallest fag as when addressing the Headmaster. He rather gave one theimpression that he was thinking of something a fortnight ahead, ortrying to solve a chess problem without the aid of the board. Inappearance he was on the short side, and thin. He was in the Sixth, anda conscientious worker. Indeed, he was only saved from being considereda swot, to use the vernacular, by the fact that from childhood'searliest 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 fiveyears before, in aid of the Church Missionary Society, in which thepreacher had alluded at frequent intervals to another Gethryn, abishop, who, it appeared, had a see, and did much excellent work amongthe heathen at the back of beyond. Gethryn's friends and acquaintances, who had been alternating between 'Ginger'--Gethryn's hair beinginclined to redness--and 'Sneg', a name which utterly baffles thephilologist, had welcomed the new name warmly, and it had stuck eversince. And, after all, there are considerably worse names by which onemight 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 ofcommon decency, after rousing our expectations like that. '

'All right! It isn't private. It's from an aunt of mine. '

'Seems to be a perfect glut of aunts, ' said Marriott. 'What views hasyour representative got to air? Is _she_ springing any jollylittle fellow full of spirits on this happy community?'

'No, it's not that. It's only an uncle of mine who's coming down here. He's coming tomorrow, and I'm to meet him. The uncanny part of it isthat I've never heard of him before in my life. '

'That reminds me of a story I heard--' began Reece slowly. Reece'sobservations were not frequent, but when they came, did so for the mostpart in anecdotal shape. Somebody was constantly doing something whichreminded him of something he had heard somewhere from somebody. Theunfortunate part of it was that he exuded these reminiscences at such aleisurely rate of speed that he was rarely known to succeed infinishing any of them. He resembled those serial stories which appearin papers destined at a moderate price to fill an obvious void, andwhich break off abruptly at the third chapter, owing to the prematuredecease of the said periodicals. On this occasion Marriott cut in witha few sage remarks on the subject of uncles as a class. 'Uncles, ' hesaid, 'are tricky. You never know where you've got 'em. You thinkthey're going to come out strong with a sovereign, and they make it ashilling without a blush. An uncle of mine once gave me a threepennybit. If it hadn't been that I didn't wish to hurt his feelings, Ishould have flung it at his feet. Also I particularly wanted threepenceat the moment. Is your uncle likely to do his duty, Bishop?'

'I tell you I don't know the man. Never heard of him. I thought I knewevery uncle on the list, but I can't place this one. However, I supposeI shall have to meet him. '

'Rather, ' said Marriott, as they went into the House; 'we should alwaysstrive to be kind, even to the very humblest. On the off chance, youknow. The unknown may have struck it rich in sheep or something out inAustralia. Most uncles come from Australia. Or he may be the boss ofsome trust, and wallowing in dollars. He may be anything. Let's go andbrew, Bishop. Come on, Reece. '

'I don't mind watching you two chaps eat, ' said Gethryn, 'but I can'tjoin in myself. I have assimilated three pounds odd of theHeadmagisterial muffins already this afternoon. Don't mind me, though. '

They went upstairs to Marriott's study, which was also Gethryn's. Twoin a study was the rule at Beckford, though there were recluses wholived alone, and seemed to enjoy it. 

When the festive board had ceased to groan, and the cake, whichMarriott's mother had expected to last a fortnight, had been reduced toa mere wreck of its former self, the thought of his aunt's friend'sfriend's son returned to Marriott, and he went down to investigate, returning shortly afterwards unaccompanied, but evidently full of news. 

'Well?' said Gethryn. 'Hasn't 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 inthe atmosphere. There is usually a row going on that you could cut witha knife. I looked about. The room was apparently empty. Then I observeda quaint object on the horizon. Do you know one Skinner by any chance?'

'My dear chap!' said Gethryn. Skinner was a sort of juvenile ProfessorMoriarty, a Napoleon of crime. He reeked of crime. He revelled in hiswicked deeds. If a Dormitory-prefect was kept awake at night by somediabolically ingenious contrivance for combining the minimum of riskwith the maximum of noise, then it was Skinner who had engineered thething. Again, did a master, playing nervously forward on a bad pitch atthe nets to Gosling, the School fast bowler, receive the ball gaspinglyin the small ribs, and look round to see whose was that raucous laughwhich had greeted the performance, he would observe a couple of yardsaway Skinner, deep in conversation with some friend of equallyvillainous aspect. In short, in a word, the only adequate word, he wasSkinner. 

'Well?' said Reece. 

'Skinner, ' proceeded Marriott, 'was seated in a chair, bleeding freelyinto a rather dirty pocket-handkerchief. His usual genial smile washampered by a cut lip, and his right eye was blacked in the mostgraceful and pleasing manner. I made tender inquiries, but could getnothing from him except grunts. So I departed, and just outside thedoor I met young Lee, and got the facts out of him. It appears that P. V. Wilson, my aunt's friend's friend's son, entered the fags' room atfour-fifteen. At four-fifteen-and-a-half, punctually, Skinner wasobserved to be trying to rag him. Apparently the great Percy has nosense of humour, for at four-seventeen he got tired of it, and hitSkinner crisply in the right eyeball, blacking the same as perillustration. 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 opponent'sproboscis. Skinner's reply was to sit down heavily on the floor, andgive him to understand that the fight was over, and that for the nextday or two his face would be closed for alterations and repairs. Wilsonthereupon harangued the company in well-chosen terms, tried to getSkinner to shake hands, but failed, and finally took the entire crewout to the shop, where they made pigs of themselves at his expense. Ihave spoken. '

'And that's the kid you've got to look after, ' said Reece, after apause. 

'Yes, ' said Marriott. 'What I maintain is that I require a kid built onthose lines to look after me. But you ought to go down and seeSkinner's eye sometime. It's a beautiful bit of work. '

[2]

INTRODUCES AN UNUSUAL UNCLE

On the following day, at nine o'clock, the term formally began. Thereis nothing of Black Monday about the first day of term at a publicschool. Black Monday is essentially a private school institution. 

At Beckford the first day of every term was a half holiday. During themorning a feeble pretence of work was kept up, but after lunch theschool was free, to do as it pleased and to go where it liked. The netswere put up for the first time, and the School professional emerged atlast from his winter retirement with his, 'Coom _right_ out to'em, sir, right forward', which had helped so many Beckford cricketersto do their duty by the School in the field. There was one net for theelect, the remnants of last year's Eleven and the 'probables' for thisseason, and half a dozen more for lesser lights. 

At the first net Norris was batting to the bowling of Gosling, a long, thin day boy, Gethryn, and the professional--as useful a trio as anyschool batsman could wish for. Norris was captain of the team thisyear, a sound, stylish bat, with a stroke after the manner of Tyldesleybetween cover and mid-off, which used to make Miles the professionalalmost weep with joy. But today he had evidently not quite got intoform. Twice in successive balls Gosling knocked his leg stump out ofthe ground with yorkers, and the ball after that, Gethryn upset hismiddle with a beauty. 

'Hat-trick, Norris, ' shouted Gosling. 

'Can't see 'em a bit today. Bowled, Bishop. '

A second teaser from Gethryn had almost got through his defence. TheBishop was undoubtedly a fine bowler. Without being quite so fast asGosling, he nevertheless contrived to work up a very considerable speedwhen he wished to, and there was always something in every ball hebowled which made it necessary for the batsman to watch it all the way. In matches against other schools it was generally Gosling who took thewickets. The batsmen were bothered by his pace. But when the M. C. C. Orthe Incogniti came down, bringing seasoned county men who knew whatfast 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 termwent on the river. A few rode bicycles or strolled out into the countryin couples, but the majority, amongst whom on this occasion wasMarriott, sallied to the water and hired boats. Marriott was one of thesix old cricket colours--the others were Norris, Gosling, Gethryn, Reece, and Pringle of the School House--who formed the foundation ofthis year's Eleven. He was not an ornamental bat, but stood quite alonein the matter of tall hitting. Twenty minutes of Marriott when in formwould often completely alter the course of a match. He had been givenhis colours in the previous year for making exactly a hundred insixty-one minutes against the Authentics when the rest of the team hadcontributed ninety-eight. The Authentics made a hundred andeighty-four, so that the School just won; and the story of how therewere five men out in the deep for him, and how he put the slow bowlerover their heads and over the ropes eight times in three overs, hadpassed into a school legend. 

But today other things than cricket occupied his attention. He had runWilson to earth, and was engaged in making his acquaintance, accordingto instructions received. 

'Are you Wilson?' he asked. 'P. V. Wilson?'

Wilson confirmed the charge. 

'My name's Marriott. Does that convey any significance to your youngmind?'

'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 won't have time, ofcourse. '

'I expect I shall have time to give you all the looking after you'llrequire. It won't be much, from all I've heard. Was all that true aboutyou 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 shouldn't think you'd have much troublewith Skinner in the future. By the way, I've got you for a fag thisterm. You don't have to do much in the summer. Just rot around, youknow, and go to the shop for biscuits and things, that's 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 it's your privilege to pipe-clay my cricket bootsoccasionally before First matches. You'll like that. Can you steer aboat?'

'I don't think so. I never tried. '

'It's easy enough. I'll tell you what to do. Anyhow, you probably won'tsteer any worse than I row, so let's go and get a boat out, and I'lltry and think of a few more words of wisdom for your benefit. '

At the nets Norris had finished his innings, and Pringle was batting inhis stead. Gethryn had given up his ball to Baynes, who bowled slowleg-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 tohim. Norris was the head of Jephson's House, and he and the Bishop werevery good friends, in a casual sort of way. If they did not see oneanother for a couple of days, neither of them broke his heart. Whenever, on the other hand, they did meet, they were always glad, andalways had plenty to talk about. Most school friendships are of thatdescription. 

'You were sending down some rather hot stuff, ' said Norris, as Gethrynsat down beside him, and began to inspect Pringle's performance with acritical eye. 

'I did feel rather fit, ' said he. 'But I don't think half those thatgot you would have taken wickets in a match. You aren't in form yet. '

'I tell you what it is, Bishop, ' said Norris, 'I believe I'm going tobe a rank failure this season. Being captain does put one off. '

'Don't be an idiot, man. How can you possibly tell after one day's playat the nets?'

'I don't know. I feel so beastly anxious somehow. I feel as if I waspersonally responsible for every match lost. It was all right last yearwhen John Brown was captain. Good old John! Do you remember his runningyou out in the Charchester match?'

'Don't, ' said Gethryn pathetically. 'The only time I've ever felt as ifI really was going to make that century. By Jove, see that drive?Pringle seems all right. '

'Yes, you know, he'll simply walk into his Blue when he goes up to theVarsity. What do you think of Baynes?'

'Ought to be rather useful on his wicket. Jephson thinks he's good. '

Mr Jephson looked after the School cricket. 

'Yes, I believe he rather fancies him, ' said Norris. 'Says he ought todo some big things if we get any rain. Hullo, Pringle, are you comingout? You'd better go in, then, Bishop. '

'All right. Thanks. Oh, by Jove, though, I forgot. I can't. I've got togo down to the station to meet an uncle of mine. '

'What's he coming up today for? Why didn't he wait till we'd got amatch of sorts on?'

'I don't know. The man's probably a lunatic. Anyhow, I shall have to goand meet him, and I shall just do it comfortably if I go and changenow. '

'Oh! Right you are! Sammy, do you want a knock?'

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, orpossibly two drinks, and a jolly good rest in the shade somewhere. Gosling was one of those rare individuals who cultivate bowling at theexpense of batting, a habit the reverse of what usually obtains inschools. 

Norris admitted the justice of his claims, and sent in a Second Elevenman, Baker, a member of his own House, in Pringle's place. Pringle andGosling adjourned to the School shop for refreshment. 

Gethryn walked with them as far as the gate which opened on to the roadwhere most of the boarding Houses stood, and then branched off in thedirection of Leicester's. To change into everyday costume took him aquarter of an hour, at the end of which period he left the House, andbegan to walk down the road in the direction of the station. 

It was an hour's easy walking between Horton, the nearest station toBeckford, and the College. Gethryn, who was rather tired after hisexertions at the nets, took it very easily, and when he arrived at hisdestination the church clock was striking four. 

'Is the three-fifty-six in yet?' he asked of the solitary porter whoministered to the needs of the traveller at Horton station. 

'Just a-coming in now, zur, ' said the porter, adding, in a sort ofinspired frenzy: ''Orton! 'Orton stertion! 'Orton!' and ringing a bellwith immense enthusiasm and vigour. 

Gethryn strolled to the gate, where the station-master's son stood atthe receipt of custom to collect the tickets. His uncle was to arriveby this train, and if he did so arrive, must of necessity pass this waybefore leaving the platform. The train panted in, pulled up, whistled, and puffed out again, leaving three people behind it. One of these wasa woman of sixty (approximately), the second a small girl of ten, thethird a young gentleman in a top hat and Etons, who carried a bag, andlooked as if he had seen the hollowness of things, for his face wore abored, supercilious look. His uncle had evidently not arrived, unlesshe had come disguised as an old woman, an act of which Gethryn refusedto believe him capable. 

He enquired as to the next train that was expected to arrive fromLondon. The station-master's son was not sure, but would ask theporter, whose name it appeared was Johnny. Johnny gave the correctanswer without an effort. 'Seven-thirty it was, sir, except onSaturdays, when it was eight o'clock. '

'Thanks, ' said the Bishop. 'Dash the man, he might at least havewired. '

He registered a silent wish concerning the uncle who had brought him along three miles out of his way with nothing to show at the end of it, and was just turning to leave the station, when the top-hatted smallboy, who had been hovering round the group during the conversation, addressed winged words to him. These were the winged words--

'I say, are you looking for somebody?' The Bishop stared at him as anaturalist stares at a novel species of insect. 

'Yes, ' he said. 'Why?'

'Is your name Gethryn?'

This affair, thought the Bishop, was beginning to assume an uncannyaspect. 

'How the dickens did you know that?' he said. 

'Oh, then you are Gethryn? That's all right. I was told you were goingto be here to meet this train. Glad to make your acquaintance. Myname's Farnie. I'm your uncle, you know. '

'My what?' gurgled the Bishop. 

'Your uncle. U-n, un; c-l-e--kul. Uncle. Fact, I assure you. '

[3]

THE UNCLE MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME

'But, dash it, ' said Gethryn, when he had finished gasping, 'that mustbe rot!'

'Not a bit, ' said the self-possessed youth. 'Your mater was my eldersister. You'll find it works out all right. Look here. A, the daughterof B and C, marries. No, look here. I was born when you were four. See?'

Then the demoralized Bishop remembered. He had heard of his juvenileuncle, but the tales had made little impression upon him. Till now theyhad not crossed one another's tracks. 

'Oh, all right, ' said he, 'I'll take your word for it. You seem to havebeen getting up the subject. '

'Yes. Thought you might want to know about it. I say, how far is it toBeckford, and how do you get there?'

Up till now Gethryn had scarcely realized that his uncle was actuallycoming to the School for good. These words brought the fact home tohim. 

'Oh, Lord, ' he said, 'are you coming to Beckford?'

The thought of having his footsteps perpetually dogged by an uncle fouryears younger than himself, and manifestly a youth with a fine taste incheek, was not pleasant. 

'Of course, ' said his uncle. 'What did you think I was going to do?Camp out on the platform?'

'What House are you in?'

'Leicester's. '

The worst had happened. The bitter cup was full, the iron neatlyinserted in Gethryn's soul. In his most pessimistic moments he hadnever looked forward to the coming term so gloomily as he did now. Hisuncle noted his lack of enthusiasm, and attributed it to anxiety onbehalf of himself. 

'What's up?' he asked. 'Isn't Leicester's all right? Is Leicester abeast?'

'No. He's a perfectly decent sort of man. It's a good enough House. Atleast it will be this term. I was only thinking of something. '

'I see. Well, how do you get to the place?'

'Walk. It isn't far. '

'How far?'

'Three miles. '

'The porter said four. '

'It may be four. I never measured it. '

'Well, how the dickens do you think I'm going to walk four miles withluggage? I wish you wouldn't rot. '

And before Gethryn could quite realize that he, the head ofLeicester's, the second-best bowler in the School, and the best centrethree-quarter the School had had for four seasons, had been requestedin 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 ordinarykid. 

'This man says, ' observed Farnie, returning to Gethryn, 'that he'lldrive me up to the College for seven bob. As it's a short four miles, and I've only got two boxes, it seems to me that he's doing himselffairly 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 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 toneof airy patronage which made the Bishop's blood boil. But as heintended to instil a few words of wisdom into his uncle's mind, he didnot refuse the offer. 

The cabman, apparently accepting the situation as one of those slingsand arrows of outrageous fortune which no man can hope to escape, settled down on the box, clicked up his horse, and drove on towards theCollege. 

'What sort of a hole is Beckford?' asked Farnie, after the silence hadlasted some time. 

'I find it good enough personally, ' said Gethryn. 'If you'd let us knowearlier that you were coming, we'd have had the place done up a bit foryou. '

This, of course, was feeble, distinctly feeble. But the Bishop was notfeeling himself. The essay in sarcasm left the would-be victim entirelyuncrushed. He should have shrunk and withered up, or at the least haveblushed. But he did nothing of the sort. He merely smiled in hissupercilious way, until the Bishop felt very much inclined to springupon him and throw him out of the cab. 

There was another pause. 

'Farnie, ' began Gethryn at last. 

'Um?'

'Doesn't it strike you that for a kid like you you've got a good dealof edge on?' asked Gethryn. 

Farnie effected a masterly counter-stroke. He pretended not to be ableto hear. He was sorry, but would the Bishop mind repeating his remark. 

'Eh? What?' he said. 'Very sorry, but this cab's making such a row. Isay, cabby, why don't you sign the pledge, and save your money up tobuy a new cab? Eh? Oh, sorry! I wasn't listening. ' Now, inasmuch as thewhole virtue of the 'wretched-little-kid-like-you' argument lies in thecrisp despatch with which it is delivered, Gethryn began to find, onrepeating his observation for the third time, that there was not quiteso much in it as he had thought. He prudently elected to change hisstyle of attack. 

'It doesn't matter, ' he said wearily, as Farnie opened his mouth todemand a fourth encore, 'it wasn't anything important. Now, look here, I just want to give you a few tips about what to do when you get to theColl. To start with, you'll have to take off that white tie you've goton. Black and dark blue are the only sorts allowed here. '

'How about yours then?' Gethryn was wearing a somewhat sweet thing inbrown 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 mytie. I always do, especially at night. It's a sort of habit I've gotinto. '

'Not quite so much of your beastly cheek, please, ' said Gethryn. 

'Right-ho!' said Farnie cheerfully, and silence, broken only by theshrieking of the cab wheels, brooded once more over the cab. ThenGethryn, feeling that perhaps it would be a shame to jump too severelyon a new boy on his first day at a large public school, began to thinkof something conciliatory to say. 'Look here, ' he said, 'you'll get onall right at Beckford, I expect. You'll find Leicester's a fairlydecent sort of House. Anyhow, you needn't be afraid you'll get bullied. There's none of that sort of thing at School nowadays. '

'Really?'

'Yes, and there's another thing I ought to warn you about. Have youbrought 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 Gethryn's only feeling was one of unmixed envy. Previouslyhe had considered himself passing rich on thirty shillings a term. Hehad heard legends, of course, of individuals who come to Schoolbursting with bullion, but never before had he set eyes upon such anone. But after a time it began to dawn upon him that for a new boy at apublic school, and especially at such a House as Leicester's had becomeunder the rule of the late Reynolds and his predecessors, there mightbe such a thing as having too much money. 

'How the deuce did you get all that?' he asked. 

'My pater gave it me. He's absolutely cracked on the subject ofpocket-money. Sometimes he doesn't give me a sou, and sometimes he'llgive me whatever I ask for. '

'But you don't mean to say you had the cheek to ask for fourteen quid?'

'I asked for fifteen. Got it, too. I've spent a pound of it. I said Iwanted to buy a bike. You can get a jolly good bike for five quidabout, so you see I scoop ten pounds. What?'

This ingenious, if slightly unscrupulous, feat gave Gethryn an insightinto his uncle's character which up till now he had lacked. He began tosee that the moral advice with which he had primed himself would be outof place. Evidently this youth could take quite good care of himself onhis own account. Still, even a budding Professor Moriarty would be nonethe worse for being warned against Gethryn's _bete noire_, Monk, so the Bishop proceeded to deliver that warning. 

'Well, ' he said, 'you seem to be able to look out for yourself allright, I must say. But there's one tip I really can give you. When youget to Leicester's, and a beast with a green complexion and an oilysmile comes up and calls you "Old Cha-a-p", and wants you to sweareternal friendship, tell him it's not good enough. Squash him!'

'Thanks, ' said Farnie. 'Who is this genial merchant?'

'Chap called Monk. You'll recognize him by the smell of scent. When youfind the place smelling like an Eau-de-Cologne factory, you'll knowMonk's somewhere near. Don't you have anything to do with him. '

'You seem to dislike the gentleman. '

'I bar the man. But that isn't why I'm giving you the tip to steerclear of him. There are dozens of chaps I bar who haven't an ounce ofvice in them. And there are one or two chaps who have got tons. Monk'sone of them. A fellow called Danvers is another. Also a beast of thename of Waterford. There are some others as well, but those are theworst of the lot. By the way, I forgot to ask, have you ever been toschool before?'

'Yes, ' said Farnie, in the dreamy voice of one who recalls memoriesfrom the misty past, 'I was at Harrow before I came here, and atWellington before I went to Harrow, and at Clifton before I went toWellington. '

Gethryn gasped. 

'Anywhere before you went to Clifton?' he enquired. 

'Only private schools. '

The recollection of the platitudes which he had been delivering, underthe impression that he was talking to an entirely raw beginner, madeGethryn feel slightly uncomfortable. What must this wanderer, who hadseen 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 wasn't there? That sensation andthe one Gethryn felt at this unexpected revelation were identical. Andthe worst of it was that he felt the keenest desire to know why Harrowhad seen fit to dispense with the presence of his uncle. 

'Why?' he began. 'I mean, ' he went on hurriedly, 'why did you leaveWellington?'

'Sacked, ' said Farnie again, with the monotonous persistence of aSolomon 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 suddenlydiscovered that his host enjoyed both those peculiarities. He struggledmanfully with his feelings for a time. Tact urged him to discontinuehis investigations and talk about the weather. Curiosity insisted uponknowing further details. Just as the struggle was at its height, Farniecame unexpectedly to the rescue. 

'It may interest you, ' he said, 'to know that I was not sacked fromClifton. '

Gethryn with some difficulty refrained from thanking him for theinformation. 

'I never stop at a school long, ' said Farnie. 'If I don't get sacked myfather takes me away after a couple of terms. I went to four privateschools before I started on the public schools. My pater took me awayfrom the first two because he thought the drains were bad, the thirdbecause they wouldn't teach me shorthand, and the fourth because hedidn't like the headmaster's face. I worked off those schools in a yearand a half. ' Having finished this piece of autobiography, he relapsedinto silence, leaving Gethryn to recollect various tales he had heardof his grandfather's eccentricity. The silence lasted until the Collegewas reached, when the matron took charge of Farnie, and Gethryn wentoff to tell Marriott of these strange happenings. 

Marriott was amused, nor did he attempt to conceal the fact. When hehad finished laughing, which was not for some time, he favoured theBishop with a very sound piece of advice. 'If I were you, ' he said, 'Ishould try and hush this affair up. It's all fearfully funny, but Ithink you'd enjoy life more if nobody knew this kid was your uncle. Tosee the head of the House going about with a juvenile uncle in his wakemight amuse the chaps rather, and you might find it harder to keeporder; I won't let it out, and nobody else knows apparently. Go andsquare the kid. Oh, I say though, what's his name? If it's Gethryn, you're done. Unless you like to swear he's a cousin. '

'No; his name's Farnie, thank goodness. '

'That's all right then. Go and talk to him. '

Gethryn went to the junior study. Farnie was holding forth to a knot offags at one end of the room. His audience appeared to be amused atsomething. 

'I say, Farnie, ' said the Bishop, 'half a second. '

Farnie came out, and Gethryn proceeded to inform him that, all thingsconsidered, and proud as he was of the relationship, it was notabsolutely essential that he should tell everybody that he was hisuncle. 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. 

'I'm very sorry, ' he said, 'I hadn't the least idea you wanted thething kept dark. How was I to know? I've just been telling it to someof the chaps in there. Awfully decent chaps. They seemed to think itrather funny. Anyhow, I'm not ashamed of the relationship. Not yet, atany rate. '

For a moment Gethryn seemed about to speak. He looked fixedly at hisuncle as he stood framed in the doorway, a cheerful column of cool, calm, concentrated cheek. Then, as if realizing that no words that heknew could do justice to the situation, he raised his foot in silence, and 'booted' his own flesh and blood with marked emphasis. After whichceremony he went, still without a word, upstairs again. 

As for Farnie, he returned to the junior day-room whistling 'DownSouth' in a soft but cheerful key, and solidified his growingpopularity with doles of food from a hamper which he had brought withhim. Finally, on retiring to bed and being pressed by the rest of hisdormitory for a story, he embarked upon the history of a certainPollock and an individual referred to throughout as the Porroh Man, theformer of whom caused the latter to be decapitated, and was everafterwards haunted by his head, which appeared to him all day and everyday (not excepting Sundays and Bank Holidays) in an upside-downposition and wearing a horrible grin. In the end Pollock very sensiblycommitted suicide (with ghastly details), and the dormitory thankedFarnie in a subdued and chastened manner, and tried, with smallsuccess, to go to sleep. In short, Farnie's first evening at Beckfordhad been quite a triumph. 

[4]

PRINGLE MAKES A SPORTING OFFER

Estimating it roughly, it takes a new boy at a public school about aweek to find his legs and shed his skin of newness. The period is, ofcourse, longer in the case of some and shorter in the case of others. Both Farnie and Wilson had made themselves at home immediately. In thecase of the latter, directly the Skinner episode had been noisedabroad, and it was discovered in addition that he was a promising bat, public opinion recognized that here was a youth out of the common runof new boys, and the Lower Fourth--the form in which he had been placedon arrival--took him to its bosom as an equal. Farnie's case wasexceptional. A career at Harrow, Clifton, and Wellington, however shortand abruptly terminated, gives one some sort of grip on the way publicschool life is conducted. At an early date, moreover, he gave signs ofwhat almost amounted to genius in the Indoor Game department. Now, success in the field is a good thing, and undoubtedly makes forpopularity. But if you desire to command the respect and admiration ofyour fellow-beings to a degree stretched almost to the point ofidolatry, make yourself proficient in the art of whiling away the hoursof afternoon school. Before Farnie's arrival, his form, the UpperFourth, with the best intentions in the world, had not been skilful'raggers'. They had ragged in an intermittent, once-a-week sort of way. When, however, he came on the scene, he introduced a welcome element ofscience into the sport. As witness the following. Mr Strudwick, theregular master of the form, happened on one occasion to be away for acouple of days, and a stop-gap was put in in his place. The name of thestop-gap was Mr Somerville Smith. He and Farnie exchanged an unspokendeclaration of war almost immediately. The first round went in MrSmith's favour. He contrived to catch Farnie in the act of performingsome ingenious breach of the peace, and, it being a Wednesday and ahalf-holiday, sent him into extra lesson. On the following morning, more by design than accident, Farnie upset an inkpot. Mr Smith observedicily that unless the stain was wiped away before the beginning ofafternoon school, there would be trouble. Farnie observed (to himself)that there would be trouble in any case, for he had hit upon thecentral idea for the most colossal 'rag' that, in his opinion, everwas. After morning school he gathered the form around him, anddisclosed his idea. The floor of the form-room, he pointed out, wassome dozen inches below the level of the door. Would it not be apleasant and profitable notion, he asked, to flood the floor with waterto the depth of those dozen inches? On the wall outside the form-roomhung a row of buckets, placed there in case of fire, and the lavatorywas not too far off for practical purposes. Mr Smith had bidden himwash the floor. It was obviously his duty to do so. The form thought sotoo. For a solid hour, thirty weary but enthusiastic reprobateslaboured without ceasing, and by the time the bell rang all wasprepared. The floor was one still, silent pool. Two caps and a fewnotebooks floated sluggishly on the surface, relieving the picture ofany tendency to monotony. The form crept silently to their places alongthe desks. As Mr Smith's footsteps were heard approaching, they beganto beat vigorously upon the desks, with the result that Mr Smith, quickening his pace, dashed into the form-room at a hard gallop. Theimmediate results were absolutely satisfactory, and if matterssubsequently (when Mr Smith, having changed his clothes, returned withthe Headmaster) did get somewhat warm for the thirty criminals, theyhad the satisfying feeling that their duty had been done, and a heartyand unanimous vote of thanks was passed to Farnie. From which it willbe seen that Master Reginald Farnie was managing to extract more orless enjoyment out of his life at Beckford. 

Another person who was enjoying life was Pringle of the School House. The keynote of Pringle's character was superiority. At an early periodof his life--he was still unable to speak at the time--his grandmotherhad died. This is probably the sole reason why he had never taught thatrelative to suck eggs. Had she lived, her education in that directionmust have been taken in hand. Baffled in this, Pringle had turned hisattention to the rest of the human race. He had a rooted convictionthat he did everything a shade better than anybody else. This beliefdid not make him arrogant at all, and certainly not offensive, for hewas exceedingly popular in the School. But still there were people whothought that he might occasionally draw the line somewhere. Watson, theground-man, for example, thought so when Pringle primed him with adviceon the subject of preparing a wicket. And Langdale, who had beencaptain of the team five years before, had thought so most decidedly, and had not hesitated to say so when Pringle, then in his first termand aged twelve, had stood behind the First Eleven net and requestedhim peremptorily to 'keep 'em down, sir, keep 'em down'. Indeed, thegreat man had very nearly had a fit on that occasion, and was wontafterwards to attribute to the effects of the shock so received asequence of three 'ducks' which befell him in the next three matches. 

In short, in every department of life, Pringle's advice was always (andgenerally unsought) at everybody's disposal. To round the position offneatly, it would be necessary to picture him as a total failure in thepractical side of all the subjects in which he was so brilliant atheorist. Strangely enough, however, this was not the case. There werefew better bats in the School than Pringle. Norris on his day was morestylish, and Marriott not infrequently made more runs, but forconsistency Pringle was unrivalled. 

That was partly the reason why at this time he was feeling pleased withlife. The School had played three matches up to date, and had won themall. In the first, an Oxford college team, containing several OldBeckfordians, had been met and routed, Pringle contributing thirty-oneto a total of three hundred odd. But Norris had made a century, whichhad rather diverted the public eye from this performance. Then theSchool had played the Emeriti, and had won again quite comfortably. This time his score had been forty-one, useful, but still notphenomenal. Then in the third match, _versus_ Charchester, one ofthe big school matches of the season, he had found himself. He ran up ahundred and twenty-three without a chance, and felt that life hadlittle more to offer. That had been only a week ago, and the glow ofsatisfaction was still pleasantly warm. 

It was while he was gloating silently in his study over the bat withwhich a grateful Field Sports Committee had presented him as a rewardfor 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 atthe study table gnawing a pen in a feverish manner that told of anoverwrought soul. Twice he uttered sounds that were obviously sounds ofanguish, half groans and half grunts. Pringle laid down his bat anddecided to investigate. 

'What's up?' he asked. 

'This bally poem thing, ' said Lorimer. 

'Poem? Oh, ah, I know. ' Pringle had been in the Upper Fifth himself ayear before, and he remembered that every summer term there descendedupon that form a Bad Time in the shape of a poetry prize. A certainIndian potentate, the Rajah of Seltzerpore, had paid a visit to theschool some years back, and had left behind him on his departurecertain monies in the local bank, which were to be devoted to providingthe Upper Fifth with an annual prize for the best poem on a subject tobe selected by the Headmaster. Entrance was compulsory. The wilyauthorities knew very well that if it had not been, the entries for theprize would have been somewhat small. Why the Upper Fifth were sofavoured in preference to the Sixth or Remove is doubtful. Possibly itwas felt that, what with the Jones History, the Smith Latin Verse, theRobinson Latin Prose, and the De Vere Crespigny Greek Verse, and othertrophies open only to members of the Remove and Sixth, those two formshad enough to keep them occupied as it was. At any rate, to the UpperFifth the prize was given, and every year, three weeks after thecommencement of the summer term, the Bad Time arrived. 

'Can't you get on?' asked Pringle. 

'No. '

'What's the subject?'

'Death of Dido. '

'Something to be got out of that, surely. '

'Wish you'd tell me what. '

'Heap of things. '

'Such as what? Can't see anything myself. I call it perfectly indecentdragging the good lady out of her well-earned tomb at this time of day. I've looked her up in the Dic. Of Antiquities, and it appears that shecommitted suicide some years ago. Body-snatching, I call it. What do Iwant to know about her?'

'What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba?' murmured Pringle. 

'Hecuba?' said Lorimer, looking puzzled, 'What's Hecuba got to do withit?'

'I was only quoting, ' said Pringle, with gentle superiority. 

'Well, I wish instead of quoting rot you'd devote your energies tohelping me with these beastly verses. How on earth shall I begin?'

'You might adapt my quotation. "What's Dido got to do with me, or I todo with Dido?" I rather like that. Jam it down. Then you go on in asort of rag-time metre. In the "Coon Drum-Major" style. Besides, yousee, the beauty of it is that you administer a wholesome snub to theexaminer right away. Makes him sit up at once. Put it down. '

Lorimer bit off another quarter of an inch of his pen. 'You needn't bean ass, ' he said shortly. 

'My dear chap, ' said Pringle, enjoying himself immensely, 'what onearth is the good of my offering you suggestions if you won't takethem?'

Lorimer said nothing. He bit off another mouthful of penholder. 

'Well, anyway, ' resumed Pringle. 'I can't see why you're so keen on thebusiness. Put down anything. The beaks never make a fuss about thesespecial exams. '

'It isn't the beaks I care about, ' said Lorimer in an injured tone ofvoice, as if someone had been insinuating that he had committed somecrime, 'only my people are rather keen on my doing well in this exam. '

'Why this exam, particularly?'

'Oh, I don't know. My grandfather or someone was a bit of a pro atverse in his day, I believe, and they think it ought to run in thefamily. '

Pringle examined the situation in all its aspects. 'Can't you getalong?' he enquired at length. 

'Not an inch. '

'Pity. I wish we could swop places. '

'So do I for some things. To start with, I shouldn't mind having madethat century of yours against Charchester. '

Pringle beamed. The least hint that his fellow-man was taking him athis own valuation always made him happy. 

'Thanks, ' he said. 'No, but what I meant was that I wished I was in forthis 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 goodscreed' passage of Pringle's speech. 'Well, I wish you'd have a shot. You might as well. '

'What, really? How about the prize?'

'Oh, hang the prize. We'll 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 I've got the poetic afflatusall 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 Beckfordcricket season. The Headmaster gave a garden-party. The School bandplayed; the School choir sang; and sisters, cousins, aunts, and parentsflocked to the School in platoons. 

'Yes, I think so, ' said Lorimer. 'Why?'

'Is your sister coming?'

'Oh, I don't know. ' A brother's utter lack of interest in his sister'sactions is a weird and wonderful thing for an outsider to behold. 

'Well, look here, I wish you'd get her to come. We could give them teain here, and have rather a good time, don't you think?'

'All right. I'll make her come. Look here, Pringle, I believe you'rerather gone on Mabel. '

This was Lorimer's vulgar way. 

'Don't be an ass, ' said Pringle, with a laugh which should have beencareless, but was in reality merely feeble. 'She's quite a kid. '

Miss Mabel Lorimer's exact age was fifteen. She had brown hair, blueeyes, and a smile which disclosed to view a dimple. There are worsethings than a dimple. Distinctly so, indeed. When ladies of fifteenpossess dimples, mere man becomes but as a piece of dampblotting-paper. Pringle was seventeen and a half, and consequently tooold to take note of such frivolous attributes; but all the same he hada sort of vague, sketchy impression that it would be pleasanter to runup a lively century against the O. B. S with Miss Lorimer as a spectatorthan in her absence. He felt pleased that she was coming. 

'I say, about this poem, ' said Lorimer, dismissing a subject whichmanifestly bored him, and returning to one which was of vital interest, 'you're sure you can write fairly decent stuff? It's no good sending instuff that'll turn the examiner's hair grey. Can you turn out somethingreally decent?'

Pringle said nothing. He smiled gently as who should observe, 'I andShakespeare. '

[5]

FARNIE GETS INTO TROUBLE--

It was perhaps only natural that Farnie, having been warned so stronglyof the inadvisability of having anything to do with Monk, should forthat very reason be attracted to him. Nobody ever wants to do anythingexcept what they are not allowed to do. Otherwise there is noexplaining the friendship that arose between them. Jack Monk was not anattractive individual. He had a slack mouth and a shifty eye, and hiscomplexion was the sort which friends would have described as olive, enemies (with more truth) as dirty green. These defects would havemattered little, of course, in themselves. There's many a biliouscountenance, 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 study with Danvers, and Farnie wasleaving the fags' day-room. 

'See that kid?' said Danvers. 'That's the chap I was telling you about. Gethryn's uncle, you know. '

'Not really? Let's cultivate him. I say, old chap, don't walk so fast. 'Farnie, rightly concluding that the remark was addressed to him, turnedand waited, and the three strolled over to the School buildingstogether. 

They would have made an interesting study for the observer of humannature, the two seniors fancying that they had to deal with a small boyjust arrived at his first school, and in the grip of that strange, lostfeeling which attacks the best of new boys for a day or so after theirarrival; and Farnie, on the other hand, watching every move, asperfectly composed and at home as a youth should be with the experienceof three public schools to back him up. 

When they arrived at the School gates, Monk and Danvers turned to go inthe direction of their form-room, the Remove, leaving Farnie at thedoor of the Upper Fourth. At this point a small comedy took place. Monk, after feeling hastily in his pockets, requested Danvers to lendhim five shillings until next Saturday. Danvers knew this request ofold, and he knew the answer that was expected of him. By replying thathe was sorry, but he had not got the money, he gave Farnie, who wasstill standing at the door, his cue to offer to supply the deficiency. Most new boys--they had grasped this fact from experience--would havefelt it an honour to oblige a senior with a small loan. As Farnie madeno signs of doing what was expected of him, Monk was obliged to resortto the somewhat cruder course of applying for the loan in person. Heapplied. Farnie with the utmost willingness brought to light a handfulof money, mostly gold. Monk's eye gleamed approval, and he stretchedforth an itching palm. Danvers began to think that it would be rash tolet a chance like this slip. Ordinarily the tacit agreement between thepair was that only one should borrow at a time, lest confidence shouldbe destroyed in the victim. But here was surely an exception, a specialcase. With a young gentleman so obviously a man of coin as Farnie, therule might well be broken for once. 

'While you're about it, Farnie, old man, ' he said carelessly, 'you mightlet me have a bob or two if you don't mind. Five bob'll see me throughto Saturday all right. '

'Do you mean tomorrow?' enquired Farnie, looking up from his heap ofgold. 

'No, Saturday week. Let you have it back by then at the latest. Make apoint of it. '

'How would a quid do?'

'Ripping, ' said Danvers ecstatically. 

'Same here, ' assented Monk. 

'Then that's all right, ' said Farnie briskly; 'I thought perhaps youmightn't have had enough. You've got a quid, I know, Monk, because Isaw you haul one out at breakfast. And Danvers has got one too, becausehe offered to toss you for it in the study afterwards. And besides, Icouldn't lend you anything in any case, because I've only got aboutfourteen quid myself. '

With which parting shot he retired, wrapped in gentle thought, into hisform-room; and from the noise which ensued immediately upon hisarrival, the shrewd listener would have deduced, quite correctly, thathe 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? Itseemed to me you got rather left, too. '

Monk compromised. 

'Well, anyhow, ' he said, 'we shan't get much out of that kid. '

'Little beast, ' said Danvers complainingly. And they went on into theirform-room in silence. 

'I saw your young--er--relative in earnest conversation with friendMonk this morning, ' said Marriott, later on in the day, to Gethryn; 'Ithought you were going to give him the tip in that direction?'

'So I did, ' said the Bishop wearily; 'but I can't always be lookingafter the little brute. He only does it out of sheer cussedness, because I've told him not to. It stands to reason that he can't_like_ Monk. '

'You remind me of the psalmist and the wicked man, surname unknown, 'said Marriott. 'You _can't_ see the good side of Monk. '

'There isn't one. '

'No. He's only got two sides, a bad side and a worse side, which hesticks on on the strength of being fairly good at games. I wonder ifhe's going to get his First this season. He's not a bad bat. '

'I don't think he will. He is a good bat, but there are heaps better inthe 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?'

'He'll leave it, ' said Marriott, with conviction. 

Nor was he mistaken. Farnie listened with enthusiasm to his nephew'ssecond excursus on the Monk topic, and, though he said nothing, wasapparently convinced. On the following afternoon Monk, Danvers, Waterford, and he hired a boat and went up the river together. Gethrynand Marriott, steered by Wilson, who was rapidly developing into auseful coxswain, got an excellent view of them moored under the shadeof a willow, drinking ginger-beer, and apparently on the best of termswith one another and the world in general. In a brief but moving speechthe Bishop finally excommunicated his erring relative. 'For all Icare, ' he concluded, 'he can do what he likes in future. I shan't stophim. '

'No, ' said Marriott, 'I don't think you will. '

For the first month of his school life Farnie behaved, except in hischoice of companions, much like an ordinary junior. He played cricketmoderately well, did his share of compulsory fielding at the FirstEleven 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 thisextending of the right hand of fellowship to owners of studies andSecond Eleven men, and attempted to make Farnie see the sin and follyof his ways. But Nature had endowed that youth with a fund of vitriolicrepartee. When Millett, one of Leicester's juniors, evolved somelaborious sarcasm on the subject of Farnie's swell friends, Farnie, ina series of three remarks, reduced him, figuratively speaking, to asmall and palpitating spot of grease. After that his actions came infor no further, or at any rate no outspoken comment. 

Given sixpence a week and no more, Farnie might have survived an entireterm without breaking any serious School rule. But when, after buying abicycle from Smith of Markham's, he found himself with eight pounds tohis name in solid cash, and the means of getting far enough away fromthe neighbourhood of the School to be able to spend it much as heliked, he began to do strange and risky things in his spare time. 

The great obstacle to illicit enjoyment at Beckford was the fouro'clock roll-call on half-holidays. There were other obstacles, such ashalf-holiday games and so forth, but these could be avoided by theexercise of a little judgement. The penalty for non-appearance at ahalf-holiday game was a fine of sixpence. Constant absence was likelyin time to lead to a more or less thrilling interview with the captainof cricket, but a very occasional attendance was enough to stave offthis disaster; and as for the sixpence, to a man of means like Farnieit was a mere nothing. It was a bad system, and it was a wonder, underthe circumstances, how Beckford produced the elevens it did. But it wasthe system, and Farnie availed himself of it to the full. 

The obstacle of roll-call he managed also to surmount. Some recklessand penniless friend was generally willing, for a consideration, toanswer his name for him. And so most Saturday afternoons would findFarnie leaving behind him the flannelled fools at their variouswickets, and speeding out into the country on his bicycle in thedirection of the village of Biddlehampton, where mine host of the 'Cowand Cornflower', in addition to other refreshment for man and beast, advertised that ping-pong and billiards might be played on thepremises. 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 adecided taste, a genuine taste, not the pumped-up affectation sometimesdisplayed by boys of his age. Considering his age he was a remarkableplayer. Later on in life it appeared likely that he would have thechoice of three professions open to him, namely, professional billiardplayer, billiard marker, and billiard sharp. At each of the three heshowed distinct promise. He was not 'lured to the green cloth' by Monkor Danvers. Indeed, if there had been any luring to be done, it isprobable that he would have done it, and not they. Neither Monk norDanvers was in his confidence in the matter. Billiards is not a cheapamusement. By the end of his sixth week Farnie was reduced to a singlepound, a sum which, for one of his tastes, was practically poverty. Andjust at the moment when he was least able to bear up against it, Fatedealt him one of its nastiest blows. He was playing a fifty up againsta friendly but unskilful farmer at the 'Cow and Cornflower'. 'Betterlook out, ' he said, as his opponent effected a somewhat rustic stroke, 'you'll be cutting the cloth in a second. ' The farmer grunted, missedby 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 Bishop's uncle took it with anabsurd amount of conceit and carelessness. Hardly troubling to aim, hestruck his ball. The cue slid off in one direction, the ball rolledsluggishly in another. And when the cue had finished its run, thesmooth green surface of the table was marred by a jagged and unsightlycut. 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 sincethe beginning of the game with advice and criticism, should have doneexactly what he had cautioned him, the farmer, against a moment before, struck him as being the finest example of poetic justice he had everheard of, and he signalized his appreciation of the same by nearlydying of apoplexy. 

The marker expressed an opinion that Farnie had been and gone and doneit. 

''Ere, ' he said, inserting a finger in the cut to display itsdimensions. 'Look 'ere. This'll mean a noo cloth, young feller me lad. That's wot this'll mean. That'll be three pound we will trouble youfor, if _you_ please. '

Farnie produced his sole remaining sovereign. 

'All I've got, ' he said. 'I'll leave my name and address. '

'Don't you trouble, young feller me lad, ' said the marker, who appearedto be a very aggressive and unpleasant sort of character altogether, with meaning, 'I know yer name and I knows yer address. Today fortnightat the very latest, if _you_ please. You don't want me to 'ave togo 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 wentto Monk on his return probably he could not have explained himself. Buthe did go, and, having told his story in full, wound up by asking for aloan of two pounds. Monk's first impulse was to refer him back to aprevious interview, when matters had been the other way about, thatsmall affair of the pound on the second morning of the term. Then thereflashed across his mind certain reasons against this move. At presentFarnie's attitude towards him was unpleasantly independent. He made himunderstand that he went about with him from choice, and that there wasto be nothing of the patron and dependant about their alliance. If hewere to lend him the two pounds now, things would alter. And to havegot a complete hold over Master Reginald Farnie, Monk would have paidmore than two pounds. Farnie had the intelligence to carry throughanything, however risky, and there were many things which Monk wouldhave liked to do, but, owing to the risks involved, shirked doing forhimself. Besides, he happened to be in funds just now. 

'Well, look here, old chap, ' he said, 'let's have strict businessbetween friends. If you'll 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 wasMonk's idea of strict business, there were the makings of no ordinaryfinancier in him. But to get his two pounds he would have agreed toanything. And the end of term seemed a long way off. 

The awkward part of the billiard-playing episode was that thepunishment for it, if detected, was not expulsion, but flogging. AndFarnie resembled the lady in _The Ingoldsby Legends_ who 'didn'tmind death, but who couldn't stand pinching'. He didn't mindexpulsion--he was used to it, but he could _not_ stand flogging. 

'That'll be all right, ' he said. And the money changed hands. 

[6]

--AND STAYS THERE

'I say, ' said Baker of Jephson's excitedly some days later, reelinginto the study which he shared with Norris, '_have_ you seen theteam the M. C. C. 's bringing down?'

At nearly every school there is a type of youth who asks this questionon the morning of the M. C. C. Match. Norris was engaged in putting thefinishing touches to a snow-white pair of cricket boots. 

'No. Hullo, where did you raise that Sporter? Let's have a look. '

But Baker proposed to conduct this business in person. It is ten timesmore pleasant to administer a series of shocks to a friend than to sitby and watch him administering them to himself. He retained _TheSportsman_, and began to read out the team. 

'Thought Middlesex had a match, ' said Norris, as Baker pauseddramatically to let the name of a world-famed professional sink in. 

'No. They don't play Surrey till Monday. '

'Well, if they've got an important match like Surrey on on Monday, 'said Norris disgustedly, 'what on earth do they let their best man comedown here today for, and fag himself out?'

Baker suggested gently that if anybody was going to be fagged out atthe end of the day, it would in all probability be the Beckfordbowlers, and not a man who, as he was careful to point out, had run upa century a mere three days ago against Yorkshire, and who wasapparently at that moment at the very top of his form. 

'Well, ' said Norris, 'he might crock himself or anything. Rank badpolicy, I call it. Anybody else?'

Baker resumed his reading. A string of unknowns ended in anothercelebrity. 

'Blackwell?' said Norris. 'Not O. T. Blackwell?'

'It says A. T. But, ' went on Baker, brightening up again, 'they alwaysget the initials wrong in the papers. Certain to be O. T. By the way, Isuppose you saw that he made eighty-three against Notts the other day?'

Norris tried to comfort himself by observing that Notts couldn't bowlfor toffee. 

'Last week, too, ' said Baker, 'he made a hundred and forty-six not outagainst Malvern for the Gentlemen of Warwickshire. They couldn't gethim out, ' he concluded with unction. In spite of the fact that hehimself was playing in the match today, and might under thecircumstances reasonably look forward to a considerable dose ofleather-hunting, the task of announcing the bad news to Norris appearedto have a most elevating effect on his spirits:

'That's nothing extra special, ' said Norris, in answer to the last itemof information, 'the Malvern wicket's like a billiard-table. '

'Our wickets aren't bad either at this time of year, ' said Baker, 'andI heard rumours that they had got a record one ready for this match. '

'It seems to me, ' said Norris, 'that what I'd better do if we want tobat at all today is to win the toss. Though Sammy and the Bishop andBaynes ought to be able to get any ordinary side out all right. '

'Only this isn't an ordinary side. It's a sort of improved countyteam. '

'They've 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 winthe toss. '

'Hope so, ' said Baker. 'I doubt it, though. '

At a quarter to eleven the School always went out in a body to inspectthe pitch. After the wicket had been described by experts in hushedwhispers as looking pretty good, the bell rang, and all who were notplaying for the team, with the exception of the lucky individual whohad obtained for himself the post of scorer, strolled back towards theblocks. Monk had come out with Waterford, but seeing Farnie ahead andwalking alone he quitted Waterford, and attached himself to the genialReginald. He wanted to talk business. He had not found the speculationof the two pounds a very profitable one. He had advanced the moneyunder the impression that Farnie, by accepting it, was practicallyselling his independence. And there were certain matters in which Monkwas largely interested, connected with the breaking of bounds and thepurchase of contraband goods, which he would have been exceedingly gladto have performed by deputy. He had fancied that Farnie would havetaken 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 Monk's fag--a remark which had the merit ofbeing absolutely true. 

All this, combined with a slight sinking of his own funds, induced Monkto 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 don't 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. You'll get it at the end of term. '

'I want it now. '

'Why?'

'Awfully hard up, old chap. '

'You aren't, ' said Farnie. 'You've got three pounds twelve and sixpencehalf-penny. If you will keep counting your money in public, you can'tblame a chap for knowing how much you've got. '

Monk, slightly disconcerted, changed his plan of action. He abandonedskirmishing tactics. 

'Never mind that, ' he said, 'the point is that I want that four pounds. I'm going to have it, too. '

'I know. At the end of term. '

'I'm going to have it now. '

'You can have a pound of it now. '

'Not enough. '

'I don't see how you expect me to raise any more. If I could, do youthink I should have borrowed it? You might chuck rotting for a change. '

'Now, look here, old chap, ' said Monk, 'I should think you'd ratherraise that tin somehow than have it get about that you'd been playingpills at some pub out of bounds. What?'

Farnie, for one of the few occasions on record, was shaken out of hisusual _sang-froid_. Even in his easy code of morality there hadalways been one crime which was an anathema, the sort of thing nofellow could think of doing. But it was obviously at this that Monk washinting. 

'Good Lord, man, ' he cried, 'you don't mean to say you're thinking ofsneaking? Why, the fellows would boot you round the field. You couldn'tstay in the place a week. '

'There are heaps of ways, ' said Monk, 'in which a thing can get aboutwithout anyone actually telling the beaks. At present I've not told asoul. But, you know, if I let it out to anyone they might tell someoneelse, and so on. And if everybody knows a thing, the beaks generallyget hold of it sooner or later. You'd much better let me have that fourquid, old chap. '

Farnie capitulated. 

'All right, ' he said, 'I'll get it somehow. '

'Thanks awfully, old chap, ' said Monk, 'so long!'

In all Beckford there was only one person who was in the least degreelikely to combine the two qualities necessary for the extraction ofFarnie from his difficulties. These qualities were--in the first placeability, in the second place willingness to advance him, free ofsecurity, the four pounds he required. The person whom he had in hismind was Gethryn. He had reasoned the matter out step by step duringthe second half of morning school. Gethryn, though he had, as Farnieknew, no overwhelming amount of affection for his uncle, might in acase of great need prove blood to be thicker (as per advertisement)than water. But, he reflected, he must represent himself as in dangerof expulsion rather than flogging. He had an uneasy idea that if theBishop were to discover that all he stood to get was a flogging, hewould remark with enthusiasm that, as far as he was concerned, the goodwork might go on. Expulsion was different. To save a member of hisfamily from expulsion, he might think it worth while to pass round thehat amongst his wealthy acquaintances. If four plutocrats with foursovereigns were to combine, Farnie, by their united efforts, would besaved. And he rather liked the notion of being turned into a sort oflimited liability company, like the Duke of Plaza Toro, at a pound ashare. It seemed to add a certain dignity to his position. 

To Gethryn's study, therefore, he went directly school was over. If hehad reflected, he might have known that he would not have been therewhile the match was going on. But his brain, fatigued with his recentcalculations, had not noted this point. 

The study was empty. 

Most people, on finding themselves in a strange and empty room, areseized with a desire to explore the same, and observe from internalevidence what manner of man is the owner. Nowhere does character comeout so clearly as in the decoration of one's private den. Many a man, at present respected by his associates, would stand forth unmasked athis true worth, could the world but look into his room. For there theywould see that he was so lost to every sense of shame as to cover hisbooks with brown paper, or deck his walls with oleographs presentedwith the Christmas numbers, both of which habits argue a frame of mindfit for murderers, stratagems, and spoils. Let no such man be trusted. 

The Bishop's study, which Farnie now proceeded to inspect, was not ofthis kind. It was a neat study, arranged with not a little taste. Therewere photographs of teams with the College arms on their plain oakframes, and photographs of relations in frames which tried to look, andfor the most part succeeded in looking, as if they had not costfourpence three farthings at a Christmas bargain sale. There weresnap-shots of various moving incidents in the careers of the Bishop andhis friends: Marriott, for example, as he appeared when carried to thePavilion after that sensational century against the Authentics:Robertson of Blaker's winning the quarter mile: John Brown, Norris'spredecessor in the captaincy, and one of the four best batsmen Beckfordhad ever had, batting at the nets: Norris taking a skier on theboundary in last year's M. C. C. Match: the Bishop himself going out tobat in the Charchester match, and many more of the same sort. 

All these Farnie observed with considerable interest, but as he movedtowards the book-shelf his eye was caught by an object more interestingstill. It was a cash-box, simple and unornamental, but undoubtedly acash-box, and as he took it up it rattled. 

The key was in the lock. In a boarding House at a public school it isnot, as a general rule, absolutely necessary to keep one's valuablesalways hermetically sealed. The difference between _meum_ and_tuum_ is so very rarely confused by the occupants of such anestablishment, that one is apt to grow careless, and every now and thenaccidents happen. An accident was about to happen now. 

It was at first without any motive except curiosity that Farnie openedthe cash-box. He merely wished to see how much there was inside, with aview to ascertaining what his prospects of negotiating a loan with hisrelative were likely to be. When, however, he did see, other feelingsbegan to take the place of curiosity. He counted the money. There wereten sovereigns, one half-sovereign, and a good deal of silver. One ofthe institutions at Beckford was a mission. The School by (more orless) voluntary contributions supported a species of home somewhere inthe wilds of Kennington. No one knew exactly what or where this homewas, but all paid their subscriptions as soon as possible in the term, and tried to forget about it. Gethryn collected not only forLeicester's House, but also for the Sixth Form, and was consequently, if only by proxy, a man of large means. _Too_ large, Farniethought. Surely four pounds, to be paid back (probably) almost at once, would not be missed. Why shouldn't he--

'Hullo!'

Farnie spun round. Wilson was standing in the doorway. 

'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 shouldn't I come here if I like?Matter of fact, I came to see Gethryn. '

'He isn't here, ' said Wilson luminously. 

'You don't mean to say you've noticed that already? You've got an eyelike a hawk, Wilson. I was just taking a look round, if you really wantto know. '

'Well, I shouldn't advise you to let Marriott catch you mucking hisstudy 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. Don't you wait, though. '

'Oh, all right. ' And Wilson retired with his book. 

Now, though Wilson at present suspected nothing, not knowing of theexistence of the cash-box, Farnie felt that when the money came to bemissed, and inquiries were made as to who had been in the study, andwhen, he would recall the interview. Two courses, therefore, remainedopen to him. He could leave the money altogether, or he could take itand leave himself. In other words, run away. 

In the first case there would, of course, remain the chance that hemight induce Gethryn to lend him the four pounds, but this had neverbeen more than a forlorn hope; and in the light of the possibilitiesopened out by the cash-box, he thought no more of it. The real problemwas, should he or should he not take the money from the cash-box?

As he hesitated, the recollection of Monk's veiled threats came back tohim, and he wavered no longer. He opened the box again, took out thecontents, and dropped them into his pocket. While he was about it, hethought he might as well take all as only a part. 

Then he wrote two notes. One--to the Bishop--he placed on top of thecash-box; the other he placed with four sovereigns on the table inMonk's study. Finally he left the room, shut the door carefully behindhim, and went to the yard at the back of the House, where he kept hisbicycle. 

The workings of the human mind, and especially of the young human mind, are peculiar. It never occurred to Farnie that a result equallyprofitable to himself, and decidedly more convenient for allconcerned--with the possible exception of Monk--might have been arrivedat if he had simply left the money in the box, and run away without it. 

However, as the poet says, you can't think of everything. 

[7]

THE BISHOP GOES FOR A RIDE

The M. C. C. Match opened auspiciously. Norris, for the first time thatseason, won the toss. Tom Brown, we read, in a similar position, 'withthe usual liberality of young hands', put his opponents in first. Norris was not so liberal. He may have been young, but he was not soyoung as that. The sun was shining on as true a wicket as was everprepared when he cried 'Heads', and the coin, after rolling for sometime in diminishing circles, came to a standstill with the dragonundermost. And Norris returned to the Pavilion and informed hisgratified team that, all things considered, he rather thought that theywould bat, and he would be obliged if Baker would get on his pads andcome in first with him. 

The M. C. C. Men took the field--O. T. Blackwell, by the way, had shrunkinto a mere brother of the century-making A. T. --and the two SchoolHouse representatives followed them. An amateur of lengthy frame tookthe ball, a man of pace, to judge from the number of slips. Norrisasked for 'two leg'. An obliging umpire informed him that he had gottwo leg. The long bowler requested short slip to stand finer, swung hisarm as if to see that the machinery still worked, and dashed wildlytowards the crease. The match had begun. 

There are few pleasanter or more thrilling moments in one's schoolcareer than the first over of a big match. Pleasant, that is to say, ifyou are actually looking on. To have to listen to a match being startedfrom the interior of a form-room is, of course, maddening. You hear thesound of bat meeting ball, followed by distant clapping. Somebody hasscored. 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. Somemiscreant has possibly lifted your best bowler into the road. Thesuspense is awful. It ought to be a School rule that the captain of theteam should send a message round the form-rooms stating briefly andlucidly the result of the toss. Then one would know where one was. Asit is, the entire form is dependent on the man sitting under thewindow. The form-master turns to write on the blackboard. The only hopeof the form shoots up like a rocket, gazes earnestly in the directionof the Pavilion, and falls back with a thud into his seat. 'Theyhaven't started yet, ' he informs the rest in a stage whisper. 'Si-_lence_, ' says the form-master, and the whole business must begone through again, with the added disadvantage that the master now hashis eye fixed coldly on the individual nearest the window, your onlylink with the outer world. 

Various masters have various methods under such circumstances. One morethan excellent man used to close his book and remark, 'I think we'llmake up a little party to watch this match. ' And the form, gasping itsthanks, crowded to the windows. Another, the exact antithesis of thisgreat and good gentleman, on seeing a boy taking fitful glances throughthe 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 inthe afternoon and make up the time you waste. ' And as all that could beseen from that particular window was one of the umpires and a couple offieldsmen, Jones would reluctantly elect to reserve himself, and forthe present to turn his attention to Euripides again. 

If you are one of the team, and watch the match from the Pavilion, youescape these trials, but there are others. In the first few overs of aSchool match, every ball looks to the spectators like taking a wicket. The fiendish ingenuity of the slow bowler, and the lightning speed ofthe fast man at the other end, make one feel positively ill. When thefirst ten has gone up on the scoring-board matters begin to rightthemselves. Today ten went up quickly. The fast man's first ball wasoutside the off-stump and a half-volley, and Norris, whatever the stateof his nerves at the time, never forgot his forward drive. Before thebowler had recovered his balance the ball was half-way to the ropes. The umpire waved a large hand towards the Pavilion. The bowler lookedannoyed. And the School inside the form-rooms asked itself feverishlywhat had happened, and which side it was that was applauding. 

Having bowled his first ball too far up, the M. C. C. Man, on theprinciple of anything for a change, now put in a very short one. Norris, a new man after that drive, steered it through the slips, andagain the umpire waved his hand. 

The rest of the over was more quiet. The last ball went for four byes, and then it was Baker's turn to face the slow man. Baker was a steady, plodding bat. He played five balls gently to mid-on, and glanced thesixth for a single to leg. With the fast bowler, who had not yet gothis length, he was more vigorous, and succeeded in cutting him twicefor two. 

With thirty up for no wickets the School began to feel morecomfortable. 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 wasnot to be his day out with the bat. 

The fast bowler, who was now bowling excellently, sent down one ratherwide 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 wentoff his bat like a flash. In a School match it would have been aboundary. But today there was unusual talent in the slips. The man fromMiddlesex darted forward and sideways. He took the ball one-handed twoinches from the ground, and received the applause which followed theeffort with a rather bored look, as if he were saying, 'My good sirs, _why_ make a fuss over these trifles!' The Bishop walked slowlyback to the Pavilion, feeling that his luck was out, and Pringle camein. 

A boy of Pringle's character is exactly the right person to go in in anemergency like the present one. Two wickets had fallen in two balls, and the fast bowler was swelling visibly with determination to do thehat-trick. But Pringle never went in oppressed by the fear of gettingout. He had a serene and boundless confidence in himself. 

The fast man tried a yorker. Pringle came down hard on it, and forcedthe ball past the bowler for a single. Then he and Norris settled downto a lengthy stand. 

'I do like seeing Pringle bat, ' said Gosling. 'He always gives you theidea that he's doing you a personal favour by knocking your bowlingabout. 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 England's greatestlibrettist. 'I call it "Heart Foam". I shall not publish it. Oh, run itout!'

Both Pringle and Norris were evidently in form. Norris was now not farfrom his fifty, and Pringle looked as if he might make anything. Thecentury went up, and a run later Norris off-drove the slow bowler'ssuccessor 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 you chaps like to fetch it?'

There were no offers. Gethryn got up. 

'Marriott, you slacker, come over to the House. '

'My good sir, I'm in next. Why don't you wait till the fellows come outof school and send a kid for it?'

'He probably wouldn't know where to find it. I don't know where it ismyself. No, I shall go, but there's no need to fag about it yet. Hullo!Norris is out. '

Norris had stopped a straight one with his leg. He had made fifty-onein his best manner, and the School, leaving the form-rooms at the exactmoment when the fatal ball was being bowled, were just in time toapplaud him and realize what they had missed. 

Gethryn's desire for his hat was not so pressing as to make him deprivehimself of the pleasure of seeing Marriott at the wickets. Marriottought to do something special today. Unfortunately, after he had playedout 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 insearch of the missing headgear. As luck would have it, the hat was onthe table, so that whatever chance he might have had of overlooking thenote which his uncle had left for him on the empty cash-boxdisappeared. The two things caught his eye simultaneously. He openedthe note and read it. It is not necessary to transcribe the note indetail. It was no masterpiece of literary skill. But it had this merit, that it was not vague. Reading it, one grasped its meaningimmediately. 

The Bishop's first feeling was that the bottom had dropped out ofeverything suddenly. Surprise was not the word. It was the arrival ofthe absolutely unexpected. 

Then he began to consider the position. 

Farnie must be brought back. That was plain. And he must be broughtback at once, before anyone could get to hear of what had happened. Gethryn had the very strongest objections to his uncle, consideredpurely as a human being; but the fact remained that he was his uncle, and the Bishop had equally strong objections to any member of hisfamily being mixed up in a business of this description. 

Having settled that point, he went on to the next. How was he to bebrought back? He could not have gone far, for he could not have beengone much more than half an hour. Again, from his knowledge of hisuncle's character, he deduced that he had in all probability not goneto the nearest station, Horton. At Horton one had to wait hours at atime for a train. Farnie must have made his way--on hisbicycle--straight for the junction, Anfield, fifteen miles off by agood road. A train left Anfield for London at three-thirty. It was nowa little past two. On a bicycle he could do it easily, and get backwith his prize by about five, if he rode hard. In that case all wouldbe well. Only three of the School wickets had fallen, and the pitch wasplaying as true as concrete. Besides, there was Pringle still in at oneend, well set, and surely Marriott and Jennings and the rest of themwould manage to stay in till five. They couldn't help it. All they hadto do was to play forward to everything, and they must stop in. Hehimself had got out, it was true, but that was simply a regrettableaccident. 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 intime to go out with the rest of the team to field. 

He ran downstairs and out of the House. On his way to the bicycle-shedhe stopped, and looked towards the field, part of which could be seenfrom where he stood. The match had begun again. The fast bowler wasjust commencing his run. He saw him tear up to the crease and deliverthe ball. What happened then he could not see, owing to the trees whichstood between him and the School grounds. But he heard the crack ofball meeting bat, and a great howl of applause went up from theinvisible audience. A boundary, apparently. Yes, there was the umpiresignalling it. Evidently a long stand was going to be made. He wouldhave oceans of time for his ride. Norris wouldn't dream of declaringthe innings closed before five o'clock at the earliest, and no bowlercould take seven wickets in the time on such a pitch. He hauled hisbicycle from the shed, and rode off at racing speed in the direction ofAnfield. 

[8]

THE M. C. C. MATCH

But out in the field things were going badly with Beckford. The aspectof a game often changes considerably after lunch. For a while it lookedas if Marriott and Pringle were in for their respective centuries. ButMarriott was never a safe batsman. 

A hundred and fifty went up on the board off a square leg hit for two, which completed Pringle's half-century, and then Marriott faced theslow bowler, who had been put on again after lunch. The first ball wasa miss-hit. It went behind point for a couple. The next he got fairlyhold of and drove to the boundary. The third was a very simple-lookingball. Its sole merit appeared to be the fact that it was straight. Alsoit was a trifle shorter than it looked. Marriott jumped out, and gottoo much under it. Up it soared, straight over the bowler's head. Atrifle 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. Thebatsmen had time to cross over before the ball arrived, but they did itwithout 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 anyostensible cause in the best regulated school elevens. Pringle playedthe three remaining balls of the over without mishap, but when it wasthe fast man's turn to bowl to Bruce, Marriott's successor, thingsbegan to happen. Bruce, temporarily insane, perhaps throughnervousness, played back at a half-volley, and was clean bowled. Hillcame in, and was caught two balls later at the wicket. And the lastball of the over sent Jennings's off-stump out of the ground, afterthat batsman had scored two. 

'I can always bowl like blazes after lunch, ' said the fast man toPringle. 'It's the lobster salad that does it, I think. ' Four for ahundred and fifty-seven had changed to seven for a hundred andfifty-nine in the course of a single over. Gethryn's calculations, ifhe had only known, could have done now with a little revision. 

Gosling was the next man. He was followed, after a brief innings ofthree balls, which realized eight runs, by Baynes. Baynes, thoughabstaining from runs himself, helped Pringle to add three to the score, all in singles, and was then yorked by the slow man, who meanly andtreacherously sent down, without the slightest warning, a very fast oneon the leg stump. Then Reece came in for the last wicket, and the rotstopped. Reece always went in last for the School, and the School inconsequence always felt that there were possibilities to the very endof the innings. 

The lot of a last-wicket man is somewhat trying. As at any moment hisbest innings may be nipped in the bud by the other man getting out, hegenerally feels that it is hardly worth while to play himself in beforeendeavouring to make runs. He therefore tries to score off every ball, and thinks himself lucky if he gets half a dozen. Reece, however, tooklife more seriously. He had made quite an art of last-wicket batting. Once, against the Butterflies, he had run up sixty not out, and therewas always the chance that he would do the same again. Today, withPringle at the other end, he looked forward to a pleasant hour or twoat the wicket. 

No bowler ever looks on the last man quite in the same light as he doesthe other ten. He underrates him instinctively. The M. C. C. Fast bowlerwas a man with an idea. His idea was that he could bowl a slow ball ofdiabolical ingenuity. As a rule, public feeling was against his tryingthe experiment. His captains were in the habit of enquiring rudely ifhe thought he was playing marbles. This was exactly what the M. C. C. Captain asked on the present occasion, when the head ball sailedponderously through the air, and was promptly hit by Reece into thePavilion. The bowler grinned, and resumed his ordinary pace. 

But everything came alike to Reece. Pringle, too, continued his careerof triumph. Gradually the score rose from a hundred and seventy to twohundred. Pringle cut and drove in all directions, with the air of aprince of the blood royal distributing largesse. The second centurywent up to the accompaniment of cheers. 

Then the slow bowler reaped his reward, for Pringle, after putting hisfirst two balls over the screen, was caught on the boundary off thethird. He had contributed eighty-one to a total of two hundred andthirteen. 

So far Gethryn's absence had not been noticed. But when the umpires hadgone 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. 'Who's going on at the other?'

'Baynes. Hullo, where's Gethryn?'

'Isn't he here? Perhaps he's in the Pavi--'

'Any of you chaps seen Gethryn?'

'He isn't in the Pav. , ' said Baker. 'I've just come out of the Firstroom myself, and he wasn't there. Shouldn't wonder if he's over atLeicester's. '

'Dash the man, ' said Norris, 'he might have known we'd be going out tofield soon. Anyhow, we can't wait for him. We shall have to field asub. Till he turns up. '

'Lorimer's in the Pav. , changed, ' said Pringle. 

'All right. He'll 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 thefirst few batsmen considerably. A worried-looking little person who hadfielded with immense zeal during the School innings at cover-point tookthe first ball. It was very fast, and hit him just under the knee-cap. The pain, in spite of the pad, appeared to be acute. The little mandanced 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 totallydeficient in all the finer feelings, such as pity and charity. He couldsee that the batsman was in pain, and yet his second ball was fasterthan the first. It came in quickly from the off. The little batsmanwent forward in a hesitating, half-hearted manner, and played a cleartwo 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 possibilitiesin the way of hitting. But Gosling was irresistible. For three ballsthe priest survived. But the last of the over, a fast yorker on the legstump, was too much for him, and he retired. 

Two for none. The critic in the deck chair felt that the match was asgood as over. 

But this idyllic state of things was not to last. The newcomer, a tallman with a light moustache, which he felt carefully after every ball, soon settled down. He proved to be a conversationalist. Until he hadopened his account, which he did with a strong drive to the ropes, hewas 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 rightplace, you know. Not a bad bat this, is it? What? Yes. One of Slogburyand Whangham's Sussex Spankers, don't you know. Chose it myself. Had itin pickle all the winter. Yes. '

'Play, sir, ' from the umpire. 

'Eh, what? Oh, right. Yes, good make these Sussex--_Spankers_. Oh, well fielded. '

At the word spankers he had effected another drive, but Marriott atmid-off had stopped it prettily. 

Soon it began to occur to Norris that it would be advisable to have achange of bowling. Gosling was getting tired, and Baynes apparentlyoffered no difficulties to the batsman on the perfect wicket, theconversational man in particular being very severe upon him. It was atsuch a crisis that the Bishop should have come in. He was Gosling'sunderstudy. But where was he? The innings had been in progress overhalf an hour now, and still there were no signs of him. A man, thoughtNorris, 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, andmust, on reappearance, be fallen upon and rent. He--here somethingsmall and red whizzed at his face. He put up his hands to protecthimself. The ball struck them and bounded out again. When a fast bowleris bowling a slip he should not indulge in absent-mindedness. Theconversational man had received his first life, and, as he was carefulto explain to Reece, it was a curious thing, but whenever he was letoff early in his innings he always made fifty, and as a rule a century. Gosling's analysis was spoilt, and the match in all probability lost. And Norris put it all down to Gethryn. If he had been there, this wouldnot have happened. 

'Sorry, Gosling, ' he said. 

'All right, ' said Gosling, though thinking quite the reverse. And hewalked back to bowl his next ball, conjuring up a beautiful vision inhis mind. J. Douglas and Braund were fielding slip to him in thevision, while in the background Norris appeared, in a cauldron ofboiling oil. 

'Tut, tut, ' said Baker facetiously to the raging captain. 

Baker's was essentially a flippant mind. Not even a moment of solemnagony, such as this, was sacred to him. 

Norris was icy and severe. 

'If you want to rot about, Baker, ' he said, 'perhaps you'd better goand play stump-cricket with the juniors. '

'Well, ' retorted Baker, with great politeness, 'I suppose seeing youmiss a gaper like that right into your hands made me think I wasplaying stump-cricket with the juniors. '

At this point the conversation ceased, Baker suddenly remembering thathe had not yet received his First Eleven colours, and that it wouldtherefore be rash to goad the captain too freely, while Norris, for hispart, recalled the fact that Baker had promised to do some Latin versefor him that evening, and might, if crushed with some scathingrepartee, refuse to go through with that contract. So there was silencein the slips. 

The partnership was broken at last by a lucky accident. Theconversationalist called his partner for a short run, and when thatunfortunate gentleman had sprinted some twenty yards, reconsidered thematter and sent him back. Reece had the bails off before the victim hadcompleted a third of the return journey. 

For some time after this matters began to favour the School again. Withthe score at a hundred and five, three men left in two overs, onebowled by Gosling, the others caught at point and in the deep offJennings, who had deposed Baynes. Six wickets were now down, and theenemy still over a hundred behind. 

But the M. C. C. In its school matches has this peculiarity. Howeverbadly it may seem to stand, there is always something up its sleeve. Inthis case it was a professional, a man indecently devoid of anything inthe shape of nerves. He played the bowling with a stolid confidence, amounting almost to contempt, which struck a chill to the hearts of theSchool bowlers. It did worse. It induced them to bowl with the soleobject of getting the conversationalist at the batting end, thusenabling the professional to pile up an unassuming but rapidlyincreasing score by means of threes and singles. 

As for the conversationalist, he had made thirty or more, and wantedall the bowling he could get. 

'It's 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 finishedthe 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 stumpswhich had been uprooted by Gosling's express. 

'Yes. But how? Dash it! What? I can't underst--. Most curious thing Iever--dash it all, you know. '

He drifted off in the direction of the Pavilion, stopping on the way toask 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, moreand more. '

'I wish Norris would give me a rest. Where on earth is that manGethryn?'

'Rum, isn't it? There's going to be something of a row about it. Norrisseems to be getting rather shirty. Hullo! here comes the DeathlessAuthor. '

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 thewicket to speak to the conversationalist, who was still engaged withshort leg. 

'Bates, old man, ' he said, 'if you're going to the Pavilion you mightwait for me. I shall be out in an hour or two. '

Upon which Bates, awaking suddenly to the position of affairs, went onhis way. 

With the arrival of the Deathless Author an unwelcome change came overthe game. His cricket style resembled his literary style. Both werestraightforward and vigorous. The first two balls he received fromGosling he drove hard past cover point to the ropes. Gosling, who hadbeen bowling unchanged since the innings began, was naturally feeling alittle tired. He was losing his length, and bowling more slowly thanwas his wont. Norris now gave him a rest for a few overs, Bruce goingon with rather innocuous medium left-hand bowling. The professionalcontinued to jog along slowly. The novelist hit. Everything seemed tocome alike to him. Gosling resumed, but without effect, while at theother end bowler after bowler was tried. From a hundred and ten thescore rose and rose, and still the two remained together. A hundred andninety went up, and Norris in despair threw the ball to Marriott. 

'Here you are, Marriott, ' he said, 'I'm afraid we shall have to tryyou. '

'That's what I call really nicely expressed, ' said Marriott to theumpire. 'Yes, over the wicket. '

Marriott was a slow, 'House-match' sort of bowler. That is to say, in aHouse match he was quite likely to get wickets, but in a First Elevenmatch such an event was highly improbable. His bowling looked verysubtle, and if the ball was allowed to touch the ground it occasionallybroke quite a remarkable distance. 

The forlorn hope succeeded. The professional for the first time in hisinnings took a risk. He slashed at a very mild ball almost a wide onthe off side. The ball touched the corner of the bat, and soared up inthe direction of cover-point, where Pringle held it comfortably. 

'There you are, ' said Marriott, 'when you put a really scientificbowler on you're bound to get a wicket. Why on earth didn't I go onbefore, Norris?'

'You wait, ' said Norris, 'there are five more balls of the over tocome. '

'Bad job for the batsman, ' said Marriott. 

There had been time for a run before the ball reached Pringle, so thatthe novelist was now at the batting end. Marriott's next ball was notunlike his first, but it was straighter, and consequently easier to getat. The novelist hit it into the road. When it had been brought back hehit it into the road again. Marriott suggested that he had better havea man there. 

The fourth ball of the over was too wide to hit with any comfort, andthe batsman let it alone. The fifth went for four to square leg, almostkilling the umpire on its way, and the sixth soared in the old familiarmanner into the road again. Marriott's over had yielded exactlytwenty-two runs. Four to win and two wickets to fall. 

'I'll never read another of that man's books as long as I live, ' saidMarriott to Gosling, giving him the ball. 'You're our only hope, Sammy. Do go in and win. '

The new batsman had the bowling. He snicked his first ball for asingle, bringing the novelist to the fore again, and Samuel WilberforceGosling vowed a vow that he would dismiss that distinguished novelist. 

But the best intentions go for nothing when one's arm is feeling likelead. Of all the miserable balls sent down that afternoon that one ofGosling's was the worst. It was worse than anything of Marriott's. Itflew sluggishly down the pitch well outside the leg stump. The novelistwatched it come, and his eye gleamed. It was about to bounce for thesecond time when, with a pleased smile, the batsman stepped out. Therewas a loud, musical report, the note of a bat when it strikes the ballfairly on the driving spot. 

The man of letters shaded his eyes with his hand, and watched the balldiminish in the distance. 

'I rather think, ' said he cheerfully, as a crash of glass told of itsarrival at the Pavilion, 'that that does it. '

He was perfectly right. It did. 

[9]

THE BISHOP FINISHES HIS RIDE

Gethryn had started on his ride handicapped by two things. He did notknow his way after the first two miles, and the hedges at the roadsidehad just been clipped, leaving the roads covered with small thorns. 

It was the former of these circumstances that first made itselfapparent. For two miles the road ran straight, but after that it wasunexplored country. The Bishop, being in both cricket and footballteams, had few opportunities for cycling. He always brought his machineto School, but he very seldom used it. 

At the beginning of the unexplored country, an irresponsible personrecommended him to go straight on. He couldn't miss the road, said he. It was straight all the way. Gethryn thanked him, rode on, and havinggone a mile came upon three roads, each of which might quite well havebeen considered a continuation of the road on which he was already. Onecurved gently off to the right, the other two equally gently to theleft. He dismounted and the feelings of gratitude which he had bornetowards his informant for his lucid directions vanished suddenly. Hegazed searchingly at the three roads, but to single out one of them asstraighter than the other two was a task that baffled him completely. Asign-post informed him of three things. By following road one he mightget to Brindleham, and ultimately, if he persevered, to Corden. Roadnumber two would lead him to Old Inns, whatever they might be, with thefurther inducement of Little Benbury, while if he cast in his lot withroad three he might hope sooner or later to arrive at MuchMiddlefold-on-the-Hill, and Lesser Middlefold-in-the-Vale. But on thesubject of Anfield and Anfield Junction the board was silent. 

Two courses lay open to him. Should he select a route at random, orwait for somebody to come and direct him? He waited. He went onwaiting. He waited a considerable time, and at last, just as he wasabout to trust to luck, and make for Much Middlefold-on-the-Hill, afigure loomed in sight, a slow-moving man, who strolled down the OldInns road at a pace which seemed to argue that he had plenty of time onhis hands. 

'I say, can you tell me the way to Anfield, please?' said the Bishop ashe came up. 

The man stopped, apparently rooted to the spot. He surveyed the Bishopwith a glassy but determined stare from head to foot. Then he lookedearnestly at the bicycle, and finally, in perfect silence, began toinspect 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 thelate and great Ollendorf. 

'Old Inns, ' he said dreamily, waving a hand down the road by which hehad come, 'be over there. '

'Yes, yes, I know, ' said Gethryn. 

'Was born at Old Inns, I was, ' continued the man, warming to hissubject. 'Lived there fifty-five years, I have. Yeou go straight downthe 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 don't want to know the way to Old Inns, ' he said desperately. 'WhereI want to get is Anfield. Anfield, you know. Which way do I go?'

'Anfield?' said the man. Then a brilliant flash of intelligenceillumined 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 furtherrevelations shot off in the direction indicated. A quarter of a milefarther he looked over his shoulder. The man was still there, gazingafter him in a kind of trance. 

The Bishop passed through Old Inns with some way on his machine. He hadmuch lost time to make up. A signpost bearing the legend 'Anfield fourmiles' told him that he was nearing his destination. The notice hadchanged to three miles and again to two, when suddenly he felt thatjarring sensation which every cyclist knows. His back tyre waspunctured. It was impossible to ride on. He got off and walked. He wasstill in his cricket clothes, and the fact that he had on spiked bootsdid not make walking any the easier. His progress was not rapid. 

Half an hour before his one wish had been to catch sight of afellow-being. Now, when he would have preferred to have avoided hisspecies, men seemed to spring up from nowhere, and every man of themhad 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 runningup the road towards him. 

He arrived panting. 

'What's up?' said the Bishop. 

'You've got a puncture, ' said the man, pointing an accusing finger atthe flattened tyre. 

It was not worth while killing the brute. Probably he was acting fromthe best motives. 

'No, ' said Gethryn wearily, 'it isn't a puncture. I always let the airout when I'm riding. It looks so much better, don't you think so? Whydid they let you out? Good-bye. '

And feeling a little more comfortable after this outburst, he wheeledhis bicycle on into Anfield High Street. 

Minds in the village of Anfield worked with extraordinary rapidity. Thefirst person of whom he asked the way to the Junction answered theriddle almost without thinking. He left his machine out in the road andwent on to the platform. The first thing that caught his eye was thestation clock with its hands pointing to five past four. And when herealized that, his uncle's train having left a clear half hour before, his labours had all been for nothing, the full bitterness of life camehome to him. 

He was turning away from the station when he stopped. Something elsehad caught his eye. On a bench at the extreme end of the platform sat ayouth. And a further scrutiny convinced the Bishop of the fact that theyouth was none other than Master Reginald Farnie, late of Beckford, andshortly, 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 which--with a nervewhich is the only creditable thing about them--call themselves comic. He did not see the Bishop until a shadow falling across his papercaused him to look up. 

It was not often that he found himself unequal to a situation. Monk ina recent conversation had taken him aback somewhat, but his feelings onthat occasion were not to be compared with what he felt on seeing theone person whom he least desired to meet standing at his side. His jawdropped limply, _Comic Blitherings_ fluttered to the ground. 

The Bishop was the first to speak. Indeed, if he had waited for Farnieto 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 willjolly well come back to Beckford, you little beast. '

But before that could be done there was Gethryn's back wheel to bemended. This took time. It was nearly half past four before theystarted. 

'Oh, ' said Gethryn, as they were about to mount, 'there's that money. Iwas forgetting. Out with it. '

Ten pounds had been the sum Farnie had taken from the study. Six wasall 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 wassufficient to uncork the vials of his wrath. 

'What the blazes did you do that for? What's Monk got to do with it?'

'He said he'd get me sacked if I didn't pay him, ' whined Farnie. 

This was not strictly true. Monk had not said. He had hinted. And hehad 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 ahighly artistic narrative of doings, which, if they had actually beenperformed, would certainly have entailed expulsion. He had judgedGethryn's character correctly. If the matter had been simply a case fora 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 offamily duty to shield his relative. And he saw a bad time coming forhimself in the very near future. Either he must expose Farnie, which hehad resolved not to do, or he must refuse to explain his absence fromthe M. C. C. Match, for by now there was not the smallest chance of hisbeing able to get back in time for the visitors' innings. As he rode onhe 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, absolutelywithout precedent in the School history. 

As they passed the cricket field he saw that it was empty. Stumps wereusually drawn early in the M. C. C. Match if the issue of the game wasout of doubt, as the Marylebone men had trains to catch. Evidently thishad happened today. It might mean that the School had won easily--theyhad looked like making a big score when he had left the ground--inwhich case public opinion would be more lenient towards him. After avictory a school feels that all's well that ends well. But it might, onthe other hand, mean quite the reverse. 

He put his machine up, and hurried to the study. Several boys, as hepassed 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 youbeen all the afternoon? What on earth did you go off like that for?'

'I'm sorry, old chap, ' said the Bishop, 'I can't tell you. I shan't beable to tell anyone. '

'But, man! Try and realize what you've done. Do you grasp the fact thatyou've gone and got the School licked in the M. C. C. Match, and that wehaven't beaten the M. C. C. For about a dozen years, and that if you'dbeen there to bowl we should have walked over this time? Do try andgrasp the thing. '

'Did they win?'

'Rather. By a wicket. Two wickets, I mean. We made 213. Your bowlingwould 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. Youcan't do a thing like this, and then refuse to offer any explanation, and expect things to go on just as usual. '

'I don't, ' said Gethryn. 'I know there's going to be a row, but I can'texplain. You'll have to take me on trust. '

'Oh, as far as I am concerned, it's all right, ' said Marriott. 'I knowyou wouldn't be ass enough to do a thing like that without a jolly goodreason. It's the other chaps I'm thinking about. You'll find it jollyhard to put Norris off, I'm afraid. He's most awfully sick about thematch. He fielded badly, which always makes him shirty. Jephson, too. You'll have a bad time with Jephson. His one wish after the match wasto have your gore and plenty of it. Nothing else would have pleased hima bit. And think of the chaps in the House, too. Just consider what apull this gives Monk and his mob over you. The House'll want somelooking after now, I fancy. '

'And they'll get it, ' said Gethryn. 'If Monk gives me any of hisbeastly cheek, I'll knock his head off. '

But in spite of the consolation which such a prospect afforded him, hedid not look forward with pleasure to the next day, when he would haveto meet Norris and the rest. It would have been bad in any case. He didnot care to think what would happen when he refused to offer theslightest explanation. 

[10]

IN WHICH A CASE IS FULLY DISCUSSED

Gethryn was right in thinking that the interviews would be unpleasant. They increased in unpleasantness in arithmetical progression, untilthey culminated finally in a terrific encounter with the justlyoutraged Norris. 

Reece was the first person to institute inquiries, and if everybody hadresembled him, matters would not have been so bad for Gethryn. Reecepossessed a perfect genius for minding his own business. The dialoguewhen they met was brief. 

'Hullo, ' said Reece. 

'Hullo, ' said the Bishop. 

'Where did you get to yesterday?' said Reece. 

'Oh, I had to go somewhere, ' said the Bishop vaguely. 

'Oh? Pity. Wasn't a bad match. ' And that was all the comment Reece madeon the situation. 

Gethryn went over to the chapel that morning with an empty sinkingfeeling inside him. He was quite determined to offer no single word ofexplanation, and he felt that that made the prospect all the worse. There was a vast uncertainty in his mind as to what was going tohappen. Nobody could actually do anything to him, of course. It wouldhave been a decided relief to him if anybody had tried that line ofaction, for moments occur when the only thing that can adequatelysoothe the wounded spirit, is to hit straight from the shoulder atsomeone. The punching-ball is often found useful under thesecircumstances. As he was passing Jephson's House he nearly ran intosomebody who was coming out. 

'Be firm, my moral pecker, ' thought Gethryn, and braced himself up forconflict. 

'Well, Gethryn?' said Mr Jephson. 

The question 'Well?' especially when addressed by a master to a boy, isone of the few questions to which there is literally no answer. You canlook sheepish, you can look defiant, or you can look surprisedaccording to the state of your conscience. But anything in the way ofverbal response is impossible. 

Gethryn attempted no verbal response. 

'Well, Gethryn, ' went on Mr Jephson, 'was it pleasant up the riveryesterday?'

Mr Jephson always preferred the rapier of sarcasm to the bludgeon ofabuse. 

'Yes, sir, ' said Gethryn, 'very pleasant. ' He did not mean to bemassacred without a struggle. 

'What!' cried Mr Jephson. 'You actually mean to say that you did go upthe river?'

'No, sir. '

'Then what do you mean?'

'It is always pleasant up the river on a fine day, ' said Gethryn. 

His opponent, to use a metaphor suitable to a cricket master, changedhis action. He abandoned sarcasm and condescended to direct inquiry. 

'Where were you yesterday afternoon?' he said. 

The Bishop, like Mr Hurry Bungsho Jabberjee, B. A. , became at once thesilent tomb. 

'Did you hear what I said, Gethryn?' (icily). 'Where were you yesterdayafternoon?'

'I can't say, sir. '

These words may convey two meanings. They may imply ignorance, in whichcase the speaker should be led gently off to the nearest asylum. Orthey may imply obstinacy. Mr Jephson decided that in the present caseobstinacy lay at the root of the matter. 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 onhis way. 

After chapel there was Norris to be handled. Norris had been ratherlate for chapel that morning, and had no opportunity of speaking to theBishop. But after the service was over, and the School streamed out ofthe building towards their respective houses, he waylaid him at thedoor, and demanded an explanation. The Bishop refused to give one. Norris, whose temper never had a chance of reaching its accustomedtranquillity until he had consumed some breakfast--he hated earlymorning chapel--raved. The Bishop was worried, but firm. 

'Then you mean to say--you don't mean to say--I mean, you don't intendto explain?' said Norris finally, working round for the twentieth timeto his original text. 

'I can't explain. '

'You won't, you mean. '

'Yes. I'll apologize if you like, but I won't explain. '

Norris felt the strain was becoming too much for him. 

'Apologize!' he moaned, addressing circumambient space. 'Apologize! Aman cuts off in the middle of the M. C. C. Match, loses us the game, andthen comes back and offers to apologize. '

'The offer's withdrawn, ' put in Gethryn. 'Apologies and explanationsare both off. ' It was hopeless to try and be conciliatory under thecircumstances. They did not admit of it. 

Norris glared. 

'I suppose, ' he said, 'you don't expect to go on playing for the Firstafter this? We can't keep a place open for you in the team on the offchance of your not having a previous engagement, you know. '

'That's your affair, ' said the Bishop, 'you're captain. Have youfinished your address? Is there anything else you'd like to say?'

Norris considered, and, as he went in at Jephson's gate, wound up withthis Parthian shaft--

'All I can say is that you're not fit to be at a public school. Theyought to sack a chap for doing that sort of thing. If you'll take myadvice, you'll leave. '

About two hours afterwards Gethryn discovered a suitable retort, but, coming to the conclusion that better late than never does not apply torepartees, refrained from speaking it. 

It was Mr Jephson's usual custom to sally out after supper on Sundayevenings to smoke a pipe (or several pipes) with one of the otherHouse-masters. On this particular evening he made for Robertson's, which was one of the four Houses on the opposite side of the Schoolgrounds. He could hardly have selected a better man to take hisgrievance to. Mr Robertson was a long, silent man with grizzled hair, and an eye that pierced like a gimlet. He had the enviable reputationof keeping the best order of any master in the School. He was also oneof the most popular of the staff. This was all the more remarkable fromthe 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 atthe match yesterday, Robertson?'

Mr Robertson nodded. 

'I always watch School matches. Good match. Norris missed a bad catchin the slips. He was asleep. '

Mr Jephson conceded the point. It was trivial. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'he should certainly have held it. But that's a meredetail. I want to talk about Gethryn. Do you know what he didyesterday? I never heard of such a thing in my life, never. Went offduring the luncheon interval without a word, and never appeared againtill lock-up. And now he refuses to offer any explanation whatever. Ishall report the whole thing to Beckett. I told Gethryn so thismorning. '

'I shouldn't, ' said Mr Robertson; 'I really think I shouldn't. Beckettfinds the ordinary duties of a Headmaster quite sufficient for hisneeds. This business is not in his province at all. '

'Not in his province? My dear sir, what is a headmaster for, if not tomanage affairs of this sort?'

Mr Robertson smiled in a sphinx-like manner, and answered, after thefashion of Socrates, with a question. 

'Let me ask you two things, Jephson. You must proceed gingerly. Now, firstly, it is a headmaster's business to punish any breach of schoolrules, is it not?'

'Well?'

'And school prefects do not attend roll-call, and have no restrictionsplaced upon them in the matter of bounds?'

'No. Well?'

'Then perhaps you'll tell me what School rule Gethryn has broken?' saidMr Robertson. 

'You see you can't, ' he went on. 'Of course you can't. He has notbroken any School rule. He is a prefect, and may do anything he likeswith his spare time. He chooses to play cricket. Then he changes hismind and goes off to some unknown locality for some reason at presentunexplained. It is all perfectly legal. Extremely quaint behaviour onhis part, I admit, but thoroughly legal. '

'Then nothing can be done, ' exclaimed Mr Jephson blankly. 'But it'sabsurd. Something must be done. The thing can't be left as it is. It'spreposterous!'

'I should imagine, ' said Mr Robertson, 'from what small knowledge Ipossess of the Human Boy, that matters will be made decidedlyunpleasant for the criminal. '

'Well, I know one thing; he won't play for the team again. '

'There is something very refreshing about your logic, Jephson. Becausea boy does not play in one match, you will not let him play in any ofthe others, though you admit his absence weakens the team. However, Isuppose that is unavoidable. Mind you, I think it is a pity. Of courseGethryn has some explanation, if he would only favour us with it. Personally I think rather highly of Gethryn. So does poor oldLeicester. He is the only Head-prefect Leicester has had for the lasthalf-dozen years who knows even the rudiments of his business. But it'sno use my preaching his virtues to you. You wouldn't listen. Takeanother cigar, and let's talk about the weather. '

Mr Jephson took the proffered weed, and the conversation, though it didnot turn upon the suggested topic, ceased to have anything to do withGethryn. 

The general opinion of the School was dead against the Bishop. One ortwo of his friends still clung to a hope that explanations might comeout, while there were also a few who always made a point of thinkingdifferently from everybody else. Of this class was Pringle. On theMonday after the match he spent the best part of an hour of hisvaluable time reasoning on the subject with Lorimer. Lorimer's votewent with the majority. Although he had fielded for the Bishop, he wasnot, of course, being merely a substitute, allowed to bowl, as theBishop had had his innings, and it had been particularly galling to himto feel that he might have saved the match, if it had only beenpossible for him to have played a larger part. 

'It's no good jawing about it, ' he said, 'there isn't a word to say forthe man. He hasn't a leg to stand on. Why, it would be bad enough in aHouse or form match even, but when it comes to first matches--!' Herewords failed Lorimer. 

'Not at all, ' said Pringle, unmoved. 'There are heaps of reasons, jollygood 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?'

'He'd have explained all right if somebody had asked him properly. Youget a chap like Norris, who, when he loses his hair, has got just aboutas much tact as a rhinoceros, going and ballyragging the man, and nowonder he won't say anything. I shouldn't myself. '

'Well, go and talk to him decently, then. Let's see you do it, and I'llbet it won't make a bit of difference. What the chap has done is to goand get himself mixed up in some shady business somewhere. That's theonly thing it can be. '

'Rot, ' said Pringle, 'the Bishop isn't that sort of chap. '

'You can't tell. I say, ' he broke off suddenly, 'have you done thatpoem yet?'

Pringle started. He had not so much as begun that promised epic. 

'I--er--haven't quite finished it yet. I'm thinking it out, you know. Getting a sort of general grip of the thing. '

'Oh. Well, I wish you'd buck up with it. It's got to go in tomorrowweek. '

'Tomorrow week. Tuesday the what? Twenty-second, isn't it? Right. I'llremember. Two days after the O. B. S' match. That'll fix it in my mind. By the way, your people are going to come down all right, aren't they?I mean, we shall have to be getting in supplies and so on. '

'Yes. They'll be coming. There's plenty of time, though, to think ofthat. What you've got to do for the present is to keep your mind gluedon the death of Dido. '

'Rather, ' said Pringle, 'I won't forget. '

This was at six twenty-two p. M. By the time six-thirty boomed from theCollege clock-tower, Pringle was absorbing a thrilling work of fiction, and Dido, her death, and everything connected with her, had faded fromhis mind like a beautiful dream. 

[11]

POETRY AND STUMP-CRICKET

The Old Beckfordians' match came off in due season, and Pringle enjoyedit thoroughly. Though he only contributed a dozen in the first innings, he made up for this afterwards in the second, when the School had ahundred and twenty to get in just two hours. He went in first withMarriott, and they pulled the thing off and gave the School a tenwickets 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 School, Smith had alwaysbeen singularly aggressive towards Pringle, and the latter found thatmuch pleasure was to be derived from hitting fours off his bowling. Subsequently he ate more strawberries and cream than were, strictlyspeaking, good for him, and did the honours at the study tea-party withthe 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 suchtrivialities as Lorimer's poem found no place in his thoughts. It wasnot until the following day that he was reminded of it. 

That Sunday was a visiting Sunday. Visiting Sundays occurred threetimes a term, when everybody who had friends and relations in theneighbourhood was allowed to spend the day with them. Pringle on suchoccasions used to ride over to Biddlehampton, the scene of Farnie'sadventures, on somebody else's bicycle, his destination being theresidence of a certain Colonel Ashby, no relation, but a great friendof his father's. 

The gallant Colonel had, besides his other merits--which werenumerous--the pleasant characteristic of leaving his guests tothemselves. To be left to oneself under some circumstances is apt to bea drawback, but in this case there was never any lack of amusements. The only objection that Pringle ever found was that there was too muchto do in the time. There was shooting, riding, fishing, and alsostump-cricket. Given proper conditions, no game in existence yields tostump-cricket in the matter of excitement. A stable-yard makes the bestpitch, 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 theend wall, and out if you send it over. It is perfect. 

There were two junior Ashbys, twins, aged sixteen. They went to schoolat Charchester, returning to the ancestral home for the weekend. Sometimes when Pringle came they would bring a school friend, in whichcase Pringle and he would play the twins. But as a rule the programmeconsisted of a series of five test matches, Charchester _versus_Beckford; and as Pringle was almost exactly twice as good as each ofthe twins taken individually, when they combined it made the sides veryeven, and the test matches were fought out with the most deadlykeenness. 

After lunch the Colonel was in the habit of taking Pringle for a strollin the grounds, to watch him smoke a cigar or two. On this Sunday theconversation 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 ofhow point had almost got to the square cut which had given him hiscentury against Charchester, 'you're out of the Upper Fifth now, aren'tyou? I always used to think you were going to be a fixture there. Youare like your father in that way. I remember him at Rugby spendingyears on end in the same form. Couldn't get out of it. But you did getyour remove, if I remember?'

'Rather, ' said Pringle, 'years ago. That's to say, last term. And I'mjolly 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 membershipof the Upper Fifth during the summer term. 

'I don't think a man ought to be allowed to spend his money in thesespecial prizes, ' he concluded; 'at any rate they ought to be Sixth Formaffairs. It's hard enough having to do the ordinary work and keep upyour cricket at the same time. '

'They are compulsory then?'

'Yes. Swindle, I call it. The chap who shares my study at Beckford isin the Upper Fifth, and his hair's turning white under the strain. Theworst of it is, too, that I've promised to help him, and I never seemto have any time to give to the thing. I could turn out a great poem ifI had an hour or two to spare now and then. '

'What's the subject?'

'Death of Dido this year. They are always jolly keen on deaths. Lastyear it was Cato, and the year before Julius Caesar. They seem to havevery morbid minds. I think they might try something cheerful for achange. '

'Dido, ' said the Colonel dreamily. 'Death of Dido. Where have I heardeither a story or a poem or a riddle or something in some way connectedwith the death of Dido? It was years ago, but I distinctly rememberhaving heard somebody mention the occurrence. Oh, well, it will comeback presently, I dare say. '

It did come back presently. The story was this. A friend of ColonelAshby's--the one-time colonel of his regiment, to be exact--was anearnest student of everything in the literature of the country thatdealt with Sport. This gentleman happened to read in a publisher's listone day that a limited edition of _The Dark Horse_, by a Mr ArthurJames, was on sale, and might be purchased from the publisher by allwho were willing to spend half a guinea to that end. 

'Well, old Matthews, ' said the Colonel, 'sent off for this book. Thought it must be a sporting novel, don't you know. I shall neverforget his disappointment when he opened the parcel. It turned out tobe a collection of poems. _The Dark Horse, and Other Studies in theTragic_, was its full title. '

'Matthews never had a soul for poetry, good or bad. _The DarkHorse_ itself was about a knight in the Middle Ages, you know. Greatnonsense it was, too. Matthews used to read me passages from time totime. When he gave up the regiment he left me the book as a farewellgift. He said I was the only man he knew who really sympathized withhim in the affair. I've got it still. It's in the library somewhere, ifyou care to look at it. What recalled it to my mind was your mention ofDido. The second poem was about the death of Dido, as far as I canremember. I'm no judge of poetry, but it didn't strike me as being verygood. At the same time, you might pick up a hint or two from it. Itought to be in one of the two lower shelves on the right of the door asyou 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 thestable-yard, where he lost the fourth test match by sixteen runs, owingto preoccupation. You can't play a yorker on the leg-stump with a thinwalking-stick if your mind is occupied elsewhere. And the leg-stumpyorkers of James, the elder (by a minute) of the two Ashbys, wereachieving a growing reputation in Charchester cricket circles. 

One ought never, thought Pringle, to despise the gifts which Fortunebestows on us. And this mention of an actual completed poem on the verysubject which was in his mind was clearly a gift of Fortune. How muchbetter it would be to read thoughtfully through this poem, and quarryout a set of verses from it suitable to Lorimer's needs, than to wastehis brain-tissues in trying to evolve something original from his owninner consciousness. Pringle objected strongly to any unnecessary wasteof his brain-tissues. Besides, the best poets borrowed. Virgil did it. Tennyson did it. Even Homer--we have it on the authority of MrKipling--when he smote his blooming lyre went and stole what he thoughthe might require. Why should Pringle of the School House refuse tofollow in such illustrious footsteps?

It was at this point that the guileful James delivered his insidiousyorker, and the dull thud of the tennis ball on the board which servedas the wicket told a listening world that Charchester had won thefourth test match, and that the scores were now two all. 

But Beckford's star was to ascend again. Pringle's mind was made up. Hewould read the printed poem that very night, and before retiring torest he would have Lorimer's verses complete and ready to be sent infor judgement to the examiner. But for the present he would dismiss thematter from his mind, and devote himself to polishing off theCharchester champions in the fifth and final test match. And in this hewas successful, for just as the bell rang, summoning the players in toa well-earned tea, a sweet forward drive from his walking-stick crashedagainst 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 salvoof cheers greeted him. His twenty-three not out, compiled as it wasagainst the finest bowling Charchester could produce, and on a wicketthat was always treacherous (there's a brick loose at the top end), wasan effort unique in its heroism. '

'Oh, _come_ on, ' said the defeated team. 

'If you have fluked a win, ' said James, 'it's nothing much. Wait tillnext visiting Sunday. '

And the teams went in to tea. 

In the programme which Pringle had mapped out for himself, he was to goto bed with his book at the highly respectable hour of ten, work tilleleven, and then go to sleep. But programmes are notoriously subject toalterations. Pringle's was altered owing to a remark made immediatelyafter dinner by John Ashby, who, desirous of retrieving the fallenfortunes of Charchester, offered to play Pringle a hundred up atbilliards, giving him thirty. Now Pringle's ability in the realm ofsport did not extend to billiards. But the human being who can hearunmoved a fellow human being offering him thirty start in a game of ahundred has yet to be born. He accepted the challenge, and permissionto play having been granted by the powers that were, on theunderstanding that the cloth was not to be cut and as few cues brokenas possible, the game began, James acting as marker. 

There are doubtless ways by which a game of a hundred up can be gotthrough in less than two hours, but with Pringle and his opponentdesire outran performance. When the highest break on either side issix, and the average break two, matters progress with more statelinessthan speed. At last, when the hands of the clock both pointed to thefigure eleven, Pringle, whose score had been at ninety-eight sincehalf-past ten, found himself within two inches of his opponent's ball, which was tottering on the very edge of the pocket. He administered the_coup de grace_ with the air of a John Roberts, and retiredtriumphant; while the Charchester representatives pointed out that astheir score was at seventy-four, they had really won a moral victory byfour points. To which specious and unsportsmanlike piece of sophistryPringle turned a deaf ear. 

It was now too late for any serious literary efforts. No bard can dowithout his sleep. Even Homer used to nod at times. So Pringlecontented himself with reading through the poem, which consisted ofsome thirty lines, and copying the same down on a sheet of notepaperfor future reference. After which he went to bed. 

In order to arrive at Beckford in time for morning school, he had tostart from the house at eight o'clock punctually. This left little timefor poetical lights. The consequence was that when Lorimer, on thefollowing afternoon, demanded the poem as per contract, all thatPringle had to show was the copy which he had made of the poem in thebook. There was a moment's suspense while Conscience and SheerWickedness fought the matter out inside him, and then Conscience, whichhad started on the encounter without enthusiasm, being obviously flabbyand out of condition, threw up the sponge. 

'Here you are, ' said Pringle, 'it's only a rough copy, but here it_is_. '

Lorimer perused it hastily. 

'But, I say, ' he observed in surprised and awestruck tones, 'this israther good. '

It seemed to strike him as quite a novel idea. 'Yes, not bad, is it?'

'But it'll get the prize. '

'Oh, we shall have to prevent that somehow. '

He did not mention how, and Lorimer did not ask. 

'Well, anyhow, ' said Lorimer, 'thanks awfully. I hope you've not faggedabout it too much. '

'Oh no, ' said Pringle airily, 'rather not. It's been no trouble atall. '

He thus, it will be noticed, concluded a painful and immoral scene byspeaking perfect truth. A most gratifying reflection. 

[12]

'WE, THE UNDERSIGNED--'

Norris kept his word with regard to the Bishop's exclusion from theEleven. The team which had beaten the O. B. S had not had the benefit ofhis assistance, Lorimer appearing in his stead. Lorimer was a fastright-hand bowler, deadly in House matches or on a very bad wicket. Hewas the mainstay of the Second Eleven attack, and in an ordinary yearwould have been certain of his First Eleven cap. This season, however, with Gosling, Baynes, and the Bishop, the School had been unusuallystrong, and Lorimer had had to wait. 

The non-appearance of his name on the notice-board came as no surpriseto Gethryn. He had had the advantage of listening to Norris's views onthe subject. But when Marriott grasped the facts of the case, he wentto Norris and raved. Norris, as is right and proper in the captain of aSchool team when the wisdom of his actions is called into question, treated him with no respect whatever. 

'It's no good talking, ' he said, when Marriott had finished a briskopening speech, 'I know perfectly well what I'm doing. '

'Then there's no excuse for you at all, ' said Marriott. 'If you weremad or delirious I could understand it. '

'Come and have an ice, ' said Norris. 

'Ice!' snorted Marriott. 'What's the good of standing there babblingabout ices! Do you know we haven't beaten the O. B. S for four years?'

'We shall beat them this year. '

'Not without Gethryn. '

'We certainly shan't beat them with Gethryn, because he's not going toplay. A chap who chooses the day of the M. C. C. Match to go off for theafternoon, and then refuses to explain, can consider himself jolly wellchucked until further notice. Feel ready for that ice yet?'

'Don't be an ass. '

'Well, if ever you do get any ice, take my tip and tie it carefullyround your head in a handkerchief. Then perhaps you'll be able to seewhy Gethryn isn't playing against the O. B. S on Saturday. '

And Marriott went off raging, and did not recover until late in theafternoon, when he made eighty-three in an hour for Leicester's Housein a scratch game. 

There were only three of the eleven Houses whose occupants seriouslyexpected to see the House cricket cup on the mantelpiece of theirdining-room at the end of the season. These were the School House, Jephson's, and Leicester's. In view of Pringle's sensational featsthroughout the term, the knowing ones thought that the cup would go tothe School House, with Leicester's runners-up. The various members ofthe First Eleven were pretty evenly distributed throughout the threeHouses. Leicester's had Gethryn, Reece, and Marriott. Jephson's reliedon Norris, Bruce, and Baker. The School House trump card was Pringle, with Lorimer and Baynes to do the bowling, and Hill of the First Elevenand Kynaston and Langdale of the second to back him up in the battingdepartment. Both the other First Eleven men were day boys. 

The presence of Gosling in any of the House elevens, however weak onpaper, 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, onereally good fast bowler can make a surprising amount of difference to aside. 

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 Housematches. When Beckford met Charchester or any of the four schools whichit 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 togive 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 asalmost to amount to genius, put in an appearance at the First Elevennet. Under these circumstances Leicester's net summoned him. Like MrPhil May's lady when she was ejected (with perfect justice) by abarman, he went somewhere where he would be respected. To the House, then, he devoted himself, and scratch games and before-breakfastfield-outs became the order of the day. 

House fielding before breakfast is one of the things which cannot beclassed under the head of the Lighter Side of Cricket. You get up inthe small hours, dragged from a comfortable bed by some sportsman who, you feel, carries enthusiasm to a point where it ceases to be a virtueand becomes a nuisance. You get into flannels, and, still half asleep, stagger off to the field, where a hired ruffian hits you up catcheswhich bite like serpents and sting like adders. From time to time headds insult to injury by shouting 'get to 'em!', 'get to 'em!'--aremark which finds but one parallel in the language, the 'keep moving'of the football captain. Altogether there are many more pleasantoccupations than early morning field-outs, and it requires aconsiderable amount of keenness to carry the victim through themwithout hopelessly souring his nature and causing him to fosteruncharitable thoughts towards his House captain. 

J. Monk of Leicester's found this increased activity decidedlyuncongenial. 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 match--and it happenedfairly frequently--he vastly preferred that the rest of the side shouldmake ten between them than that there should be any more half-centurieson the score sheet, even at the expense of losing the match. It was notlikely, therefore, that he would take kindly to this mortification ofthe flesh, the sole object of which was to make everybody asconspicuous as everybody else. Besides, in the matter of fielding heconsidered 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 theceremonies, and Monk objected to Gethryn. For this dislike he had solidreasons. About a fortnight after the commencement of term, the Bishop, going downstairs from his study one afternoon, was aware of whatappeared to be a species of free fight going on in the doorway of thesenior day-room. The senior day-room was where the rowdy element of theHouse collected, the individuals who were too old to be fags, and toolow down in the School to own studies. 

Under ordinary circumstances the Bishop would probably have passed onwithout investigating the matter. A head of a house hates above allthings to get a name for not minding his own business in unimportantmatters. Such a reputation tells against him when he has to put hisfoot down over big things. To have invaded the senior day-room andstopped a conventional senior day-room 'rag' would have beeninterfering with the most cherished rights of the citizens, the freedomwhich is the birthright of every Englishman, so to speak. 

But as he passed the door which had just shut with a bang behind thefree fighters, he heard Monk's voice inside, and immediately afterwardsthe voice of Danvers, and he stopped. In the first place, he reasonedwithin himself, if Monk and Danvers were doing anything, it wasprobably something wrong, and ought to be stopped. Gethryn always hadthe feeling that it was his duty to go and see what Monk and Danverswere doing, and tell them they mustn't. He had a profound belief intheir irreclaimable villainy. In the second place, having studies oftheir own, they had no business to be in the senior day-room at all. Itwas contrary to the etiquette of the House for a study man to enter thesenior day-room, and as a rule the senior day-room resented it. As toall appearances they were not resenting it now, the obvious conclusionwas that something was going on which ought to cease. 

The Bishop opened the door. Etiquette did not compel the head of theHouse to knock, the rule being that you knocked only at the doors ofthose senior to you in the House. He was consequently enabled towitness a tableau which, if warning had been received of his coming, would possibly have broken up before he entered. In the centre of thegroup was Wilson, leaning over the study table, not so much as if heliked so leaning as because he was held in that position by Danvers. Inthe background stood Monk, armed with a walking-stick. Round the wallswere various ornaments of the senior day-room in attitudes of expectantattention, being evidently content to play the part of 'friends andretainers', leaving the leading parts in the hands of Monk and hiscolleague. 

'Hullo, ' said the Bishop, 'what's going on?'

'It's all right, old chap, ' said Monk, grinning genially, 'we're onlyhaving an execution. '

'What's the row?' said the Bishop. 'What's Wilson been doing?'

'Nothing, ' broke in that youth, who had wriggled free from Danvers'sclutches. 'I haven't done a thing, Gethryn. These beasts lugged me outof the junior day-room without saying what for or anything. '

The Bishop began to look dangerous. This had all the outward aspect ofa case of bullying. Under Reynolds's leadership Leicester's had gone inrather extensively for bullying, and the Bishop had waited hungrily fora chance of catching somebody actively engaged in the sport, so that hemight drop heavily on that person and make life unpleasant for him. 

'Well?' he said, turning to Monk, 'let's have it. What was it allabout, 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 Bishoprelentlessly. 

'Young Wilson cheeked Perkins, ' said Monk. 

Murmurs of approval from the senior day-room. Perkins was one of theornaments 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 doingsome work, so I couldn't. Besides, I'm not his fag. If Perkins wants togo for me, why doesn't he do it himself, and not get about a hundredfellows to help him?'

'Exactly, ' said the Bishop. 'A very sensible suggestion. Perkins, fallupon Wilson and slay him. I'll see fair play. Go ahead. '

'Er--no, ' said Perkins uneasily. He was a small, weedy-looking youth, not built for fighting except by proxy, and he remembered the episodeof Wilson and Skinner. 

'Then the thing's finished, ' said Gethryn. 'Wilson walks over. Weneedn't detain you, Wilson. '

Wilson departed with all the honours of war, and the Bishop turned toMonk. 

'Now perhaps you'll tell me, ' he said, 'what the deuce you and Danversare doing here?'

'Well, hang it all, old chap--'

The Bishop begged that Monk would not call him 'old chap'. 

'I'll call you "sir", if you like, ' said Monk. 

A gleam of hope appeared in the Bishop's eye. Monk was going to givehim the opportunity he had long sighed for. In cold blood he couldattack no one, not even Monk, but if he was going to be rude, thataltered matters. 

'What business have you in the day-room?' he said. 'You've got studiesof your own. '

'If it comes to that, ' said Monk, 'so have you. We've got as muchbusiness here as you. What the deuce are you doing here?'

Taken by itself, taken neat, as it were, this repartee might have beeninsufficient to act as a _casus belli_, but by a mercifuldispensation of Providence the senior day-room elected to laugh at theremark, and to laugh loudly. Monk also laughed. Not, however, for long. The next moment the Bishop had darted in, knocked his feet from underhim, and dragged him to the door. Captain Kettle himself could not havedone 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. 

'Don't talk rot, ' he said, 'I can't fight a prefect. '

This, of course, the Bishop had known all along. What he had intendedto do if Monk had kept up his end he had not decided when he embarkedupon the engagement. The head of a House cannot fight by-battles withhis inferiors without the loss of a good deal of his painfully acquireddignity. But Gethryn knew Monk, and he had felt justified in riskingit. He improved the shining hour with an excursus on the subject ofbullying, dispensed a few general threats, and left the room. 

Monk had--perhaps not unnaturally--not forgotten the incident, and nowthat public opinion ran strongly against Gethryn on account of hisM. C. C. Match manoeuvres, he acted. A mass meeting of the Mob was calledin his study, and it was unanimously voted that field-outs in themorning were undesirable, and that it would be judicious if the teamwere to strike. Now, as the Mob included in their numbers eight of theHouse Eleven, their opinions on the subject carried weight. 

'Look here, ' said Waterford, struck with a brilliant idea, 'I tell youwhat we'll do. Let's sign a round-robin refusing to play in the Housematches unless Gethryn resigns the captaincy and the field-outs stop. '

'We may as well sign in alphabetical order, ' said Monk prudently. 'It'll make it safer. '

The idea took the Mob's fancy. The round-robin was drawn up and signed. 

'Now, if we could only get Reece, ' suggested Danvers. 'It's no goodasking Marriott, but Reece might sign. '

'Let's have a shot at any rate, ' said Monk. 

And a deputation, consisting of Danvers, Waterford, and Monk, dulywaited upon Reece in his study, and broached the project to him. 

[13]

LEICESTER'S HOUSE TEAM GOES INTO A SECOND EDITION

Reece was working when the deputation entered. He looked upenquiringly, but if he was pleased to see his visitors he managed toconceal the fact. 

'Oh, I say, Reece, ' began Monk, who had constituted himself spokesmanto the expedition, 'are you busy?'

'Yes, ' said Reece simply, going on with his writing. 

This might have discouraged some people, but Nature had equipped Monkwith a tough skin, which hints never pierced. He dropped into a chair, crossed his legs, and coughed. Danvers and Waterford leaned inpicturesque attitudes against the door and mantelpiece. There was asilence 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 speakto you. '

'Go ahead then, ' said Reece. 'I can listen and write at the same time. I'm doing this prose against time. '

'It's about Gethryn. '

'What's Gethryn been doing?'

'Oh, I don't know. Nothing special. It's about his being captain of theHouse team. The chaps seem to think he ought to resign. '

'Which chaps?' enquired Reece, laying down his pen and turning round inhis chair. 

'The rest of the team, you know. '

'Why don't they think he ought to be captain? The head of the House isalways captain of the House team unless he's too bad to be in it atall. Don't the chaps think Gethryn's good at cricket?'

'Oh, he's good enough, ' said Monk. 'It's more about this M. C. C. Matchbusiness, you know. His cutting off like that in the middle of thematch. 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 theround-robin. He straightened it out, and passed it over to Reece. 

'We've drawn up this notice, ' he said, 'and we came to see if you'dsign it. Nearly all the other chaps in the team have. '

Reece perused the document gravely. Then he handed it back to itsowner. 

'What rot, ' said he. 

'I don't think so at all, ' said Monk. 

'Nor do I, ' broke in Danvers, speaking for the first time. 'What elsecan we do? We can't let a chap like Gethryn stick to the captaincy. '

'Why not?'

'A cad like that!'

'That's a matter of opinion. I don't suppose everyone thinks him a cad. I don't, personally. '

'Well, anyway, ' asked Waterford, 'are you going to sign?'

'My good man, of course I'm not. Do you mean to say you seriouslyintend to hand in that piffle to Gethryn?'

'Rather, ' said Monk. 

'Then you'll be making fools of yourselves. I'll tell you exactlywhat'll happen, if you care to know. Gethryn will read this rot, andsimply cut everybody whose name appears on the list out of the Houseteam. I don't know if you're aware of it, but there are several otherfellows besides you in the House. And if you come to think of it, youaren't so awfully good. You three are in the Second. The other fivehaven't got colours at all. '

'Anyhow, we're all in the House team, ' said Monk. 

'Don't let that worry you, ' said Reece, 'you won't be long, if you showGethryn 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 Bishop's study. It wasnot likely that the deputation would deliver their ultimatum until lateat night, when the study would be empty. From what Reece knew of Monk, he judged that it would be pleasanter to him to leave the documentwhere the Bishop could find it in the morning, rather than run therisks that might attend a personal interview. There was time, therefore, to let Gethryn know what was going to happen, so that hemight not be surprised into doing anything rash, such as resigning thecaptaincy, 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 lateinterview. 

'I'm not surprised, ' said Gethryn, 'I thought Monk would be getting atme somehow soon. I shall _have_ to slay that chap someday. Whatought I to do, do you think?'

'My dear chap, ' said Marriott, 'there's only one thing you can do. Cutthe lot of them out of the team, and fill up with substitutes. '

Reece nodded approval. 

'Of course. That's what you must do. As a matter of fact, I told themyou would. I've given you a reputation. You must live up to it. '

'Besides, ' continued Marriott, 'after all it isn't such a crusher, whenyou come to think of it. Only four of them are really certainties fortheir places, Monk, Danvers, Waterford, and Saunders. The rest aresimply tail. '

Reece nodded again. 'Great minds think alike. Exactly what I told them, only they wouldn't listen. '

'Well, whom do you suggest instead of them? Some of the kids are jollykeen and all that, but they wouldn't be much good against Baynes andLorimer, for instance. '

'If I were you, ' said Marriott, 'I shouldn't think about their battingat all. I should go simply for fielding. With a good fielding side weought to have quite a decent chance. There's no earthly reason why youand Reece shouldn't put on enough for the first wicket to win all thematches. It's been done before. Don't you remember the School Housegetting the cup four years ago when Twiss was captain? They had nobodywho was any earthly good except Twiss and Birch, and those two used tomake 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 isn't bad. He can field in the slips, which is more than a goodmany chaps can. '

'Gregson's good, ' said Reece, 'put him down. That makes five. You mighthave young Lee in too. I've seen him play like a book at his form netonce or twice. '

'Lee--six. Five more wanted. Where's a House list? Here we are. Now. Adams, Bond, Brown, Burgess. Burgess has his points. Shall I stick himdown?'

'Not presume to dictate, ' said Marriott, 'but Adams is streets betterthan 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 allover the shop. Made thirty something. '

'We'll have both of them in, then. Plenty of room. This is the team sofar. Wilson, Gregson, Lee, Adams, and Burgess, with Marriott, Reece, and Gethryn. Jolly hot stuff it is, too, by Jove. We'll simply walkthat tankard. Now, for the last places. I vote we each select a man, and nobody's allowed to appeal against the other's decision. I lead offwith Crowinshaw. Good name, Crowinshaw. Look well on a score sheet. '

'Heave us the list, ' said Marriott. 'Thanks. My dear sir, there's onlyone man in the running at all, which his name's Chamberlain. Shove downJoseph, and don't let me hear anyone breathe a word against him. Comeon, Reece, let's 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 firstround?'

'Webster's. '

'Ripping. We can smash Webster's. They've got nobody. It'll be rather agood thing having an easy time in our first game. We shall be able toget some idea about the team's play. I shouldn't think we couldpossibly get beaten by Webster's. '

There was a knock at the door. Wilson came in with a request that hemight fetch a book that he had left in the study. 

'Oh, Wilson, just the man I wanted to see, ' said the Bishop. 'Wilson, you're playing against Webster's next week. '

'By Jove, ' said Wilson, 'am I really?'

He had spent days in working out on little slips of paper during schoolhis exact chances of getting a place in the House team. Recently, however, he had almost ceased to hope. He had reckoned on at leasteight of the senior study being chosen before him. 

'Yes, ' said the Bishop, 'you must buck up. Practise fielding everyminute of your spare time. Anybody'll hit you up catches if you askthem. '

'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 seeyou, to tell you you're playing for the House against Webster's. Thought you might like to know. '

'By Jove, ' said Lee, 'am I really?'

'Yes. Buck up with your fielding. '

'Right, ' said Lee. 

'That's all. If you're going downstairs, you might tell Adams to comeup. '

For a quarter of an hour the Bishop interviewed the junior members ofhis team, and impressed on each of them the absolute necessity ofbucking up with his fielding. And each of them protested that thematter should receive his best consideration. 

'Well, they're keen enough anyway, ' said Marriott, as the door closedbehind Carstairs, the last of the new recruits, 'and that's the greatthing. Hullo, who's that? I thought you had worked through the lot. Come in!'

A small form appeared in the doorway, carrying in its right hand aneatly-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 wouldn't be one. '

'Oh. No, it's all right. There isn't an answer. '

The door closed. The Bishop laughed, and threw the note over to Reece. 

'Recognize it?'

Reece examined the paper. 

'It's a fair copy. The one Monk showed me was rather smudged. I supposethey thought you might be hurt if you got an inky round-robin. Considerate chap, Monk. '

'Let's have a look, ' said Marriott. 'By Jove. I say, listen to thisbit. Like Macaulay, isn't it?'

He read extracts from the ultimatum. 

'Let's have it, ' said Gethryn, stretching out a hand. 

'Not much. I'm going to keep it, and have it framed. '

'All right. I'm going down now to put up the list. '

When he had returned to the study, Monk and Danvers came quietlydownstairs to look at the notice-board. It was dark in the passage, andMonk had to strike a light before he could see to read. 

'By George, ' he said, as the match flared up, 'Reece was right. Hehas. '

'Well, there's one consolation, ' commented Danvers viciously, 'theycan't possibly get that cup now. They'll have to put us in again soon, you see if they don't. '

''M, yes, ' said Monk doubtfully. 

[14]

NORRIS TAKES A SHORT HOLIDAY

'It's all rot, ' observed Pringle, 'to say that they haven't a chance, because they have. '

He and Lorimer were passing through the cricket-field on their way backfrom an early morning visit to the baths, and had stopped to look atLeicester's House team (revised version) taking its daily hour offielding practice. They watched the performance keenly and critically, as spies in an enemy's camp. 

'Who said they hadn't a chance?' said Lorimer. 'I didn't. '

'Oh, everybody. The chaps call them the Kindergarten and the Kids'Happy League, and things of that sort. Rot, I call it. They seem toforget that you only want two or three really good men in a team if therest can field. Look at our crowd. They've all either got theircolours, or else are just outside the teams, and I swear you can't relyon 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 justwon against Browning's, he had put himself on to bowl in the secondinnings. He was one of those bowlers who manage to capture from six toten wickets in the course of a season, and the occasions on which hebowled really well were few. On this occasion he had bowledexcellently, and it had annoyed him when five catches, five soft, gentle catches, were missed off him in the course of four overs. As hewatched the crisp, clean fielding which was shown by the very smallestof Leicester's small 'tail', he felt that he would rather have any ofthat despised eight on his side than any of the School House lightsexcept Baynes and Lorimer. 

'Our lot's all right, really, ' said Lorimer, in answer to Pringle'ssweeping condemnation. 'Everybody has his off days. They'll be allright next match. '

'Doubt it, ' replied Pringle. 'It's all very well for you. You bowl tohit the sticks. I don't. Now just watch these kids for a moment. Now!Look! No, he couldn't have got to that. Wait a second. Now!'

Gethryn had skied one into the deep. Wilson, Burgess, and Carstairs allstarted for it. 

'Burgess, ' called the Bishop. 

The other two stopped dead. Burgess ran on and made the catch. 

'Now, there you are, ' said Pringle, pointing his moral, 'see how thosetwo kids stopped when Gethryn called. If that had happened in one ofour matches, you'd have had half a dozen men rotting about underneaththe ball, and getting in one another's way, and then probably windingup by everybody leaving the catch to everybody else. '

'Oh, come on, ' said Lorimer, 'you're getting morbid. Why the dickensdidn't you think of having our fellows out for fielding practice, ifyou're so keen on it?'

'They wouldn't have come. When a chap gets colours, he seems to thinkhe's bought the place. You can't drag a Second Eleven man out of hisbed before breakfast to improve his fielding. He thinks it can't beimproved. They're a heart-breaking crew. '

'Good, ' said Lorimer, 'I suppose that includes me?'

'No. You're 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 itwon't get the prize. I hope they won't spot, either, that I didn'twrite the thing. '

'Not a chance, ' said Pringle complacently, 'you're all right. Don't youworry yourself. '

Webster's, against whom Leicester's had been drawn in the opening roundof the House matches, had three men in their team, and only three, whoknew how to hold a bat. It was the slackest House in the School, andalways had been. It did not cause any overwhelming surprise, accordingly, when Leicester's beat them without fatigue by an inningsand a hundred and twenty-one runs. Webster's won the toss, and madethirty-five. For Leicester's, Reece and Gethryn scored fifty andsixty-two respectively, and Marriott fifty-three not out. They then, with two wickets down, declared, and rattled Webster's out for seventy. The public, which had had its eye on the team, in order to see how itstail was likely to shape, was disappointed. The only definite fact thatcould be gleaned from the match was that the junior members of the teamwere not to be despised in the field. The early morning field-outs hadhad their effect. Adams especially shone, while Wilson at cover andBurgess in the deep recalled Jessop and Tyldesley. 

The School made a note of the fact. So did the Bishop. He summoned theeight juniors _seriatim_ to his study, and administered muchpraise, coupled with the news that fielding before breakfast would goon as usual. 

Leicester's had drawn against Jephson's in the second round. Norris'slot had beaten Cooke's by, curiously enough, almost exactly the samemargin as that by which Leicester's had defeated Webster's. It wasgenerally considered that this match would decide Leicester's chancesfor the cup. If they could beat a really hot team like Jephson's, itwas reasonable to suppose that they would do the same to the rest ofthe Houses, though the School House would have to be reckoned with. Butthe School House, as Pringle had observed, was weak in the field. Itwas not a coherent team. Individually its members were good, but theydid not play together as Leicester's did. 

But the majority of the School did not think seriously of theirchances. Except for Pringle, who, as has been mentioned before, alwaysmade a point of thinking differently from everyone else, no one reallybelieved that they would win the cup, or even appear in the final. Howcould a team whose tail began at the fall of the second wicket defeatteams which, like the School House, had no real tail at all?

Norris supported this view. It was for this reason that when, atbreakfast on the day on which Jephson's were due to play Leicester's, he received an invitation from one of his many uncles to spend aweekend at his house, he decided to accept it. 

This uncle was a man of wealth. After winning two fortunes on the StockExchange and losing them both, he had at length amassed a third, withwhich he retired in triumph to the country, leaving Throgmorton Streetto exist as best it could without him. He had bought a 'show-place' ata village which lay twenty miles by rail to the east of Beckford, andit had always been Norris's wish to see this show-place, a house whichwas said to combine the hoariest of antiquity with a variety of moderncomforts. 

Merely to pay a flying visit there would be good. But his uncle heldout an additional attraction. If Norris could catch the one-forty fromHorton, he would arrive just in time to take part in a cricket match, that day being the day of the annual encounter with the neighbouringvillage of Pudford. The rector of Pudford, the opposition captain, sowrote Norris's uncle, had by underhand means lured down three reallydecent players from Oxford--not Blues, but almost--who had come to thevillage ostensibly to read classics with him as their coach, but inreality for the sole purpose of snatching from Little Bindlebury (hisown village) the laurels they had so nobly earned the year before. Hehad heard that Norris was captaining the Beckford team this year, andhad an average of thirty-eight point nought three two, so would he comeand make thirty-eight point nought three two for Little Bindlebury?

'This, ' thought Norris, 'is Fame. This is where I spread myself. I mustbe in this at any price. '

He showed the letter to Baker. 

'What a pity, ' said Baker. 

'What's a pity?'

'That you won't be able to go. It seems rather a catch. '

'Can't go?' said Norris; 'my dear sir, you're talking through your hat. Think I'm going to refuse an invitation like this? Not if I know it. I'm going to toddle off to Jephson, get an exeat, and catch thatone-forty. And if I don't paralyse the Pudford bowling, I'll shootmyself. '

'But the House match! Leicester's! This afternoon!' gurgled the amazedBaker. 

'Oh, hang Leicester's. Surely the rest of you can lick the Kids' HappyLeague without my help. If you can't, you ought to be ashamed ofyourselves. I've chosen you a wicket with my own hands, fit to play atest match on. '

'Of course we ought to lick them. But you can never tell at cricketwhat's going to happen. We oughtn't to run any risks when we've gotsuch a good chance of winning the pot. Why, it's centuries since we wonthe pot. Don't you go. '

'I must, man. It's the chance of a lifetime. '

Baker tried another method of attack. 

'Besides, ' he said, 'you don't suppose Jephson'll let you off to playin a beastly little village game when there's a House match on?'

'He must never know!' hissed Norris, after the manner of theSurrey-side villain. 

'He's certain to ask why you want to get off so early. '

'I shall tell him my uncle particularly wishes me to come early. '

'Suppose he asks why?'

'I shall say I can't possibly imagine. '

'Oh, well, if you're going to tell lies--'

'Not at all. Merely a diplomatic evasion. I'm not bound to go and sobout my secrets on Jephson's waistcoat. '

Baker gave up the struggle with a sniff. Norris went to Mr Jephson andgot leave to spend the week-end at his uncle's. The interview wentwithout a hitch, as Norris had prophesied. 

'You will miss the House match, Norris, then?' said Mr Jephson. 

'I'm afraid so, sir. But Mr Leicester's are very weak. '

'H'm. Reece, Marriott, and Gethryn are a good beginning. '

'Yes, sir. But they've got nobody else. Their tail starts after thosethree. '

'Very well. But it seems a pity. '

'Thank you, sir, ' said Norris, wisely refraining from discussing thematter. He had got his exeat, which was what he had come for. 

In all the annals of Pudford and Little Bindlebury cricket there hadnever been such a match as that year's. The rector of Pudford and histhree Oxford experts performed prodigies with the bat, prodigies, thatis 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 withastounding caution and still more remarkable luck for seventeen. Finally, after he had been in an hour and ten minutes, mid-on acceptedthe eighth easy chance offered to him, and the ecclesiastic had toretire. The three 'Varsity men knocked up a hundred between them, andthe complete total was no less than a hundred and thirty-four. 

Then came the sensation of the day. After three wickets had fallen forten runs, Norris and the Little Bindlebury curate, an old Cantab, stayed together and knocked off the deficit. 

Norris's contribution of seventy-eight not out was for many a day thesole topic of conversation over the evening pewter at the 'LittleBindlebury Arms'. A non-enthusiast, who tried on one occasion tointroduce the topic of Farmer Giles's grey pig, found himself the mostunpopular man in the village. 

On the Monday morning Norris returned to Jephson's, with pride in hisheart and a sovereign in his pocket, the latter the gift of hisexcellent uncle. 

He had had, he freely admitted to himself, a good time. His uncle haddone him well, exceedingly well, and he looked forward to going to theshow-place again in the near future. In the meantime he felt a languiddesire to know how the House match was going on. They must almost havefinished the first innings, he thought--unless Jephson's had run up avery big score, and kept their opponents in the field all theafternoon. 

'Hullo, Baker, ' he said, tramping breezily into the study, 'I've hadthe time of a lifetime. Great, simply! No other word for it. How's thematch 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?How's it going on?'

'It's not going on, ' said Baker, 'it's stopped. '

'You needn't be a funny goat, ' said Norris complainingly. 'You knowwhat I mean. What happened on Saturday?'

'They won the toss, ' began Baker slowly. 

'Yes?'

'And went in and made a hundred and twenty. '

'Good. I told you they were no use. A hundred and twenty's 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 secondinnings--'

'Oh, you began a second innings?'

'Yes. We also finished it. We scored rather freely in the secondinnings. Ten was on the board before the fifth wicket fell. In the endwe 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 you're 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 bookback. 

'Then they've 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 andforty-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 pitchfor the House to play on, I wish you'd hunt up something with someslight 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 whereevery ball pitches being a bit worn, I suppose it was. Anyhow, it wouldhave been almost as well, don't you think, if you'd stopped and playedfor the House, instead of going off to your rotten village match? Youwere 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 twoincidents would be less apparent to other people than it was tohimself. 

And so it came about that Leicester's passed successfully through thefirst two rounds and soared into the dizzy heights of the semi-final. 

[15]

_VERSUS_ CHARCHESTER (AT CHARCHESTER)

From the fact that he had left his team so basely in the lurch on theday of an important match, a casual observer might have imagined thatNorris did not really care very much whether his House won the cup ornot. But this was not the case. In reality the success of Jephson's wasa very important matter to him. A sudden whim had induced him to accepthis uncle's invitation, but now that that acceptance had had suchdisastrous results, he felt inclined to hire a sturdy menial by thehour to kick him till he felt better. To a person in such a frame ofmind there are three methods of consolation. He can commit suicide, hecan take to drink, or he can occupy his mind with other matters, andcure himself by fixing his attention steadily on some object, anddevoting his whole energies to the acquisition of the same. 

Norris chose the last method. On the Saturday week following hisperformance for Little Bindlebury, the Beckford Eleven was due tojourney to Charchester, to play the return match against that school ontheir opponents' ground, and Norris resolved that that match should bewon. For the next week the team practised assiduously, those members ofit who were not playing in House matches spending every afternoon atthe nets. The treatment was not without its effect. The team had been agood one before. Now every one of the eleven seemed to be at the verysummit of his powers. New and hitherto unsuspected strokes began to bedeveloped, leg glances which recalled the Hove and Ranjitsinhji, latecuts of Palairetical brilliance. In short, all Nature may be said tohave smiled, and by the end of the week Norris was beginning to bealmost cheerful once more. And then, on the Monday before the match, Samuel Wilberforce Gosling came to school with his right arm in asling. Norris met him at the School gates, rubbed his eyes to seewhether 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. 

'I'm fearfully sorry, Norris, ' he said. 

'Don't say you can't play on Saturday, ' moaned Norris. 

'Frightfully sorry. I know it's a bit of a sickener. But I don't seehow I can, really. The doctor says I shan't be able to play for acouple of weeks. '

Now that the blow had definitely fallen, Norris was sufficientlyhimself 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 abit, you know, and my young sister wanted me to send her down a fewballs. Somebody had given her a composition bean and a bat, and she'sbeen awfully keen on the game ever since she got them. '

'I think it's simply sickening the way girls want to do everything wedo, ' said Norris disgustedly. 

Gosling spoke for the defence. 

'Well, she's only thirteen. You can't blame the kid. Seemed to me ajolly healthy symptom. Laudable ambition and that sort of thing. '

'Well?'

'Well, I sent down one or two. She played 'em like a book. Bit inclinedto pull. All girls are. So I put in a long hop on the off, and she letgo at it like Jessop. She's got a rattling stroke in mid-on'sdirection. 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 tookme right on the tips of the fingers. Those composition balls hurt likeblazes, I can tell you. Smashed my second finger simply into hash, andI couldn't grip a ball now to save my life. Much less bowl. I'm awfullysorry. It's a shocking nuisance. '

Norris agreed with him. It was more than a nuisance. It was astaggerer. Now that Gethryn no longer figured for the First Eleven, Gosling was the School's one hope. Baynes was good on his wicket, butthe wickets he liked were the sea-of-mud variety, and this summer fineweather had set in early and continued. Lorimer was also useful, butnot to be mentioned in the same breath as the great Samuel. The formerwas good, the latter would be good in a year or so. His proper sphereof action was the tail. If the first pair of bowlers could dismiss fivegood batsmen, Lorimer's fast, straight deliveries usually accounted forthe rest. But there had to be somebody to pave the way for him. He wasessentially a change bowler. It is hardly to be wondered at that Norrisvery soon began to think wistfully of the Bishop, who was just nowdoing such great things with the ball, wasting his sweetness on thedesert air of the House matches. Would it be consistent with hisdignity to invite him back into the team? It was a nice point. Withsome persons there might be a risk. But Gethryn, as he knew perfectlywell, was not the sort of fellow to rub in the undeniable fact that theSchool team could not get along without him. He had half decided to askhim to play against Charchester, when Gosling suggested the very samething. 

'Why don't you have Gethryn in again?' he said. 'You've stood him outagainst the O. B. S and the Masters. Surely that's enough. Especially ashe's miles the best bowler in the School. '

'Bar yourself. '

'Not a bit. He can give me points. You take my tip and put him inagain. '

'Think he'd play if I put him down? Because, you know, I'm dashed ifI'm going to do any grovelling and that sort of thing. '

'Certain to, I should think. Anyhow, it's worth trying. '

Pringle, on being consulted, gave the same opinion, and Norris wasconvinced. The list went up that afternoon, and for the first timesince the M. C. C. Match Gethryn's name appeared in its usual place. 

'Norris is learning wisdom in his old age, ' said Marriott to theBishop, as they walked over to the House that evening. 

Leicester's were in the middle of their semi-final, and looked likewinning it. 

'I was just wondering what to do about it, ' said Gethryn. 'What wouldyou do? Play, do you think?'

'Play! My dear man, what else did you propose to do? You weren'tthinking of refusing?'

'I was. '

'But, man! That's rank treason. If you're put down to play for theSchool you must play. There's no question about it. If Norris knockedyou down with one hand and put you up on the board with the other, you'd have to play all the same. You mustn't have any feelings wherethe School is concerned. Nobody's ever refused to play in a firstmatch. It's one of the things you can't do. Norris hasn't given youmuch of a time lately, I admit. Still, you must lump that. Excusesermon. I hope it's done you good. '

'Very well. I'll play. It's rather rot, though. '

'No, it's all right, really. It's only that you've got into a groove. You're so used to doing the heavy martyr, that the sudden change hasknocked you out rather. Come and have an ice before the shop shuts. '

So Gethryn came once more into the team, and travelled down toCharchester with the others. And at this point a painful alternativefaces me. I have to choose between truth and inclination. I should liketo say that the Bishop eclipsed himself, and broke all previous recordsin the Charchester match. By the rules of the dramatic, nothing else ispossible. But truth, though it crush me, and truth compels me to admitthat his performance was in reality distinctly mediocre. One of hisweak points as a bowler was that he was at sea when opposed to aleft-hander. Many bowlers have this failing. Some strange power seemsto compel them to bowl solely on the leg side, and nothing but longhops and full pitches. It was so in the case of Gethryn. Charchesterwon the toss, and batted first on a perfect wicket. The first pair ofbatsmen were the captain, a great bat, who had scored seventy-three notout against Beckford in the previous match, and a left-handed fiend. Baynes's leg-breaks were useless on a wicket which, from the hardnessof it, might have been constructed of asphalt, and the rubbish theBishop rolled up to the left-handed artiste was painful to witness. Atfour o'clock--the match had started at half-past eleven--theCharchester captain reached his century, and was almost immediatelystumped off Baynes. The Bishop bowled the next man first ball, the onebright spot in his afternoon's performance. Then came another longstand, against which the Beckford bowling raged in vain. At fiveo'clock, Charchester by that time having made two hundred and forty-onefor two wickets, the left-hander ran into three figures, and thecaptain promptly declared the innings closed. Beckford's only chancewas to play for a draw, and in this they succeeded. When stumps weredrawn at a quarter to seven, the score was a hundred and three, andfive wickets were down. The Bishop had the satisfaction of being notout with twenty-eight to his credit, but nothing less than a centurywould have been sufficient to soothe him after his shocking bowlingperformance. Pringle, who during the luncheon interval had encounteredhis young friends the Ashbys, and had been duly taunted by them on thesubject of leather-hunting, was top scorer with forty-one. Norris, Iregret to say, only made three, running himself out in his second over. As the misfortune could not, by any stretch of imagination, be laid atanybody else's door but his own, he was decidedly savage. The teamreturned to Beckford rather footsore, very disgusted, and abnormallysilent. Norris sulked by himself at one end of the saloon carriage, andthe Bishop sulked by himself at the other end, and even Marriottforbore to treat the situation lightly. It was a mournful home-coming. No cheering wildly as the brake drove to the College from Horton, noshouting of the School song in various keys as they passed through thebig gates. Simply silence. And except when putting him on to bowl, ortaking him off, or moving him in the field, Norris had not spoken aword to the Bishop the whole afternoon. 

It was shortly after this disaster that Mr Mortimer Wells came to staywith the Headmaster. Mr Mortimer Wells was a brilliant and superioryoung man, who was at some pains to be a cynic. He was an old pupil ofthe Head's 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 beendeputed the task of judging the poetical outbursts of the bards of theUpper Fifth, with the object of awarding to the most deserving--or, perhaps, to the least undeserving--the handsome prize bequeathed by hisopen-handed highness, the Rajah of Seltzerpore. 

This gentleman sat with his legs stretched beneath the Headmaster'sgenerous table. Dinner had come to an end, and a cup of coffee, actingin co-operation with several glasses of port and an excellent cigar, had inspired him to hold forth on the subject of poetry prizes. He heldforth. 

'The poetry prize system, ' said he--it is astonishing what nonsense aman, ordinarily intelligent, will talk after dinner--'is on exactly thesame principle as those penny-in-the-slot machines that you see atstations. You insert your penny. You set your prize subject. In theformer case you hope for wax vestas, and you get butterscotch. In thelatter, you hope for something at least readable, and you get the mostcomplete, terrible, uninspired twaddle that was ever written on paper. The boy mind'--here the ash of his cigar fell off on to hiswaistcoat--'the merely boy mind is incapable of poetry. '

From which speech the shrewd reader will infer that Mr Mortimer Wellswas something of a prig. And perhaps, altogether shrewd reader, you'reright. 

Mr Lawrie, the master of the Sixth, who had been asked to dinner tomeet the great man, disagreed as a matter of principle. He was one ofthose men who will take up a cause from pure love of argument. 

'I think you're wrong, sir. I'm perfectly convinced you're wrong. '

Mr Wells smiled in his superior way, as if to say that it was a pitythat Mr Lawrie was so foolish, but that perhaps he could not help it. 

'Ah, ' he said, 'but you have not had to wade through over thirty ofthese gems in a single week. I have. I can assure you your views wouldundergo a change if you could go through what I have. Let me read you aselection. If that does not convert you, nothing will. If you willexcuse me for a moment, Beckett, I will leave the groaning board, andfetch the manuscripts. '

He left the room, and returned with a pile of paper, which he depositedin front of him on the table. 

'Now, ' he said, selecting the topmost manuscript, 'I will take nounfair advantage. I will read you the very pick of the bunch. None ofthe other--er--poems come within a long way of this. It is a case ofEclipse first and the rest nowhere. The author, the gifted author, is aboy of the name of Lorimer, whom I congratulate on taking the Rajah'sprize. I drain this cup of coffee to him. Are you ready? Now, then. '

He cleared his throat. 

[16]

A DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP

'One moment, ' said Mr Lawrie, 'might I ask what is the subject of thepoem?'

'Death of Dido, ' said the Headmaster. 'Good, hackneyed, evergreensubject, mellow with years. Go on, Wells. '

Mr Wells began. 

 Queen of Tyre, ancient Tyre, Whilom mistress of the wave. 

Mr Lawrie, who had sunk back into the recesses of his chair in anattitude of attentive repose, sat up suddenly with a start. 

'What!' he cried. 

'Hullo, ' said Mr Wells, 'has the beauty of the work come home to youalready?'

'You notice, ' he said, as he repeated the couplet, 'that flaws begin toappear in the gem right from the start. It was rash of Master Lorimerto attempt such a difficult metre. Plucky, but rash. He should havestuck to blank verse. Tyre, you notice, two syllables to rhyme with"deny her" in line three. "What did fortune e'er deny her? Were not allher warriors brave?" That last line seems to me distinctly weak. Idon't know how it strikes you. '

'You're hypercritical, Wells, ' said the Head. 'Now, for a boy Iconsider that a very good beginning. What do you say, Lawrie?'

'I--er. Oh, I think I am hardly a judge. '

'To resume, ' said Mr Mortimer Wells. He resumed, and ran through theremaining verses of the poem with comments. When he had finished, heremarked that, in his opinion a whiff of fresh air would not hurt him. If the Headmaster would excuse him, he would select another of thoseexcellent cigars, and smoke it out of doors. 

'By all means, ' said the Head; 'I think I won't join you myself, butperhaps 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, MrLawrie coughed nervously. 

'Another cigar, Lawrie?'

'I--er--no, thank you. I want to ask you a question. What is yourcandid opinion of those verses Mr Wells was reading just now?'

The Headmaster laughed. 

'I don't think Wells treated them quite fairly. In my opinion they weredistinctly 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 don't understand. How were they yours?'

'I wrote them. Every word of them. '

'You wrote them! But, my dear Lawrie--'

'I don't wonder that you are surprised. For my own part I am amazed, simply amazed. How the boy--I don't even remember his name--contrivedto get hold of them, I have not the slightest conception. But that hedid so contrive is certain. The poem is word for word, literally wordfor word, the same as one which I wrote when I was at Cambridge. '

'Youdon't 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 canassure you, especially after Mr Wells's very outspoken criticisms, butthere is nothing else to be done. The poem appeared more than a dozenyears 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 seriouspoems, tragical most of them. I had them collected, and published themat my own expense. Very much at my own expense. I used a pseudonym, Iam thankful to say. As far as I could ascertain, the total saleamounted to eight copies. I have never felt the very slightestinclination to repeat the performance. But how this boy managed to seethe book is more than I can explain. He can hardly have bought it. Theprice was half-a-guinea. And there is certainly no copy in the Schoollibrary. The thing is a mystery. '

'A mystery that must be solved, ' said the Headmaster. 'The fact remainsthat he did see the book, and it is very serious. Wholesale plagiarismof this description should be kept for the School magazine. It shouldnot be allowed to spread to poetry prizes. I must see Lorimer aboutthis tomorrow. Perhaps he can throw some light upon the matter. '

When, in the course of morning school next day, the School porterentered the Upper Fifth form-room and informed Mr Sims, who was engagedin trying to drive the beauties of Plautus' colloquial style into theUpper Fifth brain, that the Headmaster wished to see Lorimer, Lorimer'sconscience was so abnormally good that for the life of him he could notthink why he had been sent for. As far as he could remember, there wasno possible way in which the authorities could get at him. If he hadbeen in the habit of smoking out of bounds in lonely fields anddeserted 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 tobreak them this term. He walked into the presence, glowing withconscious rectitude. And no sooner was he inside than the Headmaster, with three simple words, took every particle of starch out of hisanatomy. 

'Sit down, Lorimer, ' he said. 

There are many ways of inviting a person to seat himself. The genial'take a pew' of one's equal inspires confidence. The raucous 'sit downin front' of the frenzied pit, when you stand up to get a better viewof the stage, is not so pleasant. But worst of all is the icy 'sitdown' of the annoyed headmaster. In his mouth the words take tothemselves new and sinister meanings. They seem to accuse you ofnameless crimes, and to warn you that anything you may say will be usedagainst 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 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 hehad nothing to confess. He stifled an inclination to reply 'because thewoodpecker would peck her', or words to that effect, and maintained apallid 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. Afteropening in the conventional 'judge-then-placed-the-black-cap-on-his-head'manner, his assailant had suddenly begun to babble lightly of sportingliterature. He began to entertain doubts of the Headmaster's sanity. Itwould not have added greatly to his mystification if the Head had goneon to insist that he was the Emperor of Peru, and worked solely byelectricity. 

The Headmaster, for his part, was also surprised. He had worked fordismay, conscious guilt, confessions, and the like, instead of blankamazement. He, too, began to have his doubts. Had Mr Lawrie beenmistaken? It was not likely, but it was barely possible. In which casethe interview had better be brought to an abrupt stop until he had madeinquiries. The situation was at a deadlock. 

Fortunately at this point half-past twelve struck, and the bell rangfor the end of morning school. The situation was saved, and the tensionrelaxed. 

'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 informPringle that the Headmaster had run suddenly mad, and should by rightsbe equipped with a strait-waistcoat. 

'You never saw such a man, ' he said, 'hauled me out of school in themiddle of a Plautus lesson, dumps me down in a chair, and then asks meif I've read some weird sporting novel or other. '

'Sporting novel! My dear man!'

'Well, it sounded like it from the title. '

'The title. Oh!'

'What's up?'

Pringle had leaped to his feet as if he had suddenly discovered that hewas sitting on something red-hot. His normal air of superior calm hadvanished. He was breathless with excitement. A sudden idea had struckhim with the force of a bullet. 

'What was the title he asked you if you'd read the book of?' hedemanded incoherently. 

'_The Derby Winner_. '

Pringle sat down again, relieved. 

'Oh. Are you certain?'

'No, of course it wasn't that. I was only ragging. The real title was_The Dark Horse_. Hullo, what's up now? Have you got 'em too?'

'What's up? I'll tell you. We're done for. Absolutely pipped. That'swhat's the matter. '

'Hang it, man, do give us a chance. Why can't you explain, instead ofsitting 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. Ihadn't time to write anything of my own, so I cribbed it straight outof a book called _The Dark Horse_. Now do you see?'

Lorimer saw. He grasped the whole unpainted beauty of the situation ina flash, and for some moments it rendered him totally unfit forintellectual conversation. When he did speak his observation was brief, but it teemed with condensed meaning. It was the conversationalparallel to the ox in the tea-cup. 

'My aunt!' he said. 

'There'll 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 usdown easy if you're honest about it. '

It relieved Lorimer to hear Pringle talk about 'us'. It meant that hewas not to be left to bear the assault alone. Which, considering thatthe whole trouble was, strictly speaking, Pringle's fault, was onlyjust. 

'But how am I to explain? I can't reel off a long yarn all about howyou did it all, and so on. It would be too low. '

'I know, ' said Pringle, 'I've got it. Look here, on your way to the OldMan's room you pass the Remove door. Well, when you pass, drop somemoney. I'll be certain to hear it, as I sit next the door. And thenI'll ask to leave the room, and we'll go up together. '

'Good man, Pringle, you're a genius. Thanks, awfully. '

But as it happened, this crafty scheme was not found necessary. Theblow did not fall till after lock-up. 

Lorimer being in the Headmaster's House, it was possible to interviewhim without the fuss and advertisement inseparable from a 'sending forduring school'. Just as he was beginning his night-work, the butlercame with a message that he was wanted in the Headmaster's part of theHouse. 

'It was only Mr Lorimer as the master wished to see, ' said the butler, as Pringle rose to accompany his companion in crime. 

'That's all right, ' said Pringle, 'the Headmaster's always glad to seeme. I've got a standing invitation. He'll understand. '

At first, when he saw two where he had only sent for one, theHeadmaster did not understand at all, and said so. He had prepared toannihilate Lorimer hip and thigh, for he was now convinced that hisblank astonishment at the mention of _The Dark Horse_ during theirprevious interview had been, in the words of the bard, a mere veneer, awile of guile. Since the morning he had seen Mr Lawrie again, and hadwith his own eyes compared the two poems, the printed and the written, the author by special request having hunted up a copy of that valuablework, _The Dark Horse_, from the depths of a cupboard in hisrooms. 

His astonishment melted before Pringle's explanation, which was briefand clear, and gave way to righteous wrath. In well-chosen terms heharangued the two criminals. Finally he perorated. 

'There is only one point which tells in your favour. You have notattempted concealment. ' (Pringle nudged Lorimer surreptitiously atthis. ) 'And I may add that I believe that, as you say, you did notdesire actually to win the prize by underhand means. But I cannotoverlook such an offence. It is serious. Most serious. You will, bothof you, go into extra lesson for the remaining Saturdays of the term. '

Extra lesson meant that instead of taking a half-holiday on Saturdaylike an ordinary law-abiding individual, you treated the day as if itwere a full-school day, and worked from two till four under the eye ofthe Headmaster. Taking into consideration everything, the punishmentwas not an extraordinarily severe one, for there were only two moreSaturdays to the end of term, and the sentence made no mention of theWednesday half-holidays. 

But in effect it was serious indeed. It meant that neither Pringle norLorimer would be able to play in the final House match againstLeicester's, which was fixed to begin on the next Saturday at twoo'clock. Among the rules governing the House matches was one to theeffect that no House might start a match with less than eleven men, normight the Eleven be changed during the progress of the match--a ruleframed by the Headmaster, not wholly without an eye to emergencies likethe present. 

'Thank goodness, ' said Pringle, 'that there aren't any more Firstmatches. It's bad enough, though, by Jove, as it is. I suppose it'soccurred 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 I'd got the Rajah ofSeltzerpore here now. I'd strangle him. I wonder if the Old Manrealizes that he's done his own House out of the cup?'

'Wouldn't care if he did. Still, it's a sickening nuisance. Leicester'sare a cert now. '

'Absolute cert, ' said Lorimer; 'Baynes can't do all the bowling, especially on a hard wicket, and there's nobody else. As for ourbatting and fielding--'

'Don't, ' said-Pringle gloomily, 'it's too awful. '

On the following Saturday, Leicester's ran up a total in their firstinnings which put the issue out of doubt, and finished off the game onthe Monday by beating the School House by six wickets. 

[17]

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 hadmended steadily during the last weeks of the term. He had kept up hisend as head of the House perfectly. The internal affairs of Leicester'swere going as smoothly as oil. And there was the cricket cup to live upto. Nothing pulls a House together more than beating all comers in thefield, especially against odds, as Leicester's had done. And then Monkand Danvers had left. That had set the finishing touch to a good term'swork. The Mob were no longer a power in the land. Waterford remained, but a subdued, benevolent Waterford, with a wonderful respect for lawand order. Yes, as far as the House was concerned, Gethryn felt noapprehensions. As regarded the School at large, things were bound tocome right in time. A school has very little memory. And in the presentcase the Bishop, being second man in the Fifteen, had unusualopportunities of righting himself in the eyes of the multitude. In thewinter term cricket is forgotten. Football is the only game thatcounts. 

And to round off the whole thing, when he entered his study he found aletter on the table. It was from Farnie, and revealed two curious andinteresting facts. Firstly he had left, and Beckford was to know him nomore. Secondly--this was even more remarkable--he possessed aconscience. 

'Dear Gethryn, ' ran the letter, 'I am writing to tell you my father issending 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 youlent me. I utterly bar the idea of going to France. It's beastly, yourstruly, R. Farnie. '

The money mentioned was in the shape of a cheque, signed by Farniesenior. 

Gethryn was distinctly surprised. That all this time remorse like aworm i' the bud should have been feeding upon his uncle's damask cheek, as it were, he had never suspected. His relative's demeanour since theM. C. C. Match had, it is true, been considerably toned down, but this hehad 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 itback was like coming suddenly into an unexpected fortune. He began tothink that there must have been some good in Farnie after all, thoughhe was fain to admit that without the aid of a microscope the human eyemight well have been excused for failing to detect it. 

His next thought was that there was nothing now to prevent him tellingthe whole story to Reece and Marriott. Reece, if anybody, deserved tohave his curiosity satisfied. The way in which he had abstained fromquestions at the time of the episode had been nothing short ofmagnificent. Reece must certainly be told. 

Neither Reece nor Marriott had arrived at the moment. Both were in thehabit of returning at the latest possible hour, except at the beginningof the summer term. The Bishop determined to reserve his story untilthe following evening. 

Accordingly, when the study kettle was hissing on the Etna, and Wilsonwas crouching in front of the fire, making toast in his own inimitablestyle, he embarked upon his narrative. 

'I say, Marriott. '

'Hullo. '

'Do you notice a subtle change in me this term? Does my expressivepurple eye gleam more brightly than of yore? It does. Exactly so. Ifeel awfully bucked up. You know that kid Farnie has left?'

'I thought I missed his merry prattle. What's happened to him?'

'Gone to a school in France somewhere. '

'Jolly for France. '

'Awfully. But the point is that now he's gone I can tell you about thatM. C. C. Match affair. I know you want to hear what really did happenthat afternoon. '

Marriott pointed significantly at Wilson, whose back was turned. 

'Oh, that's all right, ' said Gethryn. 'Wilson. '

'Yes?'

'You mustn't listen. Try and think you're a piece of furniture. See?And if you do happen to overhear anything, you needn't go gassing aboutit. Follow?'

'All right, ' said Wilson, and Gethryn told his tale. 

'Jove, ' he said, as he finished, 'that's a relief. It's something tohave 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, Isuppose. I see that all right. But, my dear man, what a rotten thing todo. A kid like that. A little beast who simply cried out for sacking. '

'Well, at any rate, it's over now. You needn't jump on me. I acted fromthe best motives. That's what my grandfather, Farnie's _pater_, you know, always used to say when he got at me for anything in thehappy days of my childhood. Don't sit there looking like a beastlychurchwarden, you ass. Buck up, and take an intelligent interest inthings. '

'No, but really, Bishop, ' said Marriott, 'you must treat thisseriously. You'll have to let the other chaps know about it. '

'How? Put it up on the notice-board? This is to certify that Mr AllanGethryn, of Leicester's House, Beckford, is dismissed without a stainon his character. You ass, how can I let them know? I seem to seemyself 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 yourcruel scorn. I endured it. I steeled myself against it. And now Iforgive you profusely, every one of you. Let us embrace. It wouldn'tdo. You must see that much. Don't be a goat. Is that toast done yet, Wilson?'

Wilson exhibited several pounds of the article in question. 

'Good, ' said the Bishop. 'You're a great man, Wilson. You can make asmall selection of those biscuits, and if you bag all the sugar onesI'll slay you, and then you can go quietly downstairs, and rejoin yoursorrowing friends. And don't you go telling them what I've beensaying. '

'Rather not, ' said Wilson. 

He made his small selection, and retired. The Bishop turned to Marriottagain. 

'I shall tell Reece, because he deserves it, and I rather think I shalltell Gosling and Pringle. Nobody else, though. What's the good of it?Everybody'll forget the whole thing by next season. '

'How about Norris?' asked Marriott. 

'Now there you have touched the spot. I can't possibly tell Norrismyself. My natural pride is too enormous. Descended from a primordialatomic globule, you know, like Pooh Bah. And I shook hands with a dukeonce. The man Norris and I, I regret to say, had something of a row onthe subject last term. We parted with mutual expressions of hate, andhaven't spoken since. What I should like would be for somebody else totell him all about it. Not you. It would look too much like a put-upjob. So don't you go saying anything. Swear. '

'Why not?'

'Because you mustn't. Swear. Let me hear you swear by the bones of yourancestors. '

'All right. I call it awful rot, though. '

'Can't be helped. Painful but necessary. Now I'm going to tell Reece, though I don't expect he'll remember anything about it. Reece neverremembers anything beyond his last meal. '

'Idiot, ' said Marriott after him as the door closed. 'I don't know, though, ' he added to himself. 

And, pouring himself out another cup of tea, he pondered deeply overthe matter. 

Reece heard the news without emotion. 

'You're a good sort, Bishop, ' he said, 'I knew something of the kindmust have happened. It reminds me of a thing that happened to--'

'Yes, it is rather like it, isn't 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 thissort of thing. 

It was a fortnight later, and Marriott and the Bishop were once moreseated in their study waiting for Wilson to get tea ready. Wilson madetoast in the foreground. Marriott was in football clothes, rubbing hisshin gently where somebody had kicked it in the scratch game thatafternoon. After rubbing for a few moments in silence, he spokesuddenly. 

'You must tell Norris, ' he said. 'It's all rot. '

'I can't. '

'Then I shall. '

'No, don't. You swore you wouldn't. '

'Well, but look here. I just want to ask you one question. What sort ofa time did you have in that scratch game tonight?'

'Beastly. I touched the ball exactly four times. If I wasn't so awfullyornamental, I don't see what would be the use of my turning out at all. I'm no practical good to the team. '

'Exactly. That's just what I wanted to get at. I don't mean your remarkabout 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 henever gives you a pass, I don't see how we can expect to have anycombination in the First. It's no good my slinging out the ball if thecentres stick to it like glue directly they get it, and refuse to giveit up. It's simply sickening. '

Marriott played half for the First Fifteen, and his soul was in thebusiness. 

'But, my dear chap, ' said Gethryn, 'you don't mean to tell me that aman like Norris would purposely rot up the First's combination becausehe happened to have had a row with the other centre. He's much toodecent a fellow. '

'No. I don't mean that exactly. What he does is this. I've watched him. He gets the ball. He runs with it till his man is on him, and then hethinks of passing. You're backing him up. He sees you, and says tohimself, "I can't pass to that cad"--'

'Meaning me?'

'Meaning you. '

'Thanks awfully. '

'Don't mention it. I'm merely quoting his thoughts, as deduced by me. He says, "I can't pass to that--well, individual, if you prefer it. Where's somebody else?" So he hesitates, and gets tackled, or elseslings the ball wildly out to somebody who can't possibly get to it. It's simply infernal. And we play the Nomads tomorrow, too. Somethingmust be done. '

'Somebody ought to tell him. Why doesn't our genial skipper assert hisauthority?'

'Hill's a forward, you see, and doesn't get an opportunity of noticingit. I can't tell him, of course. I've not got my colours--'

'You're a cert. For them. '

'Hope so. Anyway, I've not got them yet, and Norris has, so I can'tvery well go slanging him to Hill. Sort of thing rude people would callside. '

'Well, I'll look out tomorrow, and if it's as bad as you think, I'llspeak to Hill. It's a beastly thing to have to do. '

'Beastly, ' agreed Marriott. 'It's got to be done, though. We can't gothrough the season without any combination in the three-quarter line, just to spare Norris's feelings. '

'It's a pity, though, ' said the Bishop, 'because Norris is a rippinggood sort of chap, really. I wish we hadn't had that bust-up lastterm. '

[18]

THE BISHOP SCORES

At this point Wilson finished the toast, and went out. As he went hethought over what he had just heard. Marriott and Gethryn frequentlytalked the most important School politics before him, for they haddiscovered at an early date that he was a youth of discretion, whocould be trusted not to reveal state secrets. But matters now seemed todemand such a revelation. It was a serious thing to do, but there wasnobody else to do it, and it obviously must be done, so, by a simpleprocess of reasoning, he ought to do it. Half an hour had to elapsebefore the bell rang for lock-up. There was plenty of time to do thewhole thing and get back to the House before the door was closed. Hetook his cap, and trotted off to Jephson's. 

Norris was alone in his study when Wilson knocked at the door. Heseemed surprised to see his visitor. He knew Wilson well by sight, hebeing captain of the First Eleven and Wilson a distinctly promisingjunior bat, but this was the first time he had ever exchanged a word ofconversation with him. 

'Hullo, ' he said, putting down his book. 

'Oh, I say, Norris, ' began Wilson nervously, 'can I speak to you for aminute?'

'All right. Go ahead. '

After two false starts, Wilson at last managed to get the thread of hisstory. He did not mention Marriott's remarks on football subjects, butconfined himself to the story of Farnie and the bicycle ride, as he hadheard it from Gethryn on the second evening of the term. 

'So that's how it was, you see, ' he concluded. 

There was a long silence. Wilson sat nervously on the edge of hischair, and Norris stared thoughtfully into the fire. 

'So shall I tell him it's all right?' asked Wilson at last. 

'Tell who what's all right?' asked Norris politely. 

'Oh, er, Gethryn, you know, ' replied Wilson, slightly disconcerted. Hehad had a sort of idea that Norris would have rushed out of the room, sprinted over to Leicester's, and flung himself on the Bishop's bosomin an agony of remorse. He appeared to be taking things altogether toocoolly. 

'No, ' said Norris, 'don't tell him anything. I shall have lots ofchances of speaking to him myself if I want to. It isn't as if we werenever going to meet again. You'd better cut now. There's the bell justgoing. Good night. '

'Good night, Norris. '

'Oh, and, I say, ' said Norris, as Wilson opened the door, 'I meant totell you some time ago. If you buck up next cricket season, it's quitepossible that you'll get colours of some sort. You might bear that inmind. '

'I will, ' said Wilson fervently. 'Good night, Norris. Thanks awfully. '

The Nomads brought down a reasonably hot team against Beckford as ageneral 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 thehalf-way line, the line-out had resulted in a hand-ball and a scrum, they proved that appearances were not deceptive. They broke through ina solid mass--the Beckford forwards never somehow seemed to gettogether properly in the first scrum of a big match--and rushed theball down the field. Norris fell on it. Another hastily-formed scrum, and the Nomads' front rank was off again. Ten yards nearer the Schoolline there was another halt. Grainger, the Beckford full-back, whosespeciality was the stopping of rushes, had curled himself neatly roundthe ball. Then the School forwards awoke to a sense of theirresponsibilities. It was time they did, for Beckford was now penned upwell within its own twenty-five line, and the Nomad halves wereappealing pathetically to their forwards to let that ball out, forgoodness' _sake_. But the forwards fancied a combined rush was thething to play. For a full minute they pushed the School pack towardstheir line, and then some rash enthusiast kicked a shade too hard. Theball dribbled out of the scrum on the School side, and Marriott puntedinto touch. 

'You _must_ let it out, you men, ' said the aggrieved half-backs. 

Marriott's kick had not brought much relief. The visitors were stillinside the Beckford twenty-five line, and now that their forwards hadrealized the sin and folly of trying to rush the ball through, mattersbecame decidedly warm for the School outsides. Norris and Gethryn inthe centre and Grainger at back performed prodigies of tackling. Thewing three-quarter hovered nervously about, feeling that their timemight come at any moment. 

The Nomad attack was concentrated on the extreme right. 

Philips, the International, was officiating for them aswing-three-quarters on that side, and they played to him. If he oncegot the ball he would take a considerable amount of stopping. But theball never managed to arrive. Norris and Gethryn stuck to their mencloser than brothers. 

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 muchbetter game than Association. You don't get that sort of thing inSoccer. But such struggles generally end in the same way. The Nomadswere now within a couple of yards of the School line. It was a questionof time. In three minutes the whistle would blow for half-time, and theSchool would be saved. 

But in those three minutes the thing happened. For the first time inthe match the Nomad forwards heeled absolutely cleanly. Hitherto, theball had always remained long enough in the scrum to give Marriott andWogan, the School halves, time to get round and on to their men beforethey could become dangerous. But this time the ball was in and outagain in a moment. The Nomad half who was taking the scrum picked itup, and was over the line before Marriott realized that the ball wasout at all. The school lining the ropes along the touch-line applaudedpolitely but feebly, as was their custom when the enemy scored. 

The kick was a difficult one--the man had got over in the corner--andfailed. The referee blew his whistle for half-time. The teams suckedlemons, and the Beckford forwards tried to explain to Hill, thecaptain, why they never got that ball in the scrums. Hill havingobserved bitterly, as he did in every match when the School did not getthirty points in the first half, that he 'would chuck the whole lot ofthem out next Saturday', the game recommenced. 

Beckford started on the second half with three points against them, butwith both wind, what there was of it, and slope in their favour. Threepoints, especially in a club match, where one's opponents mayreasonably 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-fiveminutes is unnecessary. Copies of _The Beckfordian_ containing afull report, crammed with details, and written in the most polishedEnglish, may still be had from the editor at the modest price ofsixpence. Suffice it to say that two minutes from the kick-off theNomads increased their score with a goal from a mark, and almostimmediately afterwards Marriott gave the School their first score witha 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 oftheir combined dribbles, and a scrum had been formed on the Beckfordtwenty-five line. The visitors heeled as usual. The half who was takingthe scrum whipped the ball out in the direction of his colleague. Butbefore it could reach him, Wogan had intercepted the pass, and was offdown the field, through the enemy's three-quarter line, with only theback in front of him, and with Norris in close attendance, followed byGethryn. 

There is nothing like an intercepted pass for adding a dramatic touchto a close game. A second before it had seemed as though the Schoolmust be beaten, for though they would probably have kept the enemy outfor the few minutes that remained, they could never have worked theball down the field by ordinary give-and-take play. And now, unlessWogan shamefully bungled what he had begun so well, victory wascertain. 

There was a danger, though. Wogan might in the excitement of the momenttry to get past the back and score himself, instead of waiting untilthe back was on him and then passing to Norris. The School on thetouch-line shrieked their applause, but there was a note of anxiety aswell. A slight reputation which Wogan had earned for playing a selfishgame sprang up before their eyes. Would he pass? Or would he runhimself? If the latter, the odds were anything against his succeeding. 

But everything went right. Wogan arrived at the back, drew thatgentleman's undivided attention to himself, and then slung the ball outto Norris, the model of what a pass ought to be. Norris made no mistakeabout it. 

Then the remarkable thing happened. The Bishop, having backed Norris upfor fifty yards at full speed, could not stop himself at once. Hisimpetus carried him on when all need for expenditure of energy had cometo an end. He was just slowing down, leaving Norris to complete thething alone, when to his utter amazement he found the ball in hishands. Norris had passed to him. With a clear run in, and the nearestfoeman yards to the rear, Norris had passed. It was certainly weird, but his first duty was to score. There must be no mistake about thescoring. Afterwards he could do any thinking that might be required. Heshot at express speed over the line, and placed the ball in the exactcentre of the white line which joined the posts. Then he walked back towhere Norris was waiting for him. 

'Good man, ' said Norris, 'that was awfully good. '

His tone was friendly. He spoke as he had been accustomed to speakbefore the M. C. C. Match. Gethryn took his cue from him. It was evidentthat, for reasons at present unexplained, Norris wished for peace, andsuch 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, you'd only got to walk over. '

'Oh, I don't know. I might have slipped or something. Anyhow I thoughtI'd better pass. What price Beckford combination? The home-madearticle, eh?'

'Rather, ' said the Bishop. 

'Oh, by the way, ' said Norris, 'I was talking to young Wilson yesterdayevening. Or rather he was talking to me. Decent kid, isn't he? He wastelling 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 attemptof Hill to convert Gethryn's try into the necessary goal. The refereeperformed a solo on the whistle, and immediately afterwards another, asif as an encore. 

'No side, ' he said pensively. The School had won by two points. 

'That's all right, ' said Norris. 'I say, can you come and have tea inmy study when you've changed? Some of the fellows are coming. I'veasked Reece and Marriott, and Pringle said he'd turn up too. It'll berather a tight fit, but we'll manage somehow. '

'Right, ' said the Bishop. 'Thanks very much. '

Norris was correct. It was a tight fit. But then a study brew loseshalf its charm if there is room to breathe. It was a most enjoyableceremony in every way. After the serious part of the meal was over, andthe time had arrived when it was found pleasanter to eat wafer biscuitsthan muffins, the Bishop obliged once more with a recital of hisadventures on that distant day in the summer term. 

There were several comments when he had finished. The only one worthrecording is Reece's. 

Reece said it distinctly reminded him of a thing which had happened toa friend of a chap his brother had known at Sandhurst.