MIKE

A PUBLIC SCHOOL STORY

BYP. G. WODEHOUSE

CONTAINING TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONSBY T. M. R. WHITWELL

LONDON1909. 

[Illustration (Frontispiece): "ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON THEN WHO HAD ANAVERAGE OF FIFTY ONE POINT NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"]

[Dedication]TOALAN DURAND

CONTENTS

CHAPTERI. MIKE

II. THE JOURNEY DOWN

III. MIKE FINDS A FRIENDLY NATIVE

IV. AT THE NETS

V. REVELRY BY NIGHT

VI. IN WHICH A TIGHT CORNER IS EVADED

VII. IN WHICH MIKE IS DISCUSSED

VIII. A ROW WITH THE TOWN

IX. BEFORE THE STORM

X. THE GREAT PICNIC

XI. THE CONCLUSION OF THE PICNIC

XII. MIKE GETS HIS CHANCE

XIII. THE M. C. C. MATCH

XIV. A SLIGHT IMBROGLIO

XV. MIKE CREATES A VACANCY

XVI. AN EXPERT EXAMINATION

XVII. ANOTHER VACANCY

XVIII. BOB HAS NEWS TO IMPART

XIX. MIKE GOES TO SLEEP AGAIN

XX. THE TEAM IS FILLED UP

XXI. MARJORY THE FRANK

XXII. WYATT IS REMINDED OF AN ENGAGEMENT

XXIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY

XXIV. CAUGHT

XXV. MARCHING ORDERS

XXVI. THE AFTERMATH

XXVII. THE RIPTON MATCH

XXVIII. MIKE WINS HOME

XXIX. WYATT AGAIN

XXX. MR. JACKSON MAKES UP HIS MIND

XXXI. SEDLEIGH

XXXII. PSMITH

XXXIII. STAKING OUT A CLAIM

XXXIV. GUERILLA WARFARE

XXXV. UNPLEASANTNESS IN THE SMALL HOURS

XXXVI. ADAIR

XXXVII. MIKE FINDS OCCUPATION

XXXVIII. THE FIRE BRIGADE MEETING

XXXIX. ACHILLES LEAVES HIS TENT

XL. THE MATCH WITH DOWNING'S

XLI. THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF JELLICOE

XLII. JELLICOE GOES ON THE SICK-LIST

XLIII. MIKE RECEIVES A COMMISSION

XLIV. AND FULFILS IT

XLV. PURSUIT

XLVI. THE DECORATION OF SAMMY

XLVII. MR. DOWNING ON THE SCENT

XLVIII. THE SLEUTH-HOUND

XLIX. A CHECK

L. THE DESTROYER OF EVIDENCE

LI. MAINLY ABOUT BOOTS

LII. ON THE TRAIL AGAIN

LIII. THE KETTLE METHOD

LIV. ADAIR HAS A WORD WITH MIKE

LV. CLEARING THE AIR

LVI. IN WHICH PEACE IS DECLARED

LVII. MR. DOWNING MOVES

LVIII. THE ARTIST CLAIMS HIS WORK

LIX. SEDLEIGH _v. _ WRYKYN

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

BY T. M. R. WHITWELL

"ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON, THEN, WHO HAD AN AVERAGE OF FIFTY-ONE POINTNOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"

THE DARK WATERS WERE LASHED INTO A MAELSTROM

"DON'T _LAUGH_, YOU GRINNING APE"

"DO--YOU--SEE, YOU FRIGHTFUL KID?"

"WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT JIMMY WYATT?"

MIKE AND THE BALL ARRIVED ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY

"WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

PSMITH SEIZED AND EMPTIED JELLICOE'S JUG OVER SPILLER

"WHY DID YOU SAY YOU DIDN'T PLAY CRICKET?" HE ASKED

"WHO--" HE SHOUTED, "WHO HAS DONE THIS?"

"DID--YOU--PUT--THAT--BOOT--THERE, SMITH?"

MIKE DROPPED THE SOOT-COVERED OBJECT IN THE FENDER

CHAPTER I

MIKE

It was a morning in the middle of April, and the Jackson family wereconsequently breakfasting in comparative silence. The cricket seasonhad not begun, and except during the cricket season they were in thehabit of devoting their powerful minds at breakfast almost exclusivelyto the task of victualling against the labours of the day. In May, June, July, and August the silence was broken. The three grown-upJacksons played regularly in first-class cricket, and there was alwayskeen competition among their brothers and sisters for the copy of the_Sportsman_ which was to be found on the hall table with theletters. Whoever got it usually gloated over it in silence till urgedwrathfully by the multitude to let them know what had happened; whenit would appear that Joe had notched his seventh century, or thatReggie had been run out when he was just getting set, or, as sometimesoccurred, that that ass Frank had dropped Fry or Hayward in the slipsbefore he had scored, with the result that the spared expert had madea couple of hundred and was still going strong. 

In such a case the criticisms of the family circle, particularly ofthe smaller Jackson sisters, were so breezy and unrestrained that Mrs. Jackson generally felt it necessary to apply the closure. Indeed, Marjory Jackson, aged fourteen, had on three several occasions beenfined pudding at lunch for her caustic comments on the batting of herbrother Reggie in important fixtures. Cricket was a tradition in thefamily, and the ladies, unable to their sorrow to play the gamethemselves, were resolved that it should not be their fault if thestandard was not kept up. 

On this particular morning silence reigned. A deep gasp from somesmall Jackson, wrestling with bread-and-milk, and an occasional remarkfrom Mr. Jackson on the letters he was reading, alone broke it. 

"Mike's late again, " said Mrs. Jackson plaintively, at last. 

"He's getting up, " said Marjory. "I went in to see what he was doing, and he was asleep. So, " she added with a satanic chuckle, "I squeezeda sponge over him. He swallowed an awful lot, and then he woke up, andtried to catch me, so he's certain to be down soon. "

"Marjory!"

"Well, he was on his back with his mouth wide open. I had to. He wassnoring like anything. "

"You might have choked him. "

"I did, " said Marjory with satisfaction. "Jam, please, Phyllis, youpig. "

Mr. Jackson looked up. 

"Mike will have to be more punctual when he goes to Wrykyn, " he said. 

"Oh, father, is Mike going to Wrykyn?" asked Marjory. "When?"

"Next term, " said Mr. Jackson. "I've just heard from Mr. Wain, " headded across the table to Mrs. Jackson. "The house is full, but he isturning a small room into an extra dormitory, so he can take Mikeafter all. "

The first comment on this momentous piece of news came from BobJackson. Bob was eighteen. The following term would be his last atWrykyn, and, having won through so far without the infliction of asmall brother, he disliked the prospect of not being allowed to finishas he had begun. 

"I say!" he said. "What?"

"He ought to have gone before, " said Mr. Jackson. "He's fifteen. Muchtoo old for that private school. He has had it all his own way there, and it isn't good for him. "

"He's got cheek enough for ten, " agreed Bob. 

"Wrykyn will do him a world of good. "

"We aren't in the same house. That's one comfort. "

Bob was in Donaldson's. It softened the blow to a certain extent thatMike should be going to Wain's. He had the same feeling for Mike thatmost boys of eighteen have for their fifteen-year-old brothers. He wasfond of him in the abstract, but preferred him at a distance. 

Marjory gave tongue again. She had rescued the jam from Phyllis, whohad shown signs of finishing it, and was now at liberty to turn hermind to less pressing matters. Mike was her special ally, and anythingthat affected his fortunes affected her. 

"Hooray! Mike's going to Wrykyn. I bet he gets into the first elevenhis first term. "

"Considering there are eight old colours left, " said Bob loftily, "besides heaps of last year's seconds, it's hardly likely that a kidlike Mike'll get a look in. He might get his third, if he sweats. "

The aspersion stung Marjory. 

"I bet he gets in before you, anyway, " she said. 

Bob disdained to reply. He was among those heaps of last year'sseconds to whom he had referred. He was a sound bat, though lackingthe brilliance of his elder brothers, and he fancied that his cap wasa certainty this season. Last year he had been tried once or twice. This year it should be all right. 

Mrs. Jackson intervened. 

"Go on with your breakfast, Marjory, " she said. "You mustn't say 'Ibet' so much. "

Marjory bit off a section of her slice of bread-and-jam. 

"Anyhow, I bet he does, " she muttered truculently through it. 

There was a sound of footsteps in the passage outside. The dooropened, and the missing member of the family appeared. Mike Jacksonwas tall for his age. His figure was thin and wiry. His arms and legslooked a shade too long for his body. He was evidently going to bevery tall some day. In face, he was curiously like his brother Joe, whose appearance is familiar to every one who takes an interest infirst-class cricket. The resemblance was even more marked on thecricket field. Mike had Joe's batting style to the last detail. He wasa pocket edition of his century-making brother. "Hullo, " he said, "sorry I'm late. "

This was mere stereo. He had made the same remark nearly every morningsince the beginning of the holidays. 

"All right, Marjory, you little beast, " was his reference to thesponge incident. 

His third remark was of a practical nature. 

"I say, what's under that dish?"

"Mike, " began Mr. Jackson--this again was stereo--"you really mustlearn to be more punctual----"

He was interrupted by a chorus. 

"Mike, you're going to Wrykyn next term, " shouted Marjory. 

"Mike, father's just had a letter to say you're going to Wrykyn nextterm. " From Phyllis. 

"Mike, you're going to Wrykyn. " From Ella. 

Gladys Maud Evangeline, aged three, obliged with a solo of her owncomposition, in six-eight time, as follows: "Mike Wryky. Mike Wryky. Mike Wryke Wryke Wryke Mike Wryke Wryke Mike Wryke Mike Wryke. "

"Oh, put a green baize cloth over that kid, somebody, " groaned Bob. 

Whereat Gladys Maud, having fixed him with a chilly stare for someseconds, suddenly drew a long breath, and squealed deafeningly formore milk. 

Mike looked round the table. It was a great moment. He rose to it withthe utmost dignity. 

"Good, " he said. "I say, what's under that dish?"

 * * * * *

After breakfast, Mike and Marjory went off together to the meadow atthe end of the garden. Saunders, the professional, assisted by thegardener's boy, was engaged in putting up the net. Mr. Jacksonbelieved in private coaching; and every spring since Joe, the eldestof the family, had been able to use a bat a man had come down from theOval to teach him the best way to do so. Each of the boys in turn hadpassed from spectators to active participants in the net practice inthe meadow. For several years now Saunders had been the chosen man, and his attitude towards the Jacksons was that of the Faithful OldRetainer in melodrama. Mike was his special favourite. He felt that inhim he had material of the finest order to work upon. There wasnothing the matter with Bob. In Bob he would turn out a good, soundarticle. Bob would be a Blue in his third or fourth year, and probablya creditable performer among the rank and file of a county team lateron. But he was not a cricket genius, like Mike. Saunders would lieawake at night sometimes thinking of the possibilities that were inMike. The strength could only come with years, but the style was therealready. Joe's style, with improvements. 

Mike put on his pads; and Marjory walked with the professional to thebowling crease. 

"Mike's going to Wrykyn next term, Saunders, " she said. "All the boyswere there, you know. So was father, ages ago. "

"Is he, miss? I was thinking he would be soon. "

"Do you think he'll get into the school team?"

"School team, miss! Master Mike get into a school team! He'll beplaying for England in another eight years. That's what he'll beplaying for. "

"Yes, but I meant next term. It would be a record if he did. Even Joeonly got in after he'd been at school two years. Don't you think hemight, Saunders? He's awfully good, isn't he? He's better than Bob, isn't he? And Bob's almost certain to get in this term. "

Saunders looked a little doubtful. 

"Next term!" he said. "Well, you see, miss, it's this way. It's allthere, in a manner of speaking, with Master Mike. He's got as muchstyle as Mr. Joe's got, every bit. The whole thing is, you see, miss, you get these young gentlemen of eighteen, and nineteen perhaps, andit stands to reason they're stronger. There's a young gentleman, perhaps, doesn't know as much about what I call real playing as MasterMike's forgotten; but then he can hit 'em harder when he does hit 'em, and that's where the runs come in. They aren't going to play MasterMike because he'll be in the England team when he leaves school. They'll give the cap to somebody that can make a few then and there. "

"But Mike's jolly strong. "

"Ah, I'm not saying it mightn't be, miss. I was only saying don'tcount on it, so you won't be disappointed if it doesn't happen. It'squite likely that it will, only all I say is don't count on it. I onlyhope that they won't knock all the style out of him before they'redone with him. You know these school professionals, miss. "

"No, I don't, Saunders. What are they like?"

"Well, there's too much of the come-right-out-at-everything about 'emfor my taste. Seem to think playing forward the alpha and omugger ofbatting. They'll make him pat balls back to the bowler which he'd cutfor twos and threes if he was left to himself. Still, we'll hope forthe best, miss. Ready, Master Mike? Play. "

As Saunders had said, it was all there. Of Mike's style there could beno doubt. To-day, too, he was playing more strongly than usual. Marjory had to run to the end of the meadow to fetch one straightdrive. "He hit that hard enough, didn't he, Saunders?" she asked, asshe returned the ball. 

"If he could keep on doing ones like that, miss, " said theprofessional, "they'd have him in the team before you could sayknife. "

Marjory sat down again beside the net, and watched more hopefully. 

CHAPTER II

THE JOURNEY DOWN

The seeing off of Mike on the last day of the holidays was an imposingspectacle, a sort of pageant. Going to a public school, especially atthe beginning of the summer term, is no great hardship, moreparticularly when the departing hero has a brother on the verge of theschool eleven and three other brothers playing for counties; and Mikeseemed in no way disturbed by the prospect. Mothers, however, to theend of time will foster a secret fear that their sons will be bulliedat a big school, and Mrs. Jackson's anxious look lent a fine solemnityto the proceedings. 

And as Marjory, Phyllis, and Ella invariably broke down when the timeof separation arrived, and made no exception to their rule on thepresent occasion, a suitable gloom was the keynote of the gathering. Mr. Jackson seemed to bear the parting with fortitude, as did Mike'sUncle John (providentially roped in at the eleventh hour on his wayto Scotland, in time to come down with a handsome tip). To theircoarse-fibred minds there was nothing pathetic or tragic about theaffair at all. (At the very moment when the train began to glide outof the station Uncle John was heard to remark that, in his opinion, these Bocks weren't a patch on the old shaped Larranaga. ) Among otherspresent might have been noticed Saunders, practising late cuts rathercoyly with a walking-stick in the background; the village idiot, whohad rolled up on the chance of a dole; Gladys Maud Evangeline's nurse, smiling vaguely; and Gladys Maud Evangeline herself, frankly boredwith the whole business. 

The train gathered speed. The air was full of last messages. UncleJohn said on second thoughts he wasn't sure these Bocks weren't half abad smoke after all. Gladys Maud cried, because she had taken a suddendislike to the village idiot; and Mike settled himself in the cornerand opened a magazine. 

He was alone in the carriage. Bob, who had been spending the last weekof the holidays with an aunt further down the line, was to board thetrain at East Wobsley, and the brothers were to make a state entryinto Wrykyn together. Meanwhile, Mike was left to his milk chocolate, his magazines, and his reflections. 

The latter were not numerous, nor profound. He was excited. He hadbeen petitioning the home authorities for the past year to be allowedto leave his private school and go to Wrykyn, and now the thing hadcome about. He wondered what sort of a house Wain's was, and whetherthey had any chance of the cricket cup. According to Bob they had noearthly; but then Bob only recognised one house, Donaldson's. Hewondered if Bob would get his first eleven cap this year, and if hehimself were likely to do anything at cricket. Marjory had faithfullyreported every word Saunders had said on the subject, but Bob had beenso careful to point out his insignificance when compared with thehumblest Wrykynian that the professional's glowing prophecies had nothad much effect. It might be true that some day he would play forEngland, but just at present he felt he would exchange his place inthe team for one in the Wrykyn third eleven. A sort of mist envelopedeverything Wrykynian. It seemed almost hopeless to try and competewith these unknown experts. On the other hand, there was Bob. Bob, byall accounts, was on the verge of the first eleven, and he was nothingspecial. 

While he was engaged on these reflections, the train drew up at asmall station. Opposite the door of Mike's compartment was standing aboy of about Mike's size, though evidently some years older. He had asharp face, with rather a prominent nose; and a pair of pince-nez gavehim a supercilious look. He wore a bowler hat, and carried a smallportmanteau. 

He opened the door, and took the seat opposite to Mike, whom hescrutinised for a moment rather after the fashion of a naturalistexamining some new and unpleasant variety of beetle. He seemed aboutto make some remark, but, instead, got up and looked through the openwindow. 

"Where's that porter?" Mike heard him say. 

The porter came skimming down the platform at that moment. 

"Porter. "

"Sir?"

"Are those frightful boxes of mine in all right?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Because, you know, there'll be a frightful row if any of them getlost. "

"No chance of that, sir. "

"Here you are, then. "

"Thank you, sir. "

The youth drew his head and shoulders in, stared at Mike again, andfinally sat down. Mike noticed that he had nothing to read, andwondered if he wanted anything; but he did not feel equal to offeringhim one of his magazines. He did not like the looks of himparticularly. Judging by appearances, he seemed to carry enough sidefor three. If he wanted a magazine, thought Mike, let him ask for it. 

The other made no overtures, and at the next stop got out. Thatexplained his magazineless condition. He was only travelling a shortway. 

"Good business, " said Mike to himself. He had all the Englishman'slove of a carriage to himself. 

The train was just moving out of the station when his eye was suddenlycaught by the stranger's bag, lying snugly in the rack. 

And here, I regret to say, Mike acted from the best motives, which isalways fatal. 

He realised in an instant what had happened. The fellow had forgottenhis bag. 

Mike had not been greatly fascinated by the stranger's looks; but, after all, the most supercilious person on earth has a right to hisown property. Besides, he might have been quite a nice fellow when yougot to know him. Anyhow, the bag had better be returned at once. Thetrainwas already moving quite fast, and Mike's compartment was nearingthe end of the platform. 

He snatched the bag from the rack and hurled it out of the window. (Porter Robinson, who happened to be in the line of fire, escaped witha flesh wound. ) Then he sat down again with the inward glow ofsatisfaction which comes to one when one has risen successfully to asudden emergency. 

 * * * * *

The glow lasted till the next stoppage, which did not occur for a goodmany miles. Then it ceased abruptly, for the train had scarcely cometo a standstill when the opening above the door was darkened by a headand shoulders. The head was surmounted by a bowler, and a pair ofpince-nez gleamed from the shadow. 

"Hullo, I say, " said the stranger. "Have you changed carriages, orwhat?"

"No, " said Mike. 

"Then, dash it, where's my frightful bag?"

Life teems with embarrassing situations. This was one of them. 

"The fact is, " said Mike, "I chucked it out. "

"Chucked it out! what do you mean? When?"

"At the last station. "

The guard blew his whistle, and the other jumped into the carriage. 

"I thought you'd got out there for good, " explained Mike. "I'm awfullysorry. "

"Where _is_ the bag?"

"On the platform at the last station. It hit a porter. "

Against his will, for he wished to treat the matter with fittingsolemnity, Mike grinned at the recollection. The look on PorterRobinson's face as the bag took him in the small of the back had beenfunny, though not intentionally so. 

The bereaved owner disapproved of this levity; and said as much. 

"Don't _grin_, you little beast, " he shouted. "There's nothing tolaugh at. You go chucking bags that don't belong to you out of thewindow, and then you have the frightful cheek to grin about it. "

"It wasn't that, " said Mike hurriedly. "Only the porter looked awfullyfunny when it hit him. "

"Dash the porter! What's going to happen about my bag? I can't get outfor half a second to buy a magazine without your flinging my thingsabout the platform. What you want is a frightful kicking. "

The situation was becoming difficult. But fortunately at this momentthe train stopped once again; and, looking out of the window, Mike sawa board with East Wobsley upon it in large letters. A moment laterBob's head appeared in the doorway. 

"Hullo, there you are, " said Bob. 

His eye fell upon Mike's companion. 

"Hullo, Gazeka!" he exclaimed. "Where did you spring from? Do you knowmy brother? He's coming to Wrykyn this term. By the way, rather luckyyou've met. He's in your house. Firby-Smith's head of Wain's, Mike. "

Mike gathered that Gazeka and Firby-Smith were one and the sameperson. He grinned again. Firby-Smith continued to look ruffled, though not aggressive. 

"Oh, are you in Wain's?" he said. 

"I say, Bob, " said Mike, "I've made rather an ass of myself. "

"Naturally. "

"I mean, what happened was this. I chucked Firby-Smith's portmanteauout of the window, thinking he'd got out, only he hadn't really, andit's at a station miles back. "

"You're a bit of a rotter, aren't you? Had it got your name andaddress on it, Gazeka?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, then it's certain to be all right. It's bound to turn up sometime. They'll send it on by the next train, and you'll get it eitherto-night or to-morrow. "

"Frightful nuisance, all the same. Lots of things in it I wanted. "

"Oh, never mind, it's all right. I say, what have you been doing inthe holidays? I didn't know you lived on this line at all. "

From this point onwards Mike was out of the conversation altogether. Bob and Firby-Smith talked of Wrykyn, discussing events of theprevious term of which Mike had never heard. Names came into theirconversation which were entirely new to him. He realised that schoolpolitics were being talked, and that contributions from him to thedialogue were not required. He took up his magazine again, listeningthe while. They were discussing Wain's now. The name Wyatt cropped upwith some frequency. Wyatt was apparently something of a character. Mention was made of rows in which he had played a part in the past. 

"It must be pretty rotten for him, " said Bob. "He and Wain never geton very well, and yet they have to be together, holidays as well asterm. Pretty bad having a step-father at all--I shouldn't care to--andwhen your house-master and your step-father are the same man, it's abit thick. "

"Frightful, " agreed Firby-Smith. 

"I swear, if I were in Wyatt's place, I should rot about likeanything. It isn't as if he'd anything to look forward to when heleaves. He told me last term that Wain had got a nomination for him insome beastly bank, and that he was going into it directly after theend of this term. Rather rough on a chap like Wyatt. Good cricketerand footballer, I mean, and all that sort of thing. It's just the sortof life he'll hate most. Hullo, here we are. "

Mike looked out of the window. It was Wrykyn at last. 

CHAPTER III

MIKE FINDS A FRIENDLY NATIVE

Mike was surprised to find, on alighting, that the platform wasentirely free from Wrykynians. In all the stories he had read thewhole school came back by the same train, and, having smashed in oneanother's hats and chaffed the porters, made their way to the schoolbuildings in a solid column. But here they were alone. 

A remark of Bob's to Firby-Smith explained this. "Can't make out whynone of the fellows came back by this train, " he said. "Heaps of themmust come by this line, and it's the only Christian train they run, "

"Don't want to get here before the last minute they can possiblymanage. Silly idea. I suppose they think there'd be nothing to do. "

"What shall _we_ do?" said Bob. "Come and have some tea atCook's?"

"All right. "

Bob looked at Mike. There was no disguising the fact that he would bein the way; but how convey this fact delicately to him?

"Look here, Mike, " he said, with a happy inspiration, "Firby-Smith andI are just going to get some tea. I think you'd better nip up to theschool. Probably Wain will want to see you, and tell you all aboutthings, which is your dorm. And so on. See you later, " he concludedairily. "Any one'll tell you the way to the school. Go straight on. They'll send your luggage on later. So long. " And his sole prop inthis world of strangers departed, leaving him to find his way forhimself. 

There is no subject on which opinions differ so widely as this matterof finding the way to a place. To the man who knows, it is simplicityitself. Probably he really does imagine that he goes straight on, ignoring the fact that for him the choice of three roads, all more orless straight, has no perplexities. The man who does not know feels asif he were in a maze. 

Mike started out boldly, and lost his way. Go in which direction hewould, he always seemed to arrive at a square with a fountain and anequestrian statue in its centre. On the fourth repetition of this feathe stopped in a disheartened way, and looked about him. He wasbeginning to feel bitter towards Bob. The man might at least haveshown him where to get some tea. 

At this moment a ray of hope shone through the gloom. Crossing thesquare was a short, thick-set figure clad in grey flannel trousers, ablue blazer, and a straw hat with a coloured band. Plainly aWrykynian. Mike made for him. 

"Can you tell me the way to the school, please, " he said. 

"Oh, you're going to the school, " said the other. He had a pleasant, square-jawed face, reminiscent of a good-tempered bull-dog, and a pairof very deep-set grey eyes which somehow put Mike at his ease. Therewas something singularly cool and genial about them. He felt that theysaw the humour in things, and that their owner was a person who likedmost people and whom most people liked. 

"You look rather lost, " said the stranger. "Been hunting for it long?"

"Yes, " said Mike. 

"Which house do you want?"

"Wain's. "

"Wain's? Then you've come to the right man this time. What I don'tknow about Wain's isn't worth knowing. "

"Are you there, too?"

"Am I not! Term _and_ holidays. There's no close season for me. "

"Oh, are you Wyatt, then?" asked Mike. 

"Hullo, this is fame. How did you know my name, as the ass in thedetective story always says to the detective, who's seen it in thelining of his hat? Who's been talking about me?"

"I heard my brother saying something about you in the train. "

"Who's your brother?"

"Jackson. He's in Donaldson's. "

"I know. A stout fellow. So you're the newest make of Jackson, latestmodel, with all the modern improvements? Are there any more of you?"

"Not brothers, " said Mike. 

"Pity. You can't quite raise a team, then? Are you a sort of youngTyldesley, too?"

"I played a bit at my last school. Only a private school, you know, "added Mike modestly. 

"Make any runs? What was your best score?"

"Hundred and twenty-three, " said Mike awkwardly. "It was only againstkids, you know. " He was in terror lest he should seem to be bragging. 

"That's pretty useful. Any more centuries?"

"Yes, " said Mike, shuffling. 

"How many?"

"Seven altogether. You know, it was really awfully rotten bowling. AndI was a good bit bigger than most of the chaps there. And my pateralways has a pro. Down in the Easter holidays, which gave me a bit ofan advantage. "

"All the same, seven centuries isn't so dusty against any bowling. Weshall want some batting in the house this term. Look here, I was justgoing to have some tea. You come along, too. "

"Oh, thanks awfully, " said Mike. "My brother and Firby-Smith have goneto a place called Cook's. "

"The old Gazeka? I didn't know he lived in your part of the world. He's head of Wain's. "

"Yes, I know, " said Mike. "Why is he called Gazeka?" he asked after apause. 

"Don't you think he looks like one? What did you think of him?"

"I didn't speak to him much, " said Mike cautiously. It is alwaysdelicate work answering a question like this unless one has some sortof an inkling as to the views of the questioner. 

"He's all right, " said Wyatt, answering for himself. "He's got a habitof talking to one as if he were a prince of the blood dropping agracious word to one of the three Small-Heads at the Hippodrome, butthat's his misfortune. We all have our troubles. That's his. Let's goin here. It's too far to sweat to Cook's. "

It was about a mile from the tea-shop to the school. Mike's firstimpression on arriving at the school grounds was of his smallness andinsignificance. Everything looked so big--the buildings, the grounds, everything. He felt out of the picture. He was glad that he had metWyatt. To make his entrance into this strange land alone would havebeen more of an ordeal than he would have cared to face. 

"That's Wain's, " said Wyatt, pointing to one of half a dozen largehouses which lined the road on the south side of the cricket field. Mike followed his finger, and took in the size of his new home. 

"I say, it's jolly big, " he said. "How many fellows are there in it?"

"Thirty-one this term, I believe. "

"That's more than there were at King-Hall's. "

"What's King-Hall's?"

"The private school I was at. At Emsworth. "

Emsworth seemed very remote and unreal to him as he spoke. 

They skirted the cricket field, walking along the path that dividedthe two terraces. The Wrykyn playing-fields were formed of a series ofhuge steps, cut out of the hill. At the top of the hill came theschool. On the first terrace was a sort of informal practice ground, where, though no games were played on it, there was a good deal ofpunting and drop-kicking in the winter and fielding-practice in thesummer. The next terrace was the biggest of all, and formed the firsteleven cricket ground, a beautiful piece of turf, a shade too narrowfor its length, bounded on the terrace side by a sharply sloping bank, some fifteen feet deep, and on the other by the precipice leading tothe next terrace. At the far end of the ground stood the pavilion, andbeside it a little ivy-covered rabbit-hutch for the scorers. OldWrykynians always claimed that it was the prettiest school ground inEngland. It certainly had the finest view. From the verandah of thepavilion you could look over three counties. 

Wain's house wore an empty and desolate appearance. There were signsof activity, however, inside; and a smell of soap and warm water toldof preparations recently completed. 

Wyatt took Mike into the matron's room, a small room opening out ofthe main passage. 

"This is Jackson, " he said. "Which dormitory is he in, Miss Payne?"

The matron consulted a paper. 

"He's in yours, Wyatt. "

"Good business. Who's in the other bed? There are going to be three ofus, aren't there?"

"Fereira was to have slept there, but we have just heard that he isnot coming back this term. He has had to go on a sea-voyage for hishealth. "

"Seems queer any one actually taking the trouble to keep Fereira inthe world, " said Wyatt. "I've often thought of giving him Rough OnRats myself. Come along, Jackson, and I'll show you the room. "

They went along the passage, and up a flight of stairs. 

"Here you are, " said Wyatt. 

It was a fair-sized room. The window, heavily barred, looked out overa large garden. 

"I used to sleep here alone last term, " said Wyatt, "but the house isso full now they've turned it into a dormitory. "

"I say, I wish these bars weren't here. It would be rather a rag toget out of the window on to that wall at night, and hop down into thegarden and explore, " said Mike. 

Wyatt looked at him curiously, and moved to the window. 

"I'm not going to let you do it, of course, " he said, "because you'dgo getting caught, and dropped on, which isn't good for one in one'sfirst term; but just to amuse you----"

He jerked at the middle bar, and the next moment he was standing withit in his hand, and the way to the garden was clear. 

"By Jove!" said Mike. 

"That's simply an object-lesson, you know, " said Wyatt, replacing thebar, and pushing the screws back into their putty. "I get out at nightmyself because I think my health needs it. Besides, it's my last term, anyhow, so it doesn't matter what I do. But if I find you trying tocut out in the small hours, there'll be trouble. See?"

"All right, " said Mike, reluctantly. "But I wish you'd let me. "

"Not if I know it. Promise you won't try it on. "

"All right. But, I say, what do you do out there?"

"I shoot at cats with an air-pistol, the beauty of which is that evenif you hit them it doesn't hurt--simply keeps them bright andinterested in life; and if you miss you've had all the fun anyhow. Have you ever shot at a rocketing cat? Finest mark you can have. Society's latest craze. Buy a pistol and see life. "

"I wish you'd let me come. "

"I daresay you do. Not much, however. Now, if you like, I'll take youover the rest of the school. You'll have to see it sooner or later, soyou may as well get it over at once. "

CHAPTER IV

AT THE NETS

There are few better things in life than a public school summer term. The winter term is good, especially towards the end, and there arepoints, though not many, about the Easter term: but it is in thesummer that one really appreciates public school life. The freedom ofit, after the restrictions of even the most easy-going private school, is intoxicating. The change is almost as great as that from publicschool to 'Varsity. 

For Mike the path was made particularly easy. The only drawback togoing to a big school for the first time is the fact that one is madeto feel so very small and inconspicuous. New boys who have beenleading lights at their private schools feel it acutely for the firstweek. At one time it was the custom, if we may believe writers of ageneration or so back, for boys to take quite an embarrassing interestin the newcomer. He was asked a rain of questions, and was, generally, in the very centre of the stage. Nowadays an absolute lack of interestis the fashion. A new boy arrives, and there he is, one of a crowd. 

Mike was saved this salutary treatment to a large extent, at first byvirtue of the greatness of his family, and, later, by his ownperformances on the cricket field. His three elder brothers wereobjects of veneration to most Wrykynians, and Mike got a certainamount of reflected glory from them. The brother of first-classcricketers has a dignity of his own. Then Bob was a help. He was onthe verge of the cricket team and had been the school full-back fortwo seasons. Mike found that people came up and spoke to him, anxiousto know if he were Jackson's brother; and became friendly when hereplied in the affirmative. Influential relations are a help in everystage of life. 

It was Wyatt who gave him his first chance at cricket. There were netson the first afternoon of term for all old colours of the three teamsand a dozen or so of those most likely to fill the vacant places. Wyatt was there, of course. He had got his first eleven cap in theprevious season as a mighty hitter and a fair slow bowler. Mike methim crossing the field with his cricket bag. 

"Hullo, where are you off to?" asked Wyatt. "Coming to watch thenets?"

Mike had no particular programme for the afternoon. Junior cricket hadnot begun, and it was a little difficult to know how to fill in thetime. 

"I tell you what, " said Wyatt, "nip into the house and shove on somethings, and I'll try and get Burgess to let you have a knock lateron. "

This suited Mike admirably. A quarter of an hour later he was sittingat the back of the first eleven net, watching the practice. 

Burgess, the captain of the Wrykyn team, made no pretence of being abat. He was the school fast bowler and concentrated his energies onthat department of the game. He sometimes took ten minutes at thewicket after everybody else had had an innings, but it was to bowlthat he came to the nets. 

He was bowling now to one of the old colours whose name Mike did notknow. Wyatt and one of the professionals were the other two bowlers. Two nets away Firby-Smith, who had changed his pince-nez for a pair ofhuge spectacles, was performing rather ineffectively against some verybad bowling. Mike fixed his attention on the first eleven man. 

He was evidently a good bat. There was style and power in his batting. He had a way of gliding Burgess's fastest to leg which Mike admiredgreatly. He was succeeded at the end of a quarter of an hour byanother eleven man, and then Bob appeared. 

It was soon made evident that this was not Bob's day. Nobody is at hisbest on the first day of term; but Bob was worse than he had any rightto be. He scratched forward at nearly everything, and when Burgess, who had been resting, took up the ball again, he had each stumpuprooted in a regular series in seven balls. Once he skied one ofWyatt's slows over the net behind the wicket; and Mike, jumping up, caught him neatly. 

"Thanks, " said Bob austerely, as Mike returned the ball to him. Heseemed depressed. 

Towards the end of the afternoon, Wyatt went up to Burgess. 

"Burgess, " he said, "see that kid sitting behind the net?"

"With the naked eye, " said Burgess. "Why?"

"He's just come to Wain's. He's Bob Jackson's brother, and I've a sortof idea that he's a bit of a bat. I told him I'd ask you if he couldhave a knock. Why not send him in at the end net? There's nobody therenow. "

Burgess's amiability off the field equalled his ruthlessness whenbowling. 

"All right, " he said. "Only if you think that I'm going to sweat tobowl to him, you're making a fatal error. "

"You needn't do a thing. Just sit and watch. I rather fancy this kid'ssomething special. "

 * * * * *

Mike put on Wyatt's pads and gloves, borrowed his bat, and walkedround into the net. 

"Not in a funk, are you?" asked Wyatt, as he passed. 

Mike grinned. The fact was that he had far too good an opinion ofhimself to be nervous. An entirely modest person seldom makes a goodbatsman. Batting is one of those things which demand first andforemost a thorough belief in oneself. It need not be aggressive, butit must be there. 

Wyatt and the professional were the bowlers. Mike had seen enough ofWyatt's bowling to know that it was merely ordinary "slow tosh, " andthe professional did not look as difficult as Saunders. The firsthalf-dozen balls he played carefully. He was on trial, and he meant totake no risks. Then the professional over-pitched one slightly on theoff. Mike jumped out, and got the full face of the bat on to it. Theball hit one of the ropes of the net, and nearly broke it. 

"How's that?" said Wyatt, with the smile of an impresario on the firstnight of a successful piece. 

"Not bad, " admitted Burgess. 

A few moments later he was still more complimentary. He got up andtook a ball himself. 

Mike braced himself up as Burgess began his run. This time he was morethan a trifle nervous. The bowling he had had so far had been tame. This would be the real ordeal. 

As the ball left Burgess's hand he began instinctively to shape for aforward stroke. Then suddenly he realised that the thing was going tobe a yorker, and banged his bat down in the block just as the ballarrived. An unpleasant sensation as of having been struck by athunderbolt was succeeded by a feeling of relief that he had kept theball out of his wicket. There are easier things in the world thanstopping a fast yorker. 

"Well played, " said Burgess. 

Mike felt like a successful general receiving the thanks of thenation. 

The fact that Burgess's next ball knocked middle and off stumps out ofthe ground saddened him somewhat; but this was the last tragedy thatoccurred. He could not do much with the bowling beyond stopping it andfeeling repetitions of the thunderbolt experience, but he kept up hisend; and a short conversation which he had with Burgess at the end ofhis innings was full of encouragement to one skilled in readingbetween the lines. 

"Thanks awfully, " said Mike, referring to the square manner in whichthe captain had behaved in letting him bat. 

"What school were you at before you came here?" asked Burgess. 

"A private school in Hampshire, " said Mike. "King-Hall's. At a placecalled Emsworth. "

"Get much cricket there?"

"Yes, a good lot. One of the masters, a chap called Westbrook, was anawfully good slow bowler. "

Burgess nodded. 

"You don't run away, which is something, " he said. 

Mike turned purple with pleasure at this stately compliment. Then, having waited for further remarks, but gathering from the captain'ssilence that the audience was at an end, he proceeded to unbuckle hispads. Wyatt overtook him on his way to the house. 

"Well played, " he said. "I'd no idea you were such hot stuff. You're aregular pro. "

"I say, " said Mike gratefully, "it was most awfully decent of yougetting Burgess to let me go in. It was simply ripping of you. "

"Oh, that's all right. If you don't get pushed a bit here you stay forages in the hundredth game with the cripples and the kids. Now you'veshown them what you can do you ought to get into the Under Sixteenteam straight away. Probably into the third, too. "

"By Jove, that would be all right. "

"I asked Burgess afterwards what he thought of your batting, and hesaid, 'Not bad. ' But he says that about everything. It's his highestform of praise. He says it when he wants to let himself go and simplybutter up a thing. If you took him to see N. A. Knox bowl, he'd say hewasn't bad. What he meant was that he was jolly struck with yourbatting, and is going to play you for the Under Sixteen. "

"I hope so, " said Mike. 

The prophecy was fulfilled. On the following Wednesday there was amatch between the Under Sixteen and a scratch side. Mike's name wasamong the Under Sixteen. And on the Saturday he was playing for thethird eleven in a trial game. 

"This place is ripping, " he said to himself, as he saw his name on thelist. "Thought I should like it. "

And that night he wrote a letter to his father, notifying him of thefact. 

CHAPTER V

REVELRY BY NIGHT

A succession of events combined to upset Mike during his firstfortnight at school. He was far more successful than he had any rightto be at his age. There is nothing more heady than success, and if itcomes before we are prepared for it, it is apt to throw us off ourbalance. As a rule, at school, years of wholesome obscurity make usready for any small triumphs we may achieve at the end of our timethere. Mike had skipped these years. He was older than the average newboy, and his batting was undeniable. He knew quite well that he wasregarded as a find by the cricket authorities; and the knowledge wasnot particularly good for him. It did not make him conceited, for hiswas not a nature at all addicted to conceit. The effect it had on himwas to make him excessively pleased with life. And when Mike waspleased with life he always found a difficulty in obeying Authorityand its rules. His state of mind was not improved by an interview withBob. 

Some evil genius put it into Bob's mind that it was his duty to be, ifonly for one performance, the Heavy Elder Brother to Mike; to give himgood advice. It is never the smallest use for an elder brother toattempt to do anything for the good of a younger brother at school, for the latter rebels automatically against such interference in hisconcerns; but Bob did not know this. He only knew that he had receiveda letter from home, in which his mother had assumed without evidencethat he was leading Mike by the hand round the pitfalls of life atWrykyn; and his conscience smote him. Beyond asking him occasionally, when they met, how he was getting on (a question to which Mikeinvariably replied, "Oh, all right"), he was not aware of having doneanything brotherly towards the youngster. So he asked Mike to tea inhis study one afternoon before going to the nets. 

Mike arrived, sidling into the study in the half-sheepish, half-defiantmanner peculiar to small brothers in the presence of their elders, andstared in silence at the photographs on the walls. Bob was changing intohis cricket things. The atmosphere was one of constraint and awkwardness. 

The arrival of tea was the cue for conversation. 

"Well, how are you getting on?" asked Bob. 

"Oh, all right, " said Mike. 

Silence. 

"Sugar?" asked Bob. 

"Thanks, " said Mike. 

"How many lumps?"

"Two, please. "

"Cake?"

"Thanks. "

Silence. 

Bob pulled himself together. 

"Like Wain's?"

"Ripping. "

"I asked Firby-Smith to keep an eye on you, " said Bob. 

"What!" said Mike. 

The mere idea of a worm like the Gazeka being told to keep an eye on_him_ was degrading. 

"He said he'd look after you, " added Bob, making things worse. 

Look after him! Him!! M. Jackson, of the third eleven!!!

Mike helped himself to another chunk of cake, and spoke crushingly. 

"He needn't trouble, " he said. "I can look after myself all right, thanks. "

Bob saw an opening for the entry of the Heavy Elder Brother. 

"Look here, Mike, " he said, "I'm only saying it for your good----"

I should like to state here that it was not Bob's habit to go aboutthe world telling people things solely for their good. He was onlydoing it now to ease his conscience. 

"Yes?" said Mike coldly. 

"It's only this. You know, I should keep an eye on myself if I wereyou. There's nothing that gets a chap so barred here as side. "

"What do you mean?" said Mike, outraged. 

"Oh, I'm not saying anything against you so far, " said Bob. "You'vebeen all right up to now. What I mean to say is, you've got on so wellat cricket, in the third and so on, there's just a chance you mightstart to side about a bit soon, if you don't watch yourself. I'm notsaying a word against you so far, of course. Only you see what Imean. "

Mike's feelings were too deep for words. In sombre silence he reachedout for the jam; while Bob, satisfied that he had delivered hismessage in a pleasant and tactful manner, filled his cup, and castabout him for further words of wisdom. 

"Seen you about with Wyatt a good deal, " he said at length. 

"Yes, " said Mike. 

"Like him?"

"Yes, " said Mike cautiously. 

"You know, " said Bob, "I shouldn't--I mean, I should take care whatyou're doing with Wyatt. "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's an awfully good chap, of course, but still----"

"Still what?"

"Well, I mean, he's the sort of chap who'll probably get into somethundering row before he leaves. He doesn't care a hang what he does. He's that sort of chap. He's never been dropped on yet, but if you goon breaking rules you're bound to be sooner or later. Thing is, itdoesn't matter much for him, because he's leaving at the end of theterm. But don't let him drag you into anything. Not that he would tryto. But you might think it was the blood thing to do to imitate him, and the first thing you knew you'd be dropped on by Wain or somebody. See what I mean?"

Bob was well-intentioned, but tact did not enter greatly into hiscomposition. 

"What rot!" said Mike. 

"All right. But don't you go doing it. I'm going over to the nets. Isee Burgess has shoved you down for them. You'd better be going andchanging. Stick on here a bit, though, if you want any more tea. I'vegot to be off myself. "

Mike changed for net-practice in a ferment of spiritual injury. It wasmaddening to be treated as an infant who had to be looked after. Hefelt very sore against Bob. 

A good innings at the third eleven net, followed by some strenuousfielding in the deep, soothed his ruffled feelings to a large extent;and all might have been well but for the intervention of Firby-Smith. 

That youth, all spectacles and front teeth, met Mike at the door ofWain's. 

"Ah, I wanted to see you, young man, " he said. (Mike disliked beingcalled "young man. ") "Come up to my study. "

Mike followed him in silence to his study, and preserved his silencetill Firby-Smith, having deposited his cricket-bag in a corner of theroom and examined himself carefully in a looking-glass that hung overthe mantelpiece, spoke again. 

"I've been hearing all about you, young man. " Mike shuffled. 

"You're a frightful character from all accounts. " Mike could not thinkof anything to say that was not rude, so said nothing. 

"Your brother has asked me to keep an eye on you. "

Mike's soul began to tie itself into knots again. He was just at theage when one is most sensitive to patronage and most resentful of it. 

"I promised I would, " said the Gazeka, turning round and examininghimself in the mirror again. "You'll get on all right if you behaveyourself. Don't make a frightful row in the house. Don't cheek yourelders and betters. Wash. That's all. Cut along. "

Mike had a vague idea of sacrificing his career to the momentarypleasure of flinging a chair at the head of the house. Overcoming thisfeeling, he walked out of the room, and up to his dormitory to change. 

 * * * * *

In the dormitory that night the feeling of revolt, of wanting todo something actively illegal, increased. Like Eric, he burned, notwith shame and remorse, but with rage and all that sort of thing. He dropped off to sleep full of half-formed plans for assertinghimself. He was awakened from a dream in which he was batting againstFirby-Smith's bowling, and hitting it into space every time, by aslight sound. He opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure silhouettedagainst the light of the window. He sat up in bed. 

"Hullo, " he said. "Is that you, Wyatt?"

"Are you awake?" said Wyatt. "Sorry if I've spoiled your beautysleep. "

"Are you going out?"

"I am, " said Wyatt. "The cats are particularly strong on the wing justnow. Mustn't miss a chance like this. Specially as there's a goodmoon, too. I shall be deadly. "

"I say, can't I come too?"

A moonlight prowl, with or without an air-pistol, would just havesuited Mike's mood. 

"No, you can't, " said Wyatt. "When I'm caught, as I'm morally certainto be some day, or night rather, they're bound to ask if you've everbeen out as well as me. Then you'll be able to put your hand on yourlittle heart and do a big George Washington act. You'll find thatuseful when the time comes. "

"Do you think you will be caught?"

"Shouldn't be surprised. Anyhow, you stay where you are. Go to sleepand dream that you're playing for the school against Ripton. So long. "

And Wyatt, laying the bar he had extracted on the window-sill, wriggled out. Mike saw him disappearing along the wall. 

 * * * * *

It was all very well for Wyatt to tell him to go to sleep, but it wasnot so easy to do it. The room was almost light; and Mike always foundit difficult to sleep unless it was dark. He turned over on his sideand shut his eyes, but he had never felt wider awake. Twice he heardthe quarters chime from the school clock; and the second time he gaveup the struggle. He got out of bed and went to the window. It was alovely night, just the sort of night on which, if he had been at home, he would have been out after moths with a lantern. 

A sharp yowl from an unseen cat told of Wyatt's presence somewhere inthe big garden. He would have given much to be with him, but herealised that he was on parole. He had promised not to leave thehouse, and there was an end of it. 

He turned away from the window and sat down on his bed. Then abeautiful, consoling thought came to him. He had given his word thathe would not go into the garden, but nothing had been said aboutexploring inside the house. It was quite late now. Everybody would bein bed. It would be quite safe. And there must be all sorts of thingsto interest the visitor in Wain's part of the house. Food, perhaps. Mike felt that he could just do with a biscuit. And there were boundto be biscuits on the sideboard in Wain's dining-room. 

He crept quietly out of the dormitory. 

He had been long enough in the house to know the way, in spite of thefact that all was darkness. Down the stairs, along the passage to theleft, and up a few more stairs at the end The beauty of the positionwas that the dining-room had two doors, one leading into Wain's partof the house, the other into the boys' section. Any interruption thatthere might be would come from the further door. 

To make himself more secure he locked that door; then, turning up theincandescent light, he proceeded to look about him. 

Mr. Wain's dining-room repaid inspection. There were the remains ofsupper on the table. Mike cut himself some cheese and took somebiscuits from the box, feeling that he was doing himself well. Thiswas Life. There was a little soda-water in the syphon. He finished it. As it swished into the glass, it made a noise that seemed to him likethree hundred Niagaras; but nobody else in the house appeared to havenoticed it. 

He took some more biscuits, and an apple. 

After which, feeling a new man, he examined the room. 

And this was where the trouble began. 

On a table in one corner stood a small gramophone. And gramophoneshappened to be Mike's particular craze. 

All thought of risk left him. The soda-water may have got into hishead, or he may have been in a particularly reckless mood, as indeedhe was. The fact remains that _he_ inserted the first record thatcame to hand, wound the machine up, and set it going. 

The next moment, very loud and nasal, a voice from the machineannounced that Mr. Godfrey Field would sing "The Quaint Old Bird. "And, after a few preliminary chords, Mr. Field actually did so. 

_"Auntie went to Aldershot in a Paris pom-pom hat. "_

Mike stood and drained it in. 

_"... Good gracious_ (sang Mr. Field), _what was that?"_

It was a rattling at the handle of the door. A rattling that turnedalmost immediately into a spirited banging. A voice accompanied thebanging. "Who is there?" inquired the voice. Mike recognised it as Mr. Wain's. He was not alarmed. The man who holds the ace of trumps has noneed to be alarmed. His position was impregnable. The enemy was heldin check by the locked door, while the other door offered an admirableand instantaneous way of escape. 

Mike crept across the room on tip-toe and opened the window. It hadoccurred to him, just in time, that if Mr. Wain, on entering the room, found that the occupant had retired by way of the boys' part of thehouse, he might possibly obtain a clue to his identity. If, on theother hand, he opened the window, suspicion would be diverted. Mikehad not read his "Raffles" for nothing. 

The handle-rattling was resumed. This was good. So long as the frontalattack was kept up, there was no chance of his being taken in therear--his only danger. 

He stopped the gramophone, which had been pegging away patiently at"The Quaint Old Bird" all the time, and reflected. It seemed a pity toevacuate the position and ring down the curtain on what was, to date, the most exciting episode of his life; but he must not overdo thething, and get caught. At any moment the noise might bringreinforcements to the besieging force, though it was not likely, forthe dining-room was a long way from the dormitories; and it mightflash upon their minds that there were two entrances to the room. Orthe same bright thought might come to Wain himself. 

"Now what, " pondered Mike, "would A. J. Raffles have done in a caselike this? Suppose he'd been after somebody's jewels, and found thatthey were after him, and he'd locked one door, and could get away bythe other. "

The answer was simple. 

"He'd clear out, " thought Mike. 

Two minutes later he was in bed. 

He lay there, tingling all over with the consciousness of havingplayed a masterly game, when suddenly a gruesome idea came to him, andhe sat up, breathless. Suppose Wain took it into his head to make atour of the dormitories, to see that all was well! Wyatt was stillin the garden somewhere, blissfully unconscious of what was going onindoors. He would be caught for a certainty!

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH A TIGHT CORNER IS EVADED

For a moment the situation paralysed Mike. Then he began to be equalto it. In times of excitement one thinks rapidly and clearly. The mainpoint, the kernel of the whole thing, was that he must get into thegarden somehow, and warn Wyatt. And at the same time, he must keep Mr. Wain from coming to the dormitory. He jumped out of bed, and dasheddown the dark stairs. 

He had taken care to close the dining-room door after him. It was opennow, and he could hear somebody moving inside the room. Evidently hisretreat had been made just in time. 

He knocked at the door, and went in. 

Mr. Wain was standing at the window, looking out. He spun round at theknock, and stared in astonishment at Mike's pyjama-clad figure. Mike, in spite of his anxiety, could barely check a laugh. Mr. Wain was atall, thin man, with a serious face partially obscured by a grizzledbeard. He wore spectacles, through which he peered owlishly at Mike. His body was wrapped in a brown dressing-gown. His hair was ruffled. He looked like some weird bird. 

"Please, sir, I thought I heard a noise, " said Mike. 

Mr. Wain continued to stare. 

"What are you doing here?" said he at last. 

"Thought I heard a noise, please, sir. "

"A noise?"

"Please, sir, a row. "

"You thought you heard----!"

The thing seemed to be worrying Mr. Wain. 

"So I came down, sir, " said Mike. 

The house-master's giant brain still appeared to be somewhat clouded. He looked about him, and, catching sight of the gramophone, drewinspiration from it. 

"Did you turn on the gramophone?" he asked. 

"_Me_, sir!" said Mike, with the air of a bishop accused ofcontributing to the _Police News_. 

"Of course not, of course not, " said Mr. Wain hurriedly. "Of coursenot. I don't know why I asked. All this is very unsettling. What areyou doing here?"

"Thought I heard a noise, please, sir. "

"A noise?"

"A row, sir. "

If it was Mr. Wain's wish that he should spend the night playing MassaTambo to his Massa Bones, it was not for him to baulk the house-master'sinnocent pleasure. He was prepared to continue the snappy dialogue tillbreakfast time. 

"I think there must have been a burglar in here, Jackson. "

"Looks like it, sir. "

"I found the window open. "

"He's probably in the garden, sir. "

Mr. Wain looked out into the garden with an annoyed expression, as ifits behaviour in letting burglars be in it struck him as unworthy of arespectable garden. 

"He might be still in the house, " said Mr. Wain, ruminatively. 

"Not likely, sir. "

"You think not?"

"Wouldn't be such a fool, sir. I mean, such an ass, sir. "

"Perhaps you are right, Jackson. "

"I shouldn't wonder if he was hiding in the shrubbery, sir. "

Mr. Wain looked at the shrubbery, as who should say, _"Et tu, Brute!"_

"By Jove! I think I see him, " cried Mike. He ran to the window, andvaulted through it on to the lawn. An inarticulate protest from Mr. Wain, rendered speechless by this move just as he had been beginningto recover his faculties, and he was running across the lawn into theshrubbery. He felt that all was well. There might be a bit of a row onhis return, but he could always plead overwhelming excitement. 

Wyatt was round at the back somewhere, and the problem was how to getback without being seen from the dining-room window. Fortunately abelt of evergreens ran along the path right up to the house. Mikeworked his way cautiously through these till he was out of sight, thentore for the regions at the back. 

The moon had gone behind the clouds, and it was not easy to find a waythrough the bushes. Twice branches sprang out from nowhere, and hitMike smartly over the shins, eliciting sharp howls of pain. 

On the second of these occasions a low voice spoke from somewhere onhis right. 

"Who on earth's that?" it said. 

Mike stopped. 

"Is that you, Wyatt? I say----"

"Jackson!"

The moon came out again, and Mike saw Wyatt clearly. His knees werecovered with mould. He had evidently been crouching in the bushes onall fours. 

"You young ass, " said Wyatt. "You promised me that you wouldn't getout. "

"Yes, I know, but----"

"I heard you crashing through the shrubbery like a hundred elephants. If you _must_ get out at night and chance being sacked, you mightat least have the sense to walk quietly. "

"Yes, but you don't understand. "

And Mike rapidly explained the situation. 

"But how the dickens did he hear you, if you were in the dining-room?"asked Wyatt. "It's miles from his bedroom. You must tread like apoliceman. "

"It wasn't that. The thing was, you see, it was rather a rotten thingto do, I suppose, but I turned on the gramophone. "

"You--_what?_"

"The gramophone. It started playing 'The Quaint Old Bird. ' Ripping itwas, till Wain came along. "

Wyatt doubled up with noiseless laughter. 

"You're a genius, " he said. "I never saw such a man. Well, what's thegame now? What's the idea?"

"I think you'd better nip back along the wall and in through thewindow, and I'll go back to the dining-room. Then it'll be all rightif Wain comes and looks into the dorm. Or, if you like, you might comedown too, as if you'd just woke up and thought you'd heard a row. "

"That's not a bad idea. All right. You dash along then. I'll getback. "

Mr. Wain was still in the dining-room, drinking in the beauties of thesummer night through the open window. He gibbered slightly when Mikereappeared. 

"Jackson! What do you mean by running about outside the house in thisway! I shall punish you very heavily. I shall certainly report thematter to the headmaster. I will not have boys rushing about thegarden in their pyjamas. You will catch an exceedingly bad cold. Youwill do me two hundred lines, Latin and English. Exceedingly so. Iwill not have it. Did you not hear me call to you?"

"Please, sir, so excited, " said Mike, standing outside with his handson the sill. 

"You have no business to be excited. I will not have it. It isexceedingly impertinent of you. "

"Please, sir, may I come in?"

"Come in! Of course, come in. Have you no sense, boy? You are layingthe seeds of a bad cold. Come in at once. "

Mike clambered through the window. 

"I couldn't find him, sir. He must have got out of the garden. "

"Undoubtedly, " said Mr. Wain. "Undoubtedly so. It was very wrong ofyou to search for him. You have been seriously injured. Exceedinglyso"

He was about to say more on the subject when Wyatt strolled into theroom. Wyatt wore the rather dazed expression of one who has beenaroused from deep sleep. He yawned before he spoke. 

"I thought I heard a noise, sir, " he said. 

He called Mr. Wain "father" in private, "sir" in public. The presenceof Mike made this a public occasion. 

"Has there been a burglary?"

"Yes, " said Mike, "only he has got away. "

"Shall I go out into the garden, and have a look round, sir?" askedWyatt helpfully. 

The question stung Mr. Wain into active eruption once more. 

"Under no circumstances whatever, " he said excitedly. "Stay where youare, James. I will not have boys running about my garden at night. Itis preposterous. Inordinately so. Both of you go to bed immediately. Ishall not speak to you again on this subject. I must be obeyedinstantly. You hear me, Jackson? James, you understand me? To bed atonce. And, if I find you outside your dormitory again to-night, youwill both be punished with extreme severity. I will not have this laxand reckless behaviour. "

"But the burglar, sir?" said Wyatt. 

"We might catch him, sir, " said Mike. 

Mr. Wain's manner changed to a slow and stately sarcasm, in much thesame way as a motor-car changes from the top speed to its first. 

"I was under the impression, " he said, in the heavy way almostinvariably affected by weak masters in their dealings with theobstreperous, "I was distinctly under the impression that I hadordered you to retire immediately to your dormitory. It is possiblethat you mistook my meaning. In that case I shall be happy to repeatwhat I said. It is also in my mind that I threatened to punish youwith the utmost severity if you did not retire at once. In thesecircumstances, James--and you, Jackson--you will doubtless see thenecessity of complying with my wishes. "

They made it so. 

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH MIKE IS DISCUSSED

Trevor and Clowes, of Donaldson's, were sitting in their study a weekafter the gramophone incident, preparatory to going on the river. Atleast Trevor was in the study, getting tea ready. Clowes was on thewindow-sill, one leg in the room, the other outside, hanging overspace. He loved to sit in this attitude, watching some one else work, and giving his views on life to whoever would listen to them. Cloweswas tall, and looked sad, which he was not. Trevor was shorter, andvery much in earnest over all that he did. On the present occasion hewas measuring out tea with a concentration worthy of a generalplanning a campaign. 

"One for the pot, " said Clowes. 

"All right, " breathed Trevor. "Come and help, you slacker. "

"Too busy. "

"You aren't doing a stroke. "

"My lad, I'm thinking of Life. That's a thing you couldn't do. I oftensay to people, 'Good chap, Trevor, but can't think of Life. Give him atea-pot and half a pound of butter to mess about with, ' I say, 'andhe's all right. But when it comes to deep thought, where is he? Amongthe also-rans. ' That's what I say. "

"Silly ass, " said Trevor, slicing bread. "What particular rot were youthinking about just then? What fun it was sitting back and watchingother fellows work, I should think. "

"My mind at the moment, " said Clowes, "was tensely occupied with theproblem of brothers at school. Have you got any brothers, Trevor?"

"One. Couple of years younger than me. I say, we shall want some morejam to-morrow. Better order it to-day. "

"See it done, Tigellinus, as our old pal Nero used to remark. Where ishe? Your brother, I mean. "

"Marlborough. "

"That shows your sense. I have always had a high opinion of yoursense, Trevor. If you'd been a silly ass, you'd have let your peoplesend him here. "

"Why not? Shouldn't have minded. "

"I withdraw what I said about your sense. Consider it unsaid. I have abrother myself. Aged fifteen. Not a bad chap in his way. Like theheroes of the school stories. 'Big blue eyes literally bubbling overwith fun. ' At least, I suppose it's fun to him. Cheek's what I callit. My people wanted to send him here. I lodged a protest. I said, 'One Clowes is ample for any public school. '"

"You were right there, " said Trevor. 

"I said, 'One Clowes is luxury, two excess. ' I pointed out that I wasjust on the verge of becoming rather a blood at Wrykyn, and that Ididn't want the work of years spoiled by a brother who would think ita rag to tell fellows who respected and admired me----"

"Such as who?"

"----Anecdotes of a chequered infancy. There are stories about mewhich only my brother knows. Did I want them spread about the school?No, laddie, I did not. Hence, we see my brother two terms ago, packingup his little box, and tooling off to Rugby. And here am I at Wrykyn, with an unstained reputation, loved by all who know me, revered by allwho don't; courted by boys, fawned upon by masters. People's facesbrighten when I throw them a nod. If I frown----"

"Oh, come on, " said Trevor. 

Bread and jam and cake monopolised Clowes's attention for the nextquarter of an hour. At the end of that period, however, he returned tohis subject. 

"After the serious business of the meal was concluded, and a simplehymn had been sung by those present, " he said, "Mr. Clowes resumed hisvery interesting remarks. We were on the subject of brothers atschool. Now, take the melancholy case of Jackson Brothers. My heartbleeds for Bob. "

"Jackson's all right. What's wrong with him? Besides, naturally, youngJackson came to Wrykyn when all his brothers had been here. "

"What a rotten argument. It's just the one used by chaps' people, too. They think how nice it will be for all the sons to have been at thesame school. It may be all right after they're left, but while they'rethere, it's the limit. You say Jackson's all right. At present, perhaps, he is. But the term's hardly started yet. "

"Well?"

"Look here, what's at the bottom of this sending young brothers to thesame school as elder brothers?"

"Elder brother can keep an eye on him, I suppose. "

"That's just it. For once in your life you've touched the spot. Inother words, Bob Jackson is practically responsible for the kid. That's where the whole rotten trouble starts. "

"Why?"

"Well, what happens? He either lets the kid rip, in which case he mayfind himself any morning in the pleasant position of having to explainto his people exactly why it is that little Willie has just receivedthe boot, and why he didn't look after him better: or he spends allhis spare time shadowing him to see that he doesn't get into trouble. He feels that his reputation hangs on the kid's conduct, so he broodsover him like a policeman, which is pretty rotten for him and maddensthe kid, who looks on him as no sportsman. Bob seems to be trying thefirst way, which is what I should do myself. It's all right, so far, but, as I said, the term's only just started. "

"Young Jackson seems all right. What's wrong with him? He doesn'tstick on side any way, which he might easily do, considering hiscricket. "

"There's nothing wrong with him in that way. I've talked to himseveral times at the nets, and he's very decent. But his getting intotrouble hasn't anything to do with us. It's the masters you've got toconsider. "

"What's up? Does he rag?"

"From what I gather from fellows in his form he's got a genius forragging. Thinks of things that don't occur to anybody else, and doesthem, too. "

"He never seems to be in extra. One always sees him about onhalf-holidays. "

"That's always the way with that sort of chap. He keeps on wrigglingout of small rows till he thinks he can do anything he likes withoutbeing dropped on, and then all of a sudden he finds himself up to theeyebrows in a record smash. I don't say young Jackson will landhimself like that. All I say is that he's just the sort who does. He'sasking for trouble. Besides, who do you see him about with all thetime?"

"He's generally with Wyatt when I meet him. "

"Yes. Well, then!"

"What's wrong with Wyatt? He's one of the decentest men in theschool. "

"I know. But he's working up for a tremendous row one of these days, unless he leaves before it comes off. The odds are, if Jackson's sothick with him, that he'll be roped into it too. Wyatt wouldn't landhim if he could help it, but he probably wouldn't realise what he wasletting the kid in for. For instance, I happen to know that Wyattbreaks out of his dorm. Every other night. I don't know if he takesJackson with him. I shouldn't think so. But there's nothing to preventJackson following him on his own. And if you're caught at that game, it's the boot every time. "

Trevor looked disturbed. 

"Somebody ought to speak to Bob. "

"What's the good? Why worry him? Bob couldn't do anything. You'd onlymake him do the policeman business, which he hasn't time for, andwhich is bound to make rows between them. Better leave him alone. "

"I don't know. It would be a beastly thing for Bob if the kid did getinto a really bad row. "

"If you must tell anybody, tell the Gazeka. He's head of Wain's, andhas got far more chance of keeping an eye on Jackson than Bob has. "

"The Gazeka is a fool. "

"All front teeth and side. Still, he's on the spot. But what's thegood of worrying. It's nothing to do with us, anyhow. Let's staggerout, shall we?"

 * * * * *

Trevor's conscientious nature, however, made it impossible for him todrop the matter. It disturbed him all the time that he and Clowes wereon the river; and, walking back to the house, he resolved to see Bobabout it during preparation. 

He found him in his study, oiling a bat. 

"I say, Bob, " he said, "look here. Are you busy?"

"No. Why?"

"It's this way. Clowes and I were talking----"

"If Clowes was there he was probably talking. Well?"

"About your brother. "

"Oh, by Jove, " said Bob, sitting up. "That reminds me. I forgot to getthe evening paper. Did he get his century all right?"

"Who?" asked Trevor, bewildered. 

"My brother, J. W. He'd made sixty-three not out against Kent in thismorning's paper. What happened?"

"I didn't get a paper either. I didn't mean that brother. I meant theone here. "

"Oh, Mike? What's Mike been up to?"

"Nothing as yet, that I know of; but, I say, you know, he seems agreat pal of Wyatt's. "

"I know. I spoke to him about it. "

"Oh, you did? That's all right, then. "

"Not that there's anything wrong with Wyatt. "

"Not a bit. Only he is rather mucking about this term, I hear. It'shis last, so I suppose he wants to have a rag. "

"Don't blame him. "

"Nor do I. Rather rot, though, if he lugged your brother into a row byaccident. "

"I should get blamed. I think I'll speak to him again. "

"I should, I think. "

"I hope he isn't idiot enough to go out at night with Wyatt. If Wyattlikes to risk it, all right. That's his look out. But it won't do forMike to go playing the goat too. "

"Clowes suggested putting Firby-Smith on to him. He'd have morechance, being in the same house, of seeing that he didn't come amucker than you would. "

"I've done that. Smith said he'd speak to him. "

"That's all right then. Is that a new bat?"

"Got it to-day. Smashed my other yesterday--against the school house. "

Donaldson's had played a friendly with the school house during thelast two days, and had beaten them. 

"I thought I heard it go. You were rather in form. "

"Better than at the beginning of the term, anyhow. I simply couldn'tdo a thing then. But my last three innings have been 33 not out, 18, and 51. 

"I should think you're bound to get your first all right. "

"Hope so. I see Mike's playing for the second against the O. W. S. "

"Yes. Pretty good for his first term. You have a pro. To coach you inthe holidays, don't you?"

"Yes. I didn't go to him much this last time. I was away a lot. ButMike fairly lived inside the net. "

"Well, it's not been chucked away. I suppose he'll get his first nextyear. There'll be a big clearing-out of colours at the end of thisterm. Nearly all the first are leaving. Henfrey'll be captain, Iexpect. "

"Saunders, the pro. At home, always says that Mike's going to be thestar cricketer of the family. Better than J. W. Even, he thinks. Iasked him what he thought of me, and he said, 'You'll be making a lotof runs some day, Mr. Bob. ' There's a subtle difference, isn't there?I shall have Mike cutting me out before I leave school if I'm notcareful. "

"Sort of infant prodigy, " said Trevor. "Don't think he's quite up toit yet, though. "

He went back to his study, and Bob, having finished his oiling andwashed his hands, started on his Thucydides. And, in the stress ofwrestling with the speech of an apparently delirious Athenian general, whose remarks seemed to contain nothing even remotely resembling senseand coherence, he allowed the question of Mike's welfare to fade fromhis mind like a dissolving view. 

CHAPTER VIII

A ROW WITH THE TOWN

The beginning of a big row, one of those rows which turn a schoolupside down like a volcanic eruption and provide old boys withsomething to talk about, when they meet, for years, is not unlike thebeginning of a thunderstorm. 

You are walking along one seemingly fine day, when suddenly there is ahush, and there falls on you from space one big drop. The next momentthe thing has begun, and you are standing in a shower-bath. It is justthe same with a row. Some trivial episode occurs, and in an instantthe place is in a ferment. It was so with the great picnic at Wrykyn. 

The bare outlines of the beginning of this affair are included in aletter which Mike wrote to his father on the Sunday following the OldWrykynian matches. 

This was the letter:

 "DEAR FATHER, --Thanks awfully for your letter. I hope you are quite well. I have been getting on all right at cricket lately. My scores since I wrote last have been 0 in a scratch game (the sun got in my eyes just as I played, and I got bowled); 15 for the third against an eleven of masters (without G. B. Jones, the Surrey man, and Spence); 28 not out in the Under Sixteen game; and 30 in a form match. Rather decent. Yesterday one of the men put down for the second against the O. W. 's second couldn't play because his father was very ill, so I played. Wasn't it luck? It's the first time I've played for the second. I didn't do much, because I didn't get an innings. They stop the cricket on O. W. Matches day because they have a lot of rotten Greek plays and things which take up a frightful time, and half the chaps are acting, so we stop from lunch to four. Rot I call it. So I didn't go in, because they won the toss and made 215, and by the time we'd made 140 for 6 it was close of play. They'd stuck me in eighth wicket. Rather rot. Still, I may get another shot. And I made rather a decent catch at mid-on. Low down. I had to dive for it. Bob played for the first, but didn't do much. He was run out after he'd got ten. I believe he's rather sick about it. 

 "Rather a rummy thing happened after lock-up. I wasn't in it, but a fellow called Wyatt (awfully decent chap. He's Wain's step-son, only they bar one another) told me about it. He was in it all right. There's a dinner after the matches on O. W. Day, and some of the chaps were going back to their houses after it when they got into a row with a lot of brickies from the town, and there was rather a row. There was a policeman mixed up in it somehow, only I don't quite know where he comes in. I'll find out and tell you next time I write. Love to everybody. Tell Marjory I'll write to her in a day or two. 

 "Your loving son, "MIKE. 

 "P. S. --I say, I suppose you couldn't send me five bob, could you? I'm rather broke. 

 "P. P. S. --Half-a-crown would do, only I'd rather it was five bob. "

And, on the back of the envelope, these words: "Or a bob would bebetter than nothing. "

 * * * * *

The outline of the case was as Mike had stated. But there were certaindetails of some importance which had not come to his notice when hesent the letter. On the Monday they were public property. 

The thing had happened after this fashion. At the conclusion of theday's cricket, all those who had been playing in the four elevenswhich the school put into the field against the old boys, togetherwith the school choir, were entertained by the headmaster to supper inthe Great Hall. The banquet, lengthened by speeches, songs, andrecitations which the reciters imagined to be songs, lasted, as arule, till about ten o'clock, when the revellers were supposed to goback to their houses by the nearest route, and turn in. This was theofficial programme. The school usually performed it with certainmodifications and improvements. 

About midway between Wrykyn, the school, and Wrykyn, the town, therestands on an island in the centre of the road a solitary lamp-post. Itwas the custom, and had been the custom for generations back, for thediners to trudge off to this lamp-post, dance round it for someminutes singing the school song or whatever happened to be the popularsong of the moment, and then race back to their houses. Antiquity hadgiven the custom a sort of sanctity, and the authorities, if theyknew--which they must have done--never interfered. 

But there were others. 

Wrykyn, the town, was peculiarly rich in "gangs of youths. " Like thevast majority of the inhabitants of the place, they seemed to have nowork of any kind whatsoever to occupy their time, which they used, accordingly, to spend prowling about and indulging in a mild, brainless, rural type of hooliganism. They seldom proceeded topractical rowdyism and never except with the school. As a rule, theyamused themselves by shouting rude chaff. The school regarded themwith a lofty contempt, much as an Oxford man regards the townee. Theschool was always anxious for a row, but it was the unwritten law thatonly in special circumstances should they proceed to active measures. A curious dislike for school-and-town rows and most misplaced severityin dealing with the offenders when they took place, were among the fewflaws in the otherwise admirable character of the headmaster ofWrykyn. It was understood that one scragged bargees at one's own risk, and, as a rule, it was not considered worth it. 

But after an excellent supper and much singing and joviality, one'sviews are apt to alter. Risks which before supper seemed great, show atendency to dwindle. 

When, therefore, the twenty or so Wrykynians who were dancing roundthe lamp-post were aware, in the midst of their festivities, that theywere being observed and criticised by an equal number of townees, andthat the criticisms were, as usual, essentially candid and personal, they found themselves forgetting the headmaster's prejudices andfeeling only that these outsiders must be put to the sword as speedilyas possible, for the honour of the school. 

Possibly, if the town brigade had stuck to a purely verbal form ofattack, all might yet have been peace. Words can be overlooked. 

But tomatoes cannot. 

No man of spirit can bear to be pelted with over-ripe tomatoes for anylength of time without feeling that if the thing goes on much longerhe will be reluctantly compelled to take steps. 

In the present crisis, the first tomato was enough to set mattersmoving. 

As the two armies stood facing each other in silence under the dim andmysterious rays of the lamp, it suddenly whizzed out from the enemy'sranks, and hit Wyatt on the right ear. 

There was a moment of suspense. Wyatt took out his handkerchief andwiped his face, over which the succulent vegetable had spread itself. 

"I don't know how you fellows are going to pass the evening, " he saidquietly. "My idea of a good after-dinner game is to try and find thechap who threw that. Anybody coming?"

For the first five minutes it was as even a fight as one could havewished to see. It raged up and down the road without a pause, now in asolid mass, now splitting up into little groups. The science was onthe side of the school. Most Wrykynians knew how to box to a certainextent. But, at any rate at first, it was no time for science. To bescientific one must have an opponent who observes at least the moreimportant rules of the ring. It is impossible to do the latest ducksand hooks taught you by the instructor if your antagonist butts you inthe chest, and then kicks your shins, while some dear friend of his, of whose presence you had no idea, hits you at the same time on theback of the head. The greatest expert would lose his science in suchcircumstances. 

Probably what gave the school the victory in the end was therighteousness of their cause. They were smarting under a sense ofinjury, and there is nothing that adds a force to one's blows and arecklessness to one's style of delivering them more than a sense ofinjury. 

Wyatt, one side of his face still showing traces of the tomato, ledthe school with a vigour that could not be resisted. He very seldomlost his temper, but he did draw the line at bad tomatoes. 

Presently the school noticed that the enemy were vanishing little bylittle into the darkness which concealed the town. Barely a dozenremained. And their lonely condition seemed to be borne in upon theseby a simultaneous brain-wave, for they suddenly gave the fight up, andstampeded as one man. 

The leaders were beyond recall, but two remained, tackled low by Wyattand Clowes after the fashion of the football-field. 

 * * * * *

The school gathered round its prisoners, panting. The scene of theconflict had shifted little by little to a spot some fifty yards fromwhere it had started. By the side of the road at this point was agreen, depressed looking pond. Gloomy in the daytime, it lookedunspeakable at night. It struck Wyatt, whose finer feelings had beenentirely blotted out by tomato, as an ideal place in which to bestowthe captives. 

"Let's chuck 'em in there, " he said. 

The idea was welcomed gladly by all, except the prisoners. A move wasmade towards the pond, and the procession had halted on the brink, when a new voice made itself heard. 

"Now then, " it said, "what's all this?"

A stout figure in policeman's uniform was standing surveying them withthe aid of a small bull's-eye lantern. 

"What's all this?"

"It's all right, " said Wyatt. 

"All right, is it? What's on?"

One of the prisoners spoke. 

"Make 'em leave hold of us, Mr. Butt. They're a-going to chuck us inthe pond. "

"Ho!" said the policeman, with a change in his voice. "Ho, are they?Come now, young gentleman, a lark's a lark, but you ought to knowwhere to stop. "

"It's anything but a lark, " said Wyatt in the creamy voice he usedwhen feeling particularly savage. "We're the Strong Right Arm ofJustice. That's what we are. This isn't a lark, it's an execution. "

"I don't want none of your lip, whoever you are, " said Mr. Butt, understanding but dimly, and suspecting impudence by instinct. 

"This is quite a private matter, " said Wyatt. "You run along on yourbeat. You can't do anything here. "

"Ho!"

"Shove 'em in, you chaps. "

"Stop!" From Mr. Butt. 

"Oo-er!" From prisoner number one. 

There was a sounding splash as willing hands urged the first of thecaptives into the depths. He ploughed his way to the bank, scrambledout, and vanished. 

Wyatt turned to the other prisoner. 

"You'll have the worst of it, going in second. He'll have churned upthe mud a bit. Don't swallow more than you can help, or you'll gogetting typhoid. I expect there are leeches and things there, but ifyou nip out quick they may not get on to you. Carry on, you chaps. "

It was here that the regrettable incident occurred. Just as the secondprisoner was being launched, Constable Butt, determined to asserthimself even at the eleventh hour, sprang forward, and seized thecaptive by the arm. A drowning man will clutch at a straw. A man aboutto be hurled into an excessively dirty pond will clutch at a stoutpoliceman. The prisoner did. 

Constable Butt represented his one link with dry land. As he camewithin reach he attached himself to his tunic with the vigour andconcentration of a limpet. 

At the same moment the executioners gave their man the final heave. The policeman realised his peril too late. A medley of noises made thepeaceful night hideous. A howl from the townee, a yell from thepoliceman, a cheer from the launching party, a frightened squawk fromsome birds in a neighbouring tree, and a splash compared with whichthe first had been as nothing, and all was over. 

The dark waters were lashed into a maelstrom; and then two streamingfigures squelched up the further bank. 

[Illustration: THE DARK WATERS WERE LASHED INTO A MAELSTROM]

The school stood in silent consternation. It was no occasion for lightapologies. 

"Do you know, " said Wyatt, as he watched the Law shaking the waterfrom itself on the other side of the pond, "I'm not half sure that wehadn't better be moving!"

CHAPTER IX

BEFORE THE STORM

Your real, devastating row has many points of resemblance with aprairie fire. A man on a prairie lights his pipe, and throws away thematch. The flame catches a bunch of dry grass, and, before any one canrealise what is happening, sheets of fire are racing over the country;and the interested neighbours are following their example. (I havealready compared a row with a thunderstorm; but both comparisons maystand. In dealing with so vast a matter as a row there must be nostint. )

The tomato which hit Wyatt in the face was the thrown-away match. Butfor the unerring aim of the town marksman great events would neverhave happened. A tomato is a trivial thing (though it is possible thatthe man whom it hits may not think so), but in the present case, itwas the direct cause of epoch-making trouble. 

The tomato hit Wyatt. Wyatt, with others, went to look for thethrower. The remnants of the thrower's friends were placed in thepond, and "with them, " as they say in the courts of law, PoliceConstable Alfred Butt. 

Following the chain of events, we find Mr. Butt, having prudentlychanged his clothes, calling upon the headmaster. 

The headmaster was grave and sympathetic; Mr. Butt fierce andrevengeful. 

The imagination of the force is proverbial. Nurtured on motor-cars andfed with stop-watches, it has become world-famous. Mr. Butt gave freerein to it. 

"Threw me in, they did, sir. Yes, sir. "

"Threw you in!"

"Yes, sir. _Plop_!" said Mr. Butt, with a certain sad relish. 

"Really, really!" said the headmaster. "Indeed! This is--dear me! Ishall certainly--They threw you in!--Yes, I shall--certainly----"

Encouraged by this appreciative reception of his story, Mr. Buttstarted it again, right from the beginning. 

"I was on my beat, sir, and I thought I heard a disturbance. I says tomyself, ''Allo, ' I says, 'a frakkus. Lots of them all gatheredtogether, and fighting. ' I says, beginning to suspect something, 'Wot's this all about, I wonder?' I says. 'Blow me if I don't thinkit's a frakkus. ' And, " concluded Mr. Butt, with the air of oneconfiding a secret, "and it _was_ a frakkus!"

"And these boys actually threw you into the pond?"

"_Plop_, sir! Mrs. Butt is drying my uniform at home at this verymoment as we sit talking here, sir. She says to me, 'Why, whatever_'ave_ you been a-doing? You're all wet. ' And, " he added, againwith the confidential air, "I _was_ wet, too. Wringin' wet. "

The headmaster's frown deepened. 

"And you are certain that your assailants were boys from the school?"

"Sure as I am that I'm sitting here, sir. They all 'ad their caps ontheir heads, sir. "

"I have never heard of such a thing. I can hardly believe that it ispossible. They actually seized you, and threw you into the water----"

"_Splish_, sir!" said the policeman, with a vividness of imageryboth surprising and gratifying. 

The headmaster tapped restlessly on the floor with his foot. 

"How many boys were there?" he asked. 

"Couple of 'undred, sir, " said Mr. Butt promptly. 

"Two hundred!"

"It was dark, sir, and I couldn't see not to say properly; but if youask me my frank and private opinion I should say couple of 'undred. "

"H'm--Well, I will look into the matter at once. They shall bepunished. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Ye-e-s--H'm--Yes--Most severely. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Yes--Thank you, constable. Good-night. "

"Good-night, sir. "

The headmaster of Wrykyn was not a motorist. Owing to thisdisadvantage he made a mistake. Had he been a motorist, he would haveknown that statements by the police in the matter of figures must bedivided by any number from two to ten, according to discretion. As itwas, he accepted Constable Butt's report almost as it stood. Hethought that he might possibly have been mistaken as to the exactnumbers of those concerned in his immersion; but he accepted thestatement in so far as it indicated that the thing had been the workof a considerable section of the school, and not of only one or twoindividuals. And this made all the difference to his method of dealingwith the affair. Had he known how few were the numbers of thoseresponsible for the cold in the head which subsequently attackedConstable Butt, he would have asked for their names, and an extralesson would have settled the entire matter. 

As it was, however, he got the impression that the school, as a whole, was culpable, and he proceeded to punish the school as a whole. 

It happened that, about a week before the pond episode, a certainmember of the Royal Family had recovered from a dangerous illness, which at one time had looked like being fatal. No official holiday hadbeen given to the schools in honour of the recovery, but Eton andHarrow had set the example, which was followed throughout the kingdom, and Wrykyn had come into line with the rest. Only two days before theO. W. 's matches the headmaster had given out a notice in the hall thatthe following Friday would be a whole holiday; and the school, alwaysready to stop work, had approved of the announcement exceedingly. 

The step which the headmaster decided to take by way of avenging Mr. Butt's wrongs was to stop this holiday. 

He gave out a notice to that effect on the Monday. 

The school was thunderstruck. It could not understand it. The pondaffair had, of course, become public property; and those who had hadnothing to do with it had been much amused. "There'll be a frightfulrow about it, " they had said, thrilled with the pleasant excitement ofthose who see trouble approaching and themselves looking on from acomfortable distance without risk or uneasiness. They were notmalicious. They did not want to see their friends in difficulties. Butthere is no denying that a row does break the monotony of a schoolterm. The thrilling feeling that something is going to happen is thesalt of life.... 

And here they were, right in it after all. The blow had fallen, andcrushed guilty and innocent alike. 

 * * * * *

The school's attitude can be summed up in three words. It was onevast, blank, astounded "Here, I say!"

Everybody was saying it, though not always in those words. Whencondensed, everybody's comment on the situation came to that. 

 * * * * *

There is something rather pathetic in the indignation of a school. Itmust always, or nearly always, expend itself in words, and in privateat that. Even the consolation of getting on to platforms and shoutingat itself is denied to it. A public school has no Hyde Park. 

There is every probability--in fact, it is certain--that, but for onemalcontent, the school's indignation would have been allowed to simmerdown in the usual way, and finally become a mere vague memory. 

The malcontent was Wyatt. He had been responsible for the starting ofthe matter, and he proceeded now to carry it on till it blazed up intothe biggest thing of its kind ever known at Wrykyn--the Great Picnic. 

 * * * * *

Any one who knows the public schools, their ironbound conservatism, and, as a whole, intense respect for order and authority, willappreciate the magnitude of his feat, even though he may not approveof it. Leaders of men are rare. Leaders of boys are almost unknown. Itrequires genius to sway a school. 

It would be an absorbing task for a psychologist to trace the variousstages by which an impossibility was changed into a reality. Wyatt'scoolness and matter-of-fact determination were his chief weapons. Hispopularity and reputation for lawlessness helped him. A conversationwhich he had with Neville-Smith, a day-boy, is typical of the way inwhich he forced his point of view on the school. 

Neville-Smith was thoroughly representative of the average Wrykynian. He could play his part in any minor "rag" which interested him, andprobably considered himself, on the whole, a daring sort of person. But at heart he had an enormous respect for authority. Before he cameto Wyatt, he would not have dreamed of proceeding beyond words in hisrevolt. Wyatt acted on him like some drug. 

Neville-Smith came upon Wyatt on his way to the nets. The noticeconcerning the holiday had only been given out that morning, and hewas full of it. He expressed his opinion of the headmaster freely andin well-chosen words. He said it was a swindle, that it was all rot, and that it was a beastly shame. He added that something ought to bedone about it. 

"What are you going to do?" asked Wyatt. 

"Well, " said Neville-Smith a little awkwardly, guiltily conscious thathe had been frothing, and scenting sarcasm, "I don't suppose one canactually _do_ anything. "

"Why not?" said Wyatt. 

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you take the holiday?"

"What? Not turn up on Friday!"

"Yes. I'm not going to. "

Neville-Smith stopped and stared. Wyatt was unmoved. 

"You're what?"

"I simply sha'n't go to school. "

"You're rotting. "

"All right. "

"No, but, I say, ragging barred. Are you just going to cut off, thoughthe holiday's been stopped?"

"That's the idea. "

"You'll get sacked. "

"I suppose so. But only because I shall be the only one to do it. Ifthe whole school took Friday off, they couldn't do much. They couldn'tsack the whole school. "

"By Jove, nor could they! I say!"

They walked on, Neville-Smith's mind in a whirl, Wyatt whistling. 

"I say, " said Neville-Smith after a pause. "It would be a bit of arag. "

"Not bad. "

"Do you think the chaps would do it?"

"If they understood they wouldn't be alone. "

Another pause. 

"Shall I ask some of them?" said Neville-Smith. 

"Do. "

"I could get quite a lot, I believe. "

"That would be a start, wouldn't it? I could get a couple of dozenfrom Wain's. We should be forty or fifty strong to start with. "

"I say, what a score, wouldn't it be?"

"Yes. "

"I'll speak to the chaps to-night, and let you know. "

"All right, " said Wyatt. "Tell them that I shall be going anyhow. Ishould be glad of a little company. "

 * * * * *

The school turned in on the Thursday night in a restless, excited way. There were mysterious whisperings and gigglings. Groups kept formingin corners apart, to disperse casually and innocently on the approachof some person in authority. 

An air of expectancy permeated each of the houses. 

CHAPTER X

THE GREAT PICNIC

Morning school at Wrykyn started at nine o'clock. At that hour therewas a call-over in each of the form-rooms. After call-over the formsproceeded to the Great Hall for prayers. 

A strangely desolate feeling was in the air at nine o'clock on theFriday morning. Sit in the grounds of a public school any afternoon inthe summer holidays, and you will get exactly the same sensation ofbeing alone in the world as came to the dozen or so day-boys whobicycled through the gates that morning. Wrykyn was a boarding-schoolfor the most part, but it had its leaven of day-boys. The majority ofthese lived in the town, and walked to school. A few, however, whosehomes were farther away, came on bicycles. One plutocrat did thejourney in a motor-car, rather to the scandal of the authorities, who, though unable to interfere, looked askance when compelled by thewarning toot of the horn to skip from road to pavement. A form-masterhas the strongest objection to being made to skip like a young ram bya boy to whom he has only the day before given a hundred lines forshuffling his feet in form. 

It seemed curious to these cyclists that there should be nobody about. Punctuality is the politeness of princes, but it was not a leadingcharacteristic of the school; and at three minutes to nine, as ageneral rule, you might see the gravel in front of the buildingsfreely dotted with sprinters, trying to get in in time to answer theirnames. 

It was curious that there should be nobody about to-day. A wave ofreform could scarcely have swept through the houses during the night. 

And yet--where was everybody?

Time only deepened the mystery. The form-rooms, like the gravel, wereempty. 

The cyclists looked at one another in astonishment. What could itmean?

It was an occasion on which sane people wonder if their brains are notplaying them some unaccountable trick. 

"I say, " said Willoughby, of the Lower Fifth, to Brown, the only otheroccupant of the form-room, "the old man _did_ stop the holidayto-day, didn't he?"

"Just what I was going to ask you, " said Brown. "It's jolly rum. Idistinctly remember him giving it out in hall that it was going to bestopped because of the O. W. 's day row. "

"So do I. I can't make it out. Where _is_ everybody?"

"They can't _all_ be late. "

"Somebody would have turned up by now. Why, it's just striking. "

"Perhaps he sent another notice round the houses late last night, saying it was on again all right. I say, what a swindle if he did. Some one might have let us know. I should have got up an hour later. "

"So should I. "

"Hullo, here _is_ somebody. "

It was the master of the Lower Fifth, Mr. Spence. He walked brisklyinto the room, as was his habit. Seeing the obvious void, he stoppedin his stride, and looked puzzled. 

"Willoughby. Brown. Are you the only two here? Where is everybody?"

"Please, sir, we don't know. We were just wondering. "

"Have you seen nobody?"

"No, sir. "

"We were just wondering, sir, if the holiday had been put on again, after all. "

"I've heard nothing about it. I should have received some sort ofintimation if it had been. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Do you mean to say that you have seen _nobody_, Brown?"

"Only about a dozen fellows, sir. The usual lot who come on bikes, sir. "

"None of the boarders?"

"No, sir. Not a single one. "

"This is extraordinary. "

Mr. Spence pondered. 

"Well, " he said, "you two fellows had better go along up to Hall. Ishall go to the Common Room and make inquiries. Perhaps, as you say, there is a holiday to-day, and the notice was not brought to me. "

Mr. Spence told himself, as he walked to the Common Room, thatthis might be a possible solution of the difficulty. He was not ahouse-master, and lived by himself in rooms in the town. It wasjust conceivable that they might have forgotten to tell him of thechange in the arrangements. 

But in the Common Room the same perplexity reigned. Half a dozenmasters were seated round the room, and a few more were standing. Andthey were all very puzzled. 

A brisk conversation was going on. Several voices hailed Mr. Spence ashe entered. 

"Hullo, Spence. Are you alone in the world too?"

"Any of your boys turned up, Spence?"

"You in the same condition as we are, Spence?"

Mr. Spence seated himself on the table. 

"Haven't any of your fellows turned up, either?" he said. 

"When I accepted the honourable post of Lower Fourth master in thisabode of sin, " said Mr. Seymour, "it was on the distinct understandingthat there was going to be a Lower Fourth. Yet I go into my form-roomthis morning, and what do I find? Simply Emptiness, and Pickersgill II. Whistling 'The Church Parade, ' all flat. I consider I have been hardlytreated. "

"I have no complaint to make against Brown and Willoughby, asindividuals, " said Mr. Spence; "but, considered as a form, I call themshort measure. "

"I confess that I am entirely at a loss, " said Mr. Shields precisely. "I have never been confronted with a situation like this since Ibecame a schoolmaster. "

"It is most mysterious, " agreed Mr. Wain, plucking at his beard. "Exceedingly so. "

The younger masters, notably Mr. Spence and Mr. Seymour, had begun tolook on the thing as a huge jest. 

"We had better teach ourselves, " said Mr. Seymour. "Spence, do ahundred lines for laughing in form. "

The door burst open. 

"Hullo, here's another scholastic Little Bo-Peep, " said Mr. Seymour. "Well, Appleby, have you lost your sheep, too?"

"You don't mean to tell me----" began Mr. Appleby. 

"I do, " said Mr. Seymour. "Here we are, fifteen of us, all good menand true, graduates of our Universities, and, as far as I can see, ifwe divide up the boys who have come to school this morning on fairshare-and-share-alike lines, it will work out at about two-thirds of aboy each. Spence, will you take a third of Pickersgill II. ?"

"I want none of your charity, " said Mr. Spence loftily. "You don'tseem to realise that I'm the best off of you all. I've got two in myform. It's no good offering me your Pickersgills. I simply haven'troom for them. "

"What does it all mean?" exclaimed Mr. Appleby. 

"If you ask me, " said Mr. Seymour, "I should say that it meant thatthe school, holding the sensible view that first thoughts are best, have ignored the head's change of mind, and are taking their holidayas per original programme. "

"They surely cannot----!"

"Well, where are they then?"

"Do you seriously mean that the entire school has--has_rebelled_?"

"'Nay, sire, '" quoted Mr. Spence, "'a revolution!'"

"I never heard of such a thing!"

"We're making history, " said Mr. Seymour. 

"It will be rather interesting, " said Mr. Spence, "to see how the headwill deal with a situation like this. One can rely on him to do thestatesman-like thing, but I'm bound to say I shouldn't care to be inhis place. It seems to me these boys hold all the cards. You can'texpel a whole school. There's safety in numbers. The thing iscolossal. "

"It is deplorable, " said Mr. Wain, with austerity. "Exceedingly so. "

"I try to think so, " said Mr. Spence, "but it's a struggle. There's aNapoleonic touch about the business that appeals to one. Disorder on asmall scale is bad, but this is immense. I've never heard of anythinglike it at any public school. When I was at Winchester, my last yearthere, there was pretty nearly a revolution because the captain ofcricket was expelled on the eve of the Eton match. I remember makinginflammatory speeches myself on that occasion. But we stopped on theright side of the line. We were satisfied with growling. But this----!"

Mr. Seymour got up. 

"It's an ill wind, " he said. "With any luck we ought to get the dayoff, and it's ideal weather for a holiday. The head can hardly ask usto sit indoors, teaching nobody. If I have to stew in my form-room allday, instructing Pickersgill II. , I shall make things exceedinglysultry for that youth. He will wish that the Pickersgill progeny hadstopped short at his elder brother. He will not value life. In themeantime, as it's already ten past, hadn't we better be going up toHall to see what the orders of the day _are_?"

"Look at Shields, " said Mr. Spence. "He might be posing for a statueto be called 'Despair!' He reminds me of Macduff. _Macbeth_, Activ. , somewhere near the end. 'What, all my pretty chickens, at onefell swoop?' That's what Shields is saying to himself. "

"It's all very well to make a joke of it, Spence, " said Mr. Shieldsquerulously, "but it is most disturbing. Most. "

"Exceedingly, " agreed Mr. Wain. 

The bereaved company of masters walked on up the stairs that led tothe Great Hall. 

CHAPTER XI

THE CONCLUSION OF THE PICNIC

If the form-rooms had been lonely, the Great Hall was doubly, trebly, so. It was a vast room, stretching from side to side of the middleblock, and its ceiling soared up into a distant dome. At one end was adais and an organ, and at intervals down the room stood long tables. The panels were covered with the names of Wrykynians who had wonscholarships at Oxford and Cambridge, and of Old Wrykynians who hadtaken first in Mods or Greats, or achieved any other recognisedsuccess, such as a place in the Indian Civil Service list. A silenttestimony, these panels, to the work the school had done in the world. 

Nobody knew exactly how many the Hall could hold, when packed to itsfullest capacity. The six hundred odd boys at the school seemed toleave large gaps unfilled. 

This morning there was a mere handful, and the place looked worse thanempty. 

The Sixth Form were there, and the school prefects. The Great Picnichad not affected their numbers. The Sixth stood by their table in asolid group. The other tables were occupied by ones and twos. A buzzof conversation was going on, which did not cease when the mastersfiled into the room and took their places. Every one realised by thistime that the biggest row in Wrykyn history was well under way; andthe thing had to be discussed. 

In the Masters' library Mr. Wain and Mr. Shields, the spokesmen of theCommon Room, were breaking the news to the headmaster. 

The headmaster was a man who rarely betrayed emotion in his publiccapacity. He heard Mr. Shields's rambling remarks, punctuated by Mr. Wain's "Exceedinglys, " to an end. Then he gathered up his cap andgown. 

"You say that the whole school is absent?" he remarked quietly. 

Mr. Shields, in a long-winded flow of words, replied that that waswhat he did say. 

"Ah!" said the headmaster. 

There was a silence. 

"'M!" said the headmaster. 

There was another silence. 

"Ye--e--s!" said the headmaster. 

He then led the way into the Hall. 

Conversation ceased abruptly as he entered. The school, like anaudience at a theatre when the hero has just appeared on the stage, felt that the serious interest of the drama had begun. There was adead silence at every table as he strode up the room and on to thedais. 

There was something Titanic in his calmness. Every eye was on his faceas he passed up the Hall, but not a sign of perturbation could theschool read. To judge from his expression, he might have been unawareof the emptiness around him. 

The master who looked after the music of the school, and incidentallyaccompanied the hymn with which prayers at Wrykyn opened, was waiting, puzzled, at the foot of the dais. It seemed improbable that thingswould go on as usual, and he did not know whether he was expected tobe at the organ, or not. The headmaster's placid face reassured him. He went to his post. 

The hymn began. It was a long hymn, and one which the school liked forits swing and noise. As a rule, when it was sung, the Hall re-echoed. To-day, the thin sound of the voices had quite an uncanny effect. Theorgan boomed through the deserted room. 

The school, or the remnants of it, waited impatiently while theprefect whose turn it was to read stammered nervously through thelesson. They were anxious to get on to what the Head was going to sayat the end of prayers. At last it was over. The school waited, allears. 

The headmaster bent down from the dais and called to Firby-Smith, whowas standing in his place with the Sixth. 

The Gazeka, blushing warmly, stepped forward. 

"Bring me a school list, Firby-Smith, " said the headmaster. 

The Gazeka was wearing a pair of very squeaky boots that morning. Theysounded deafening as he walked out of the room. 

The school waited. 

Presently a distant squeaking was heard, and Firby-Smith returned, bearing a large sheet of paper. 

The headmaster thanked him, and spread it out on the reading-desk. 

Then, calmly, as if it were an occurrence of every day, he began tocall the roll. 

"Abney. "

No answer. 

"Adams. "

No answer. 

"Allenby. "

"Here, sir, " from a table at the end of the room. Allenby was aprefect, in the Science Sixth. 

The headmaster made a mark against his name with a pencil. 

"Arkwright. "

No answer. 

He began to call the names more rapidly. 

"Arlington. Arthur. Ashe. Aston. "

"Here, sir, " in a shrill treble from the rider in motorcars. 

The headmaster made another tick. 

The list came to an end after what seemed to the school anunconscionable time, and he rolled up the paper again, and stepped tothe edge of the dais. 

"All boys not in the Sixth Form, " he said, "will go to theirform-rooms and get their books and writing-materials, and returnto the Hall. "

("Good work, " murmured Mr. Seymour to himself. "Looks as if weshould get that holiday after all. ")

"The Sixth Form will go to their form-room as usual. I should liketo speak to the masters for a moment. "

He nodded dismissal to the school. 

The masters collected on the daďs. 

"I find that I shall not require your services to-day, " said theheadmaster. "If you will kindly set the boys in your forms some workthat will keep them occupied, I will look after them here. It is alovely day, " he added, with a smile, "and I am sure you will all enjoyyourselves a great deal more in the open air. "

"That, " said Mr. Seymour to Mr. Spence, as they went downstairs, "iswhat I call a genuine sportsman. "

"My opinion neatly expressed, " said Mr. Spence. "Come on the river. Orshall we put up a net, and have a knock?"

"River, I think. Meet you at the boat-house. "

"All right. Don't be long. "

"If every day were run on these lines, school-mastering wouldn't besuch a bad profession. I wonder if one could persuade one's form torun amuck as a regular thing. "

"Pity one can't. It seems to me the ideal state of things. Ensures thegreatest happiness of the greatest number. "

"I say! Suppose the school has gone up the river, too, and we meetthem! What shall we do?"

"Thank them, " said Mr. Spence, "most kindly. They've done us well. "

The school had not gone up the river. They had marched in a solidbody, with the school band at their head playing Sousa, in thedirection of Worfield, a market town of some importance, distant aboutfive miles. Of what they did and what the natives thought of it all, no very distinct records remain. The thing is a tradition on thecountryside now, an event colossal and heroic, to be talked about inthe tap-room of the village inn during the long winter evenings. Thepapers got hold of it, but were curiously misled as to the nature ofthe demonstration. This was the fault of the reporter on the staff ofthe _Worfield Intelligencer and Farmers' Guide_, who saw in thething a legitimate "march-out, " and, questioning a straggler as to thereason for the expedition and gathering foggily that the restorationto health of the Eminent Person was at the bottom of it, said so inhis paper. And two days later, at about the time when Retribution hadgot seriously to work, the _Daily Mail_ reprinted the account, with comments and elaborations, and headed it "Loyal Schoolboys. " Thewriter said that great credit was due to the headmaster of Wrykyn forhis ingenuity in devising and organising so novel a thanksgivingcelebration. And there was the usual conversation between "arosy-cheeked lad of some sixteen summers" and "our representative, "in which the rosy-cheeked one spoke most kindly of the head-master, who seemed to be a warm personal friend of his. 

The remarkable thing about the Great Picnic was its orderliness. Considering that five hundred and fifty boys were ranging the countryin a compact mass, there was wonderfully little damage done toproperty. Wyatt's genius did not stop short at organising the march. In addition, he arranged a system of officers which effectuallycontrolled the animal spirits of the rank and file. The prompt anddecisive way in which rioters were dealt with during the earlierstages of the business proved a wholesome lesson to others who wouldhave wished to have gone and done likewise. A spirit of martial lawreigned over the Great Picnic. And towards the end of the day fatiguekept the rowdy-minded quiet. 

At Worfield the expedition lunched. It was not a market-day, fortunately, or the confusion in the narrow streets would have beenhopeless. On ordinary days Worfield was more or less deserted. It isastonishing that the resources of the little town were equal tosatisfying the needs of the picnickers. They descended on the placelike an army of locusts. 

Wyatt, as generalissimo of the expedition, walked into the"Grasshopper and Ant, " the leading inn of the town. 

"Anything I can do for you, sir?" inquired the landlord politely. 

"Yes, please, " said Wyatt, "I want lunch for five hundred and fifty. "

That was the supreme moment in mine host's life. It was his bigsubject of conversation ever afterwards. He always told that as hisbest story, and he always ended with the words, "You could ha' knockedme down with a feather!"

The first shock over, the staff of the "Grasshopper and Ant" bustledabout. Other inns were called upon for help. Private citizens ralliedround with bread, jam, and apples. And the army lunched sumptuously. 

In the early afternoon they rested, and as evening began to fall, themarch home was started. 

 * * * * *

At the school, net practice was just coming to an end when, faintly, as the garrison of Lucknow heard the first skirl of the pipes of therelieving force, those on the grounds heard the strains of the schoolband and a murmur of many voices. Presently the sounds grew moredistinct, and up the Wrykyn road came marching the vanguard of thecolumn, singing the school song. They looked weary but cheerful. 

As the army drew near to the school, it melted away little by little, each house claiming its representatives. At the school gates only ahandful were left. 

Bob Jackson, walking back to Donaldson's, met Wyatt at the gate, andgazed at him, speechless. 

"Hullo, " said Wyatt, "been to the nets? I wonder if there's time for aginger-beer before the shop shuts. "

CHAPTER XII

MIKE GETS HIS CHANCE

The headmaster was quite bland and business-like about it all. Therewere no impassioned addresses from the dais. He did not tell theschool that it ought to be ashamed of itself. Nor did he say that heshould never have thought it of them. Prayers on the Saturday morningwere marked by no unusual features. There was, indeed, a stir ofexcitement when he came to the edge of the dais, and cleared histhroat as a preliminary to making an announcement. Now for it, thoughtthe school. 

This was the announcement. 

"There has been an outbreak of chicken-pox in the town. All streetsexcept the High Street will in consequence be out of bounds tillfurther notice. "

He then gave the nod of dismissal. 

The school streamed downstairs, marvelling. 

The less astute of the picnickers, unmindful of the homely proverbabout hallooing before leaving the wood, were openly exulting. Itseemed plain to them that the headmaster, baffled by the magnitude ofthe thing, had resolved to pursue the safe course of ignoring italtogether. To lie low is always a shrewd piece of tactics, and thereseemed no reason why the Head should not have decided on it in thepresent instance. 

Neville-Smith was among these premature rejoicers. 

"I say, " he chuckled, overtaking Wyatt in the cloisters, "this is allright, isn't it! He's funked it. I thought he would. Finds the job toobig to tackle. "

Wyatt was damping. 

"My dear chap, " he said, "it's not over yet by a long chalk. It hasn'tstarted yet. "

"What do you mean? Why didn't he say anything about it in Hall, then?"

"Why should he? Have you ever had tick at a shop?"

"Of course I have. What do you mean? Why?"

"Well, they didn't send in the bill right away. But it came allright. "

"Do you think he's going to do something, then?"

"Rather. You wait. "

Wyatt was right. 

Between ten and eleven on Wednesdays and Saturdays old Bates, theschool sergeant, used to copy out the names of those who were in extralesson, and post them outside the school shop. The school inspectedthe list during the quarter to eleven interval. 

To-day, rushing to the shop for its midday bun, the school was awareof a vast sheet of paper where usually there was but a small one. Theysurged round it. Buns were forgotten. What was it?

Then the meaning of the notice flashed upon them. The headmaster hadacted. This bloated document was the extra lesson list, swollen withnames as a stream swells with rain. It was a comprehensive document. It left out little. 

"The following boys will go in to extra lesson this afternoon and nextWednesday, " it began. And "the following boys" numbered four hundred. 

"Bates must have got writer's cramp, " said Clowes, as he read the hugescroll. 

 * * * * *

Wyatt met Mike after school, as they went back to the house. 

"Seen the 'extra' list?" he remarked. "None of the kids are in it, Inotice. Only the bigger fellows. Rather a good thing. I'm glad you gotoff. "

"Thanks, " said Mike, who was walking a little stiffly. "I don't knowwhat you call getting off. It seems to me you're the chaps who gotoff. "

"How do you mean?"

"We got tanned, " said Mike ruefully. 

"What!"

"Yes. Everybody below the Upper Fourth. "

Wyatt roared with laughter. 

"By Gad, " he said, "he is an old sportsman. I never saw such a man. Helowers all records. "

"Glad you think it funny. You wouldn't have if you'd been me. I wasone of the first to get it. He was quite fresh. "

"Sting?"

"Should think it did. "

"Well, buck up. Don't break down. "

"I'm not breaking down, " said Mike indignantly. 

"All right, I thought you weren't. Anyhow, you're better off than Iam. "

"An extra's nothing much, " said Mike. 

"It is when it happens to come on the same day as the M. C. C. Match. "

"Oh, by Jove! I forgot. That's next Wednesday, isn't it? You won't beable to play!"

"No. "

"I say, what rot!"

"It is, rather. Still, nobody can say I didn't ask for it. If one goesout of one's way to beg and beseech the Old Man to put one in extra, it would be a little rough on him to curse him when he does it. "

"I should be awfully sick, if it were me. "

"Well, it isn't you, so you're all right. You'll probably get my placein the team. "

Mike smiled dutifully at what he supposed to be a humorous sally. 

"Or, rather, one of the places, " continued Wyatt, who seemed to besufficiently in earnest. "They'll put a bowler in instead of me. Probably Druce. But there'll be several vacancies. Let's see. Me. Adams. Ashe. Any more? No, that's the lot. I should think they'd giveyou a chance. "

"You needn't rot, " said Mike uncomfortably. He had his day-dreams, like everybody else, and they always took the form of playing for thefirst eleven (and, incidentally, making a century in record time). Tohave to listen while the subject was talked about lightly made him hotand prickly all over. 

"I'm not rotting, " said Wyatt seriously, "I'll suggest it to Burgessto-night. "

"You don't think there's any chance of it, really, do you?" said Mikeawkwardly. 

"I don't see why not? Buck up in the scratch game this afternoon. Fielding especially. Burgess is simply mad on fielding. I don't blamehim either, especially as he's a bowler himself. He'd shove a man intothe team like a shot, whatever his batting was like, if his fieldingwas something extra special. So you field like a demon this afternoon, and I'll carry on the good work in the evening. "

"I say, " said Mike, overcome, "it's awfully decent of you, Wyatt. "

 * * * * *

Billy Burgess, captain of Wrykyn cricket, was a genial giant, whoseldom allowed himself to be ruffled. The present was one of the rareoccasions on which he permitted himself that luxury. Wyatt found himin his study, shortly before lock-up, full of strange oaths, like thesoldier in Shakespeare. 

"You rotter! You rotter! You _worm_!" he observed crisply, asWyatt appeared. 

"Dear old Billy!" said Wyatt. "Come on, give me a kiss, and let's befriends. "

"You----!"

"William! William!"

"If it wasn't illegal, I'd like to tie you and Ashe and thatblackguard Adams up in a big sack, and drop you into the river. AndI'd jump on the sack first. What do you mean by letting the team downlike this? I know you were at the bottom of it all. "

He struggled into his shirt--he was changing after a bath--and hisface popped wrathfully out at the other end. 

"I'm awfully sorry, Bill, " said Wyatt. "The fact is, in the excitementof the moment the M. C. C. Match went clean out of my mind. "

"You haven't got a mind, " grumbled Burgess. "You've got a cheap brownpaper substitute. That's your trouble. "

Wyatt turned the conversation tactfully. 

"How many wickets did you get to-day?" he asked. 

"Eight. For a hundred and three. I was on the spot. Young Jacksoncaught a hot one off me at third man. That kid's good. "

"Why don't you play him against the M. C. C. On Wednesday?" said Wyatt, jumping at his opportunity. 

"What? Are you sitting on my left shoe?"

"No. There it is in the corner. "

"Right ho!... What were you saying?"

"Why not play young Jackson for the first?"

"Too small. "

"Rot. What does size matter? Cricket isn't footer. Besides, he isn'tsmall. He's as tall as I am. "

"I suppose he is. Dash, I've dropped my stud. "

Wyatt waited patiently till he had retrieved it. Then he returned tothe attack. 

"He's as good a bat as his brother, and a better field. "

"Old Bob can't field for toffee. I will say that for him. Dropped asitter off me to-day. Why the deuce fellows can't hold catches whenthey drop slowly into their mouths I'm hanged if I can see. "

"You play him, " said Wyatt. "Just give him a trial. That kid's agenius at cricket. He's going to be better than any of his brothers, even Joe. Give him a shot. "

Burgess hesitated. 

"You know, it's a bit risky, " he said. "With you three lunatics out ofthe team we can't afford to try many experiments. Better stick to themen at the top of the second. "

Wyatt got up, and kicked the wall as a vent for his feelings. 

"You rotter, " he said. "Can't you _see_ when you've got a goodman? Here's this kid waiting for you ready made with a style likeTrumper's, and you rave about top men in the second, chaps who playforward at everything, and pat half-volleys back to the bowler! Do yourealise that your only chance of being known to Posterity is as theman who gave M. Jackson his colours at Wrykyn? In a few years he'll beplaying for England, and you'll think it a favour if he nods to you inthe pav. At Lord's. When you're a white-haired old man you'll gododdering about, gassing to your grandchildren, poor kids, how you'discovered' M. Jackson. It'll be the only thing they'll respect youfor. "

Wyatt stopped for breath. 

"All right, " said Burgess, "I'll think it over. Frightful gift of thegab you've got, Wyatt. "

"Good, " said Wyatt. "Think it over. And don't forget what I said aboutthe grandchildren. You would like little Wyatt Burgess and the otherlittle Burgesses to respect you in your old age, wouldn't you? Verywell, then. So long. The bell went ages ago. I shall be locked out. "

 * * * * *

On the Monday morning Mike passed the notice-board just as Burgessturned away from pinning up the list of the team to play the M. C. C. Heread it, and his heart missed a beat. For, bottom but one, just abovethe W. B. Burgess, was a name that leaped from the paper at him. Hisown name. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE M. C. C. MATCH

If the day happens to be fine, there is a curious, dream-likeatmosphere about the opening stages of a first eleven match. Everything seems hushed and expectant. The rest of the school havegone in after the interval at eleven o'clock, and you are alone on thegrounds with a cricket-bag. The only signs of life are a fewpedestrians on the road beyond the railings and one or two blazer andflannel-clad forms in the pavilion. The sense of isolation is tryingto the nerves, and a school team usually bats 25 per cent. Betterafter lunch, when the strangeness has worn off. 

Mike walked across from Wain's, where he had changed, feeling quitehollow. He could almost have cried with pure fright. Bob had shoutedafter him from a window as he passed Donaldson's, to wait, so thatthey could walk over together; but conversation was the last thingMike desired at that moment. 

He had almost reached the pavilion when one of the M. C. C. Team camedown the steps, saw him, and stopped dead. 

"By Jove, Saunders!" cried Mike. 

"Why, Master Mike!"

The professional beamed, and quite suddenly, the lost, hopelessfeeling left Mike. He felt as cheerful as if he and Saunders had metin the meadow at home, and were just going to begin a little quietnet-practice. 

"Why, Master Mike, you don't mean to say you're playing for the schoolalready?"

Mike nodded happily. 

"Isn't it ripping, " he said. 

Saunders slapped his leg in a sort of ecstasy. 

"Didn't I always say it, sir, " he chuckled. "Wasn't I right? I used tosay to myself it 'ud be a pretty good school team that 'ud leave youout. "

"Of course, I'm only playing as a sub. , you know. Three chaps are inextra, and I got one of the places. "

"Well, you'll make a hundred to-day, Master Mike, and then they'llhave to put you in. "

"Wish I could!"

"Master Joe's come down with the Club, " said Saunders. 

"Joe! Has he really? How ripping! Hullo, here he is. Hullo, Joe?"

The greatest of all the Jacksons was descending the pavilion stepswith the gravity befitting an All England batsman. He stopped short, as Saunders had done. 

"Mike! You aren't playing!"

"Yes. "

"Well, I'm hanged! Young marvel, isn't he, Saunders?"

"He is, sir, " said Saunders. "Got all the strokes. I always said it, Master Joe. Only wants the strength. "

Joe took Mike by the shoulder, and walked him off in the direction ofa man in a Zingari blazer who was bowling slows to another of theM. C. C. Team. Mike recognised him with awe as one of the three bestamateur wicket-keepers in the country. 

"What do you think of this?" said Joe, exhibiting Mike, who grinnedbashfully. "Aged ten last birthday, and playing for the school. Youare only ten, aren't you, Mike?"

"Brother of yours?" asked the wicket-keeper. 

"Probably too proud to own the relationship, but he is. "

"Isn't there any end to you Jacksons?" demanded the wicket-keeper inan aggrieved tone. "I never saw such a family. "

"This is our star. You wait till he gets at us to-day. Saunders is ouronly bowler, and Mike's been brought up on Saunders. You'd better winthe toss if you want a chance of getting a knock and lifting youraverage out of the minuses. "

"I _have_ won the toss, " said the other with dignity. "Do youthink I don't know the elementary duties of a captain?"

 * * * * *

The school went out to field with mixed feelings. The wicket was hardand true, which would have made it pleasant to be going in first. Onthe other hand, they would feel decidedly better and fitter forcenturies after the game had been in progress an hour or so. Burgesswas glad as a private individual, sorry as a captain. For himself, thesooner he got hold of the ball and began to bowl the better he likedit. As a captain, he realised that a side with Joe Jackson on it, notto mention the other first-class men, was not a side to which he wouldhave preferred to give away an advantage. Mike was feeling that by nopossibility could he hold the simplest catch, and hoping that nothingwould come his way. Bob, conscious of being an uncertain field, wasfeeling just the same. 

The M. C. C. Opened with Joe and a man in an Oxford Authentic cap. Thebeginning of the game was quiet. Burgess's yorker was nearly too muchfor the latter in the first over, but he contrived to chop it away, and the pair gradually settled down. At twenty, Joe began to open hisshoulders. Twenty became forty with disturbing swiftness, and Burgesstried a change of bowling. 

It seemed for one instant as if the move had been a success, for Joe, still taking risks, tried to late-cut a rising ball, and snickedit straight into Bob's hands at second slip. It was the easiestof slip-catches, but Bob fumbled it, dropped it, almost held it asecond time, and finally let it fall miserably to the ground. It wasa moment too painful for words. He rolled the ball back to the bowlerin silence. 

One of those weary periods followed when the batsman's defence seemsto the fieldsmen absolutely impregnable. There was a sickeninginevitableness in the way in which every ball was played with the verycentre of the bat. And, as usual, just when things seemed mosthopeless, relief came. The Authentic, getting in front of his wicket, to pull one of the simplest long-hops ever seen on a cricket field, missed it, and was l. B. W. And the next ball upset the newcomer's legstump. 

The school revived. Bowlers and field were infused with a new life. Another wicket--two stumps knocked out of the ground by Burgess--helpedthe thing on. When the bell rang for the end of morning school, fivewickets were down for a hundred and thirteen. 

But from the end of school till lunch things went very wrong indeed. Joe was still in at one end, invincible; and at the other was thegreat wicket-keeper. And the pair of them suddenly began to force thepace till the bowling was in a tangled knot. Four after four, allround the wicket, with never a chance or a mishit to vary themonotony. Two hundred went up, and two hundred and fifty. Then Joereached his century, and was stumped next ball. Then came lunch. 

The rest of the innings was like the gentle rain after thethunderstorm. Runs came with fair regularity, but wickets fell atintervals, and when the wicket-keeper was run out at length for alively sixty-three, the end was very near. Saunders, coming in last, hit two boundaries, and was then caught by Mike. His second hit hadjust lifted the M. C. C. Total over the three hundred. 

 * * * * *

Three hundred is a score that takes some making on any ground, but ona fine day it was not an unusual total for the Wrykyn eleven. Someyears before, against Ripton, they had run up four hundred andsixteen; and only last season had massacred a very weak team of OldWrykynians with a score that only just missed the fourth hundred. 

Unfortunately, on the present occasion, there was scarcely time, unless the bowling happened to get completely collared, to make theruns. It was a quarter to four when the innings began, and stumps wereto be drawn at a quarter to seven. A hundred an hour is quick work. 

Burgess, however, was optimistic, as usual. "Better have a go forthem, " he said to Berridge and Marsh, the school first pair. 

Following out this courageous advice, Berridge, after hitting threeboundaries in his first two overs, was stumped half-way through thethird. 

After this, things settled down. Morris, the first-wicket man, was athoroughly sound bat, a little on the slow side, but exceedingly hardto shift. He and Marsh proceeded to play themselves in, until itlooked as if they were likely to stay till the drawing of stumps. 

A comfortable, rather somnolent feeling settled upon the school. Along stand at cricket is a soothing sight to watch. There was anabsence of hurry about the batsmen which harmonised well with thedrowsy summer afternoon. And yet runs were coming at a fair pace. Thehundred went up at five o'clock, the hundred and fifty at half-past. Both batsmen were completely at home, and the M. C. C. Third-changebowlers had been put on. 

Then the great wicket-keeper took off the pads and gloves, and thefieldsmen retired to posts at the extreme edge of the ground. 

"Lobs, " said Burgess. "By Jove, I wish I was in. "

It seemed to be the general opinion among the members of the Wrykyneleven on the pavilion balcony that Morris and Marsh were in luck. Theteam did not grudge them their good fortune, because they had earnedit; but they were distinctly envious. 

Lobs are the most dangerous, insinuating things in the world. Everybody knows in theory the right way to treat them. Everybody knowsthat the man who is content not to try to score more than a singlecannot get out to them. Yet nearly everybody does get out to them. 

It was the same story to-day. The first over yielded six runs, allthrough gentle taps along the ground. In the second, Marsh hit anover-pitched one along the ground to the terrace bank. The next ballhe swept round to the leg boundary. And that was the end of Marsh. Hesaw himself scoring at the rate of twenty-four an over. Off the lastball he was stumped by several feet, having done himself credit byscoring seventy. 

The long stand was followed, as usual, by a series of disasters. Marsh's wicket had fallen at a hundred and eighty. Ellerby left at ahundred and eighty-six. By the time the scoring-board registered twohundred, five wickets were down, three of them victims to the lobs. Morris was still in at one end. He had refused to be tempted. He wasjogging on steadily to his century. 

Bob Jackson went in next, with instructions to keep his eye on thelob-man. 

For a time things went well. Saunders, who had gone on to bowl againafter a rest, seemed to give Morris no trouble, and Bob put himthrough the slips with apparent ease. Twenty runs were added, when thelob-bowler once more got in his deadly work. Bob, letting alone a ballwide of the off-stump under the impression that it was going to breakaway, was disagreeably surprised to find it break in instead, and hitthe wicket. The bowler smiled sadly, as if he hated to have to dothese things. 

Mike's heart jumped as he saw the bails go. It was his turn next. 

"Two hundred and twenty-nine, " said Burgess, "and it's ten past six. No good trying for the runs now. Stick in, " he added to Mike. "That'sall you've got to do. "

All!... Mike felt as if he was being strangled. His heart was racinglike the engines of a motor. He knew his teeth were chattering. Hewished he could stop them. What a time Bob was taking to get back tothe pavilion! He wanted to rush out, and get the thing over. 

At last he arrived, and Mike, fumbling at a glove, tottered out intothe sunshine. He heard miles and miles away a sound of clapping, and athin, shrill noise as if somebody were screaming in the distance. As amatter of fact, several members of his form and of the junior day-roomat Wain's nearly burst themselves at that moment. 

At the wickets, he felt better. Bob had fallen to the last ball of theover, and Morris, standing ready for Saunders's delivery, looked socalm and certain of himself that it was impossible to feel entirelywithout hope and self-confidence. Mike knew that Morris had madeninety-eight, and he supposed that Morris knew that he was very nearhis century; yet he seemed to be absolutely undisturbed. Mike drewcourage from his attitude. 

Morris pushed the first ball away to leg. Mike would have liked tohave run two, but short leg had retrieved the ball as he reached thecrease. 

The moment had come, the moment which he had experienced only indreams. And in the dreams he was always full of confidence, andinvariably hit a boundary. Sometimes a drive, sometimes a cut, butalways a boundary. 

"To leg, sir, " said the umpire. 

"Don't be in a funk, " said a voice. "Play straight, and you can't getout. "

It was Joe, who had taken the gloves when the wicket-keeper went on tobowl. 

Mike grinned, wryly but gratefully. 

Saunders was beginning his run. It was all so home-like that for amoment Mike felt himself again. How often he had seen those two littleskips and the jump. It was like being in the paddock again, withMarjory and the dogs waiting by the railings to fetch the ball if hemade a drive. 

Saunders ran to the crease, and bowled. 

Now, Saunders was a conscientious man, and, doubtless, bowled the verybest ball that he possibly could. On the other hand, it was Mike'sfirst appearance for the school, and Saunders, besides beingconscientious, was undoubtedly kind-hearted. It is useless tospeculate as to whether he was trying to bowl his best that ball. Ifso, he failed signally. It was a half-volley, just the right distanceaway from the off-stump; the sort of ball Mike was wont to send nearlythrough the net at home.... 

The next moment the dreams had come true. The umpire was signalling tothe scoring-box, the school was shouting, extra-cover was trotting tothe boundary to fetch the ball, and Mike was blushing and wonderingwhether it was bad form to grin. 

From that ball onwards all was for the best in this best of allpossible worlds. Saunders bowled no more half-volleys; but Mikeplayed everything that he did bowl. He met the lobs with a bat likea barn-door. Even the departure of Morris, caught in the slips offSaunders's next over for a chanceless hundred and five, did not disturbhim. All nervousness had left him. He felt equal to the situation. Burgess came in, and began to hit out as if he meant to knock off theruns. The bowling became a shade loose. Twice he was given full tossesto leg, which he hit to the terrace bank. Half-past six chimed, and twohundred and fifty went up on the telegraph board. Burgess continued tohit. Mike's whole soul was concentrated on keeping up his wicket. There was only Reeves to follow him, and Reeves was a victim to thefirst straight ball. Burgess had to hit because it was the only gamehe knew; but he himself must simply stay in. 

The hands of the clock seemed to have stopped. Then suddenly he heardthe umpire say "Last over, " and he settled down to keep those sixballs out of his wicket. 

The lob bowler had taken himself off, and the Oxford Authentic hadgone on, fast left-hand. 

The first ball was short and wide of the off-stump. Mike let it alone. Number two: yorker. Got him! Three: straight half-volley. Mike playedit back to the bowler. Four: beat him, and missed the wicket by aninch. Five: another yorker. Down on it again in the old familiar way. 

All was well. The match was a draw now whatever happened to him. Hehit out, almost at a venture, at the last ball, and mid-off, jumping, just failed to reach it. It hummed over his head, and ran like astreak along the turf and up the bank, and a great howl of delightwent up from the school as the umpire took off the bails. 

Mike walked away from the wickets with Joe and the wicket-keeper. 

"I'm sorry about your nose, Joe, " said the wicket-keeper in tones ofgrave solicitude. 

"What's wrong with it?"

"At present, " said the wicket-keeper, "nothing. But in a few years I'mafraid it's going to be put badly out of joint. "

CHAPTER XIV

A SLIGHT IMBROGLIO

Mike got his third eleven colours after the M. C. C. Match. As he hadmade twenty-three not out in a crisis in a first eleven match, thismay not seem an excessive reward. But it was all that he expected. Onehad to take the rungs of the ladder singly at Wrykyn. First one wasgiven one's third eleven cap. That meant, "You are a promising man, and we have our eye on you. " Then came the second colours. They mightmean anything from "Well, here you are. You won't get any higher, soyou may as well have the thing now, " to "This is just to show that westill have our eye on you. "

Mike was a certainty now for the second. But it needed more than oneperformance to secure the first cap. 

"I told you so, " said Wyatt, naturally, to Burgess after the match. 

"He's not bad, " said Burgess. "I'll give him another shot. "

But Burgess, as has been pointed out, was not a person who ever becamegushing with enthusiasm. 

 * * * * *

So Wilkins, of the School House, who had played twice for the firsteleven, dropped down into the second, as many a good man had donebefore him, and Mike got his place in the next match, against theGentlemen of the County. Unfortunately for him, the visiting team, however gentlemanly, were not brilliant cricketers, at any rate as faras bowling was concerned. The school won the toss, went in first, andmade three hundred and sixteen for five wickets, Morris making anotherplacid century. The innings was declared closed before Mike had achance of distinguishing himself. In an innings which lasted forone over he made two runs, not out; and had to console himself forthe cutting short of his performance by the fact that his averagefor the school was still infinity. Bob, who was one of those luckyenough to have an unabridged innings, did better in this match, makingtwenty-five. But with Morris making a hundred and seventeen, andBerridge, Ellerby, and Marsh all passing the half-century, this scoredid not show up excessively. 

We now come to what was practically a turning-point in Mike's careerat Wrykyn. There is no doubt that his meteor-like flights at crickethad an unsettling effect on him. He was enjoying life amazingly, and, as is not uncommon with the prosperous, he waxed fat and kicked. Fortunately for him--though he did not look upon it in that light atthe time--he kicked the one person it was most imprudent to kick. Theperson he selected was Firby-Smith. With anybody else the thing mighthave blown over, to the detriment of Mike's character; but Firby-Smith, having the most tender affection for his dignity, made a fuss. 

It happened in this way. The immediate cause of the disturbance was aremark of Mike's, but the indirect cause was the unbearablypatronising manner which the head of Wain's chose to adopt towardshim. The fact that he was playing for the school seemed to make nodifference at all. Firby-Smith continued to address Mike merely as thesmall boy. 

The following, _verbatim_, was the tactful speech which headdressed to him on the evening of the M. C. C. Match, having summonedhim to his study for the purpose. 

"Well, " he said, "you played a very decent innings this afternoon, andI suppose you're frightfully pleased with yourself, eh? Well, mind youdon't go getting swelled head. See? That's all. Run along. "

Mike departed, bursting with fury. 

The next link in the chain was forged a week after the Gentlemen ofthe County match. House matches had begun, and Wain's were playingAppleby's. Appleby's made a hundred and fifty odd, shaping badly forthe most part against Wyatt's slows. Then Wain's opened their innings. The Gazeka, as head of the house, was captain of the side, and he andWyatt went in first. Wyatt made a few mighty hits, and was then caughtat cover. Mike went in first wicket. 

For some ten minutes all was peace. Firby-Smith scratched away at hisend, getting here and there a single and now and then a two, and Mikesettled down at once to play what he felt was going to be the inningsof a lifetime. Appleby's bowling was on the feeble side, with Raikes, of the third eleven, as the star, supported by some small change. Mikepounded it vigorously. To one who had been brought up on Saunders, Raikes possessed few subtleties. He had made seventeen, and wasthoroughly set, when the Gazeka, who had the bowling, hit one in thedirection of cover-point. With a certain type of batsman a single is athing to take big risks for. And the Gazeka badly wanted that single. 

"Come on, " he shouted, prancing down the pitch. 

Mike, who had remained in his crease with the idea that nobody evenmoderately sane would attempt a run for a hit like that, moved forwardin a startled and irresolute manner. Firby-Smith arrived, shouting"Run!" and, cover having thrown the ball in, the wicket-keeper removedthe bails. 

These are solemn moments. 

The only possible way of smoothing over an episode of this kind is forthe guilty man to grovel. 

Firby-Smith did not grovel. 

"Easy run there, you know, " he said reprovingly. 

The world swam before Mike's eyes. Through the red mist he could seeFirby-Smith's face. The sun glinted on his rather prominent teeth. ToMike's distorted vision it seemed that the criminal was amused. 

"Don't _laugh_, you grinning ape!" he cried. "It isn't funny. "

[Illustration: "DON'T _LAUGH_, YOU GRINNING APE"]

He then made for the trees where the rest of the team were sitting. 

Now Firby-Smith not only possessed rather prominent teeth; he was alsosensitive on the subject. Mike's shaft sank in deeply. The fact thatemotion caused him to swipe at a straight half-volley, miss it, and bebowled next ball made the wound rankle. 

He avoided Mike on his return to the trees. And Mike, feeling now alittle apprehensive, avoided him. 

The Gazeka brooded apart for the rest of the afternoon, chewing theinsult. At close of play he sought Burgess. 

Burgess, besides being captain of the eleven, was also head of theschool. He was the man who arranged prefects' meetings. And only aprefects' meeting, thought Firby-Smith, could adequately avenge hislacerated dignity. 

"I want to speak to you, Burgess, " he said. 

"What's up?" said Burgess. 

"You know young Jackson in our house. "

"What about him?"

"He's been frightfully insolent. "

"Cheeked you?" said Burgess, a man of simple speech. 

"I want you to call a prefects' meeting, and lick him. "

Burgess looked incredulous. 

"Rather a large order, a prefects' meeting, " he said. "It has to be apretty serious sort of thing for that. "

"Frightful cheek to a school prefect is a serious thing, " saidFirby-Smith, with the air of one uttering an epigram. 

"Well, I suppose--What did he say to you?"

Firby-Smith related the painful details. 

Burgess started to laugh, but turned the laugh into a cough. 

"Yes, " he said meditatively. "Rather thick. Still, I mean--A prefects'meeting. Rather like crushing a thingummy with a what-d'you-call-it. Besides, he's a decent kid. "

"He's frightfully conceited. "

"Oh, well--Well, anyhow, look here, I'll think it over, and let youknow to-morrow. It's not the sort of thing to rush through withoutthinking about it. "

And the matter was left temporarily at that. 

CHAPTER XV

MIKE CREATES A VACANCY

Burgess walked off the ground feeling that fate was not using himwell. 

Here was he, a well-meaning youth who wanted to be on good terms withall the world, being jockeyed into slaughtering a kid whose batting headmired and whom personally he liked. And the worst of it was that hesympathised with Mike. He knew what it felt like to be run out justwhen one had got set, and he knew exactly how maddening the Gazeka'smanner would be on such an occasion. On the other hand, officially hewas bound to support the head of Wain's. Prefects must stand togetheror chaos will come. 

He thought he would talk it over with somebody. Bob occurred to him. It was only fair that Bob should be told, as the nearest of kin. 

And here was another grievance against fate. Bob was a person he didnot particularly wish to see just then. For that morning he had postedup the list of the team to play for the school against Geddington, oneof the four schools which Wrykyn met at cricket; and Bob's name didnot appear on that list. Several things had contributed to thatmelancholy omission. In the first place, Geddington, to judge from theweekly reports in the _Sportsman_ and _Field_, were strong thisyear at batting. In the second place, the results of the last fewmatches, and particularly the M. C. C. Match, had given Burgess theidea that Wrykyn was weak at bowling. It became necessary, therefore, to drop a batsman out of the team in favour of a bowler. And eitherMike or Bob must be the man. 

Burgess was as rigidly conscientious as the captain of a school elevenshould be. Bob was one of his best friends, and he would have givenmuch to be able to put him in the team; but he thought the thing over, and put the temptation sturdily behind him. At batting there was notmuch to choose between the two, but in fielding there was a great deal. Mike was good. Bob was bad. So out Bob had gone, and Neville-Smith, afair fast bowler at all times and on his day dangerous, took his place. 

These clashings of public duty with private inclination are thedrawbacks to the despotic position of captain of cricket at a publicschool. It is awkward having to meet your best friend after you havedropped him from the team, and it is difficult to talk to him as ifnothing had happened. 

Burgess felt very self-conscious as he entered Bob's study, and wasrather glad that he had a topic of conversation ready to hand. 

"Busy, Bob?" he asked. 

"Hullo, " said Bob, with a cheerfulness rather over-done in his anxietyto show Burgess, the man, that he did not hold him responsible inany way for the distressing acts of Burgess, the captain. "Take apew. Don't these studies get beastly hot this weather. There's someginger-beer in the cupboard. Have some?"

"No, thanks. I say, Bob, look here, I want to see you. "

"Well, you can, can't you? This is me, sitting over here. The tall, dark, handsome chap. "

"It's awfully awkward, you know, " continued Burgess gloomily; "thatass of a young brother of yours--Sorry, but he _is_ an ass, though he's your brother----"

"Thanks for the 'though, ' Billy. You know how to put a thing nicely. What's Mike been up to?"

"It's that old fool the Gazeka. He came to me frothing with rage, andwanted me to call a prefects' meeting and touch young Mike up. "

Bob displayed interest and excitement for the first time. 

"Prefects' meeting! What the dickens is up? What's he been doing?Smith must be drunk. What's all the row about?"

Burgess repeated the main facts of the case as he had them fromFirby-Smith. 

"Personally, I sympathise with the kid, " he added, "Still, the Gazeka_is_ a prefect----"

Bob gnawed a pen-holder morosely. 

"Silly young idiot, " he said. 

"Sickening thing being run out, " suggested Burgess. 

"Still----"

"I know. It's rather hard to see what to do. I suppose if the Gazekainsists, one's bound to support him. "

"I suppose so. "

"Awful rot. Prefects' lickings aren't meant for that sort of thing. They're supposed to be for kids who steal buns at the shop or muckabout generally. Not for a chap who curses a fellow who runs him out. I tell you what, there's just a chance Firby-Smith won't press thething. He hadn't had time to get over it when he saw me. By now he'llhave simmered down a bit. Look here, you're a pal of his, aren't you?Well, go and ask him to drop the business. Say you'll curse yourbrother and make him apologise, and that I'll kick him out of the teamfor the Geddington match. "

It was a difficult moment for Bob. One cannot help one's thoughts, andfor an instant the idea of going to Geddington with the team, as hewould certainly do if Mike did not play, made him waver. But herecovered himself. 

"Don't do that, " he said. "I don't see there's a need for anything ofthat sort. You must play the best side you've got. I can easily talkthe old Gazeka over. He gets all right in a second if he's treated theright way. I'll go and do it now. "

Burgess looked miserable. 

"I say, Bob, " he said. 

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing--I mean, you're not a bad sort. " With which glowingeulogy he dashed out of the room, thanking his stars that he had wonthrough a confoundedly awkward business. 

Bob went across to Wain's to interview and soothe Firby-Smith. 

He found that outraged hero sitting moodily in his study like Achillesin his tent. 

Seeing Bob, he became all animation. 

"Look here, " he said, "I wanted to see you. You know, that frightfulyoung brother of yours----"

"I know, I know, " said Bob. "Burgess was telling me. He wantskicking. "

"He wants a frightful licking from the prefects, " emended theaggrieved party. 

"Well, I don't know, you know. Not much good lugging the prefects intoit, is there? I mean, apart from everything else, not much of a catchfor me, would it be, having to sit there and look on. I'm a prefect, too, you know. "

Firby-Smith looked a little blank at this. He had a great admirationfor Bob. 

"I didn't think of you, " he said. 

"I thought you hadn't, " said Bob. "You see it now, though, don't you?"

Firby-Smith returned to the original grievance. 

"Well, you know, it was frightful cheek. "

"Of course it was. Still, I think if I saw him and cursed him, andsent him up to you to apologise--How would that do?"

"All right. After all, I did run him out. "

"Yes, there's that, of course. Mike's all right, really. It isn't asif he did that sort of thing as a habit. "

"No. All right then. "

"Thanks, " said Bob, and went to find Mike. 

 * * * * *

The lecture on deportment which he read that future All-Englandbatsman in a secluded passage near the junior day-room left the latterrather limp and exceedingly meek. For the moment all the jauntinessand exuberance had been drained out of him. He was a puncturedballoon. Reflection, and the distinctly discouraging replies of thoseexperts in school law to whom he had put the question, "What d'youthink he'll do?" had induced a very chastened frame of mind. 

He perceived that he had walked very nearly into a hornets' nest, andthe realisation of his escape made him agree readily to all theconditions imposed. The apology to the Gazeka was made withoutreserve, and the offensively forgiving, say-no-more-about-it-but-takecare-in-future air of the head of the house roused no spark ofresentment in him, so subdued was his fighting spirit. All he wantedwas to get the thing done with. He was not inclined to be critical. 

And, most of all, he felt grateful to Bob. Firby-Smith, in the courseof his address, had not omitted to lay stress on the importance ofBob's intervention. But for Bob, he gave him to understand, he, Mike, would have been prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law. Mikecame away with a confused picture in his mind of a horde of furiousprefects bent on his slaughter, after the manner of a stage "excitedcrowd, " and Bob waving them back. He realised that Bob had done him agood turn. He wished he could find some way of repaying him. 

Curiously enough, it was an enemy of Bob's who suggested theway--Burton, of Donaldson's. Burton was a slippery young gentleman, fourteen years of age, who had frequently come into contact withBob in the house, and owed him many grudges. With Mike he had alwaystried to form an alliance, though without success. 

He happened to meet Mike going to school next morning, and unburdenedhis soul to him. It chanced that Bob and he had had another smallencounter immediately after breakfast, and Burton felt revengeful. 

"I say, " said Burton, "I'm jolly glad you're playing for the firstagainst Geddington. "

"Thanks, " said Mike. 

"I'm specially glad for one reason. "

"What's that?" inquired Mike, without interest. 

"Because your beast of a brother has been chucked out. He'd have beenplaying but for you. "

At any other time Mike would have heard Bob called a beast withoutactive protest. He would have felt that it was no business of his tofight his brother's battles for him. But on this occasion he deviatedfrom his rule. 

He kicked Burton. Not once or twice, but several times, so thatBurton, retiring hurriedly, came to the conclusion that it must besomething in the Jackson blood, some taint, as it were. They were_all_ beasts. 

 * * * * *

Mike walked on, weighing this remark, and gradually made up his mind. It must be remembered that he was in a confused mental condition, andthat the only thing he realised clearly was that Bob had pulled himout of an uncommonly nasty hole. It seemed to him that it wasnecessary to repay Bob. He thought the thing over more fully duringschool, and his decision remained unaltered. 

On the evening before the Geddington match, just before lock-up, Miketapped at Burgess's study door. He tapped with his right hand, for hisleft was in a sling. 

"Come in!" yelled the captain. "Hullo!"

"I'm awfully sorry, Burgess, " said Mike. "I've crocked my wrist abit. "

"How did you do that? You were all right at the nets?"

"Slipped as I was changing, " said Mike stolidly. 

"Is it bad?"

"Nothing much. I'm afraid I shan't be able to play to-morrow. "

"I say, that's bad luck. Beastly bad luck. We wanted your batting, too. Be all right, though, in a day or two, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, rather. "

"Hope so, anyway. "

"Thanks. Good-night. "

"Good-night. "

And Burgess, with the comfortable feeling that he had managed tocombine duty and pleasure after all, wrote a note to Bob atDonaldson's, telling him to be ready to start with the team forGeddington by the 8. 54 next morning. 

CHAPTER XVI

AN EXPERT EXAMINATION

Mike's Uncle John was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He had beenan army surgeon in the days of his youth, and, after an adventurouscareer, mainly in Afghanistan, had inherited enough money to keep himin comfort for the rest of his life. He had thereupon left theservice, and now spent most of his time flitting from one spot ofEurope to another. He had been dashing up to Scotland on the day whenMike first became a Wrykynian, but a few weeks in an uncomfortablehotel in Skye and a few days in a comfortable one in Edinburgh hadleft him with the impression that he had now seen all that there wasto be seen in North Britain and might reasonably shift his camp again. 

Coming south, he had looked in on Mike's people for a brief space, and, at the request of Mike's mother, took the early express to Wrykynin order to pay a visit of inspection. 

His telegram arrived during morning school. Mike went down to thestation to meet him after lunch. 

Uncle John took command of the situation at once. 

"School playing anybody to-day, Mike? I want to see a match. "

"They're playing Geddington. Only it's away. There's a second matchon. "

"Why aren't you--Hullo, I didn't see. What have you been doing toyourself?"

"Crocked my wrist a bit. It's nothing much. "

"How did you do that?"

"Slipped while I was changing after cricket. "

"Hurt?"

"Not much, thanks. "

"Doctor seen it?"

"No. But it's really nothing. Be all right by Monday. "

"H'm. Somebody ought to look at it. I'll have a look later on. "

Mike did not appear to relish this prospect. 

"It isn't anything, Uncle John, really. It doesn't matter a bit. "

"Never mind. It won't do any harm having somebody examine it who knowsa bit about these things. Now, what shall we do. Go on the river?"

"I shouldn't be able to steer. "

"I could manage about that. Still, I think I should like to see theplace first. Your mother's sure to ask me if you showed me round. It'slike going over the stables when you're stopping at a country-house. Got to be done, and better do it as soon as possible. "

It is never very interesting playing the part of showman at school. Both Mike and his uncle were inclined to scamp the business. Mikepointed out the various landmarks without much enthusiasm--it is onlyafter one has left a few years that the school buildings take tothemselves romance--and Uncle John said, "Ah yes, I see. Very nice, "two or three times in an absent voice; and they passed on to thecricket field, where the second eleven were playing a neighbouringengineering school. It was a glorious day. The sun had never seemed toMike so bright or the grass so green. It was one of those days whenthe ball looks like a large vermilion-coloured football as it leavesthe bowler's hand. If ever there was a day when it seemed to Mike thata century would have been a certainty, it was this Saturday. A sudden, bitter realisation of all he had given up swept over him, but hechoked the feeling down. The thing was done, and it was no goodbrooding over the might-have-beens now. Still--And the Geddingtonground was supposed to be one of the easiest scoring grounds of allthe public schools!

"Well hit, by George!" remarked Uncle John, as Trevor, who had gone infirst wicket for the second eleven, swept a half-volley to leg roundto the bank where they were sitting. 

"That's Trevor, " said Mike. "Chap in Donaldson's. The fellow at theother end is Wilkins. He's in the School House. They look as if theywere getting set. By Jove, " he said enviously, "pretty good funbatting on a day like this. "

Uncle John detected the envious note. 

"I suppose you would have been playing here but for your wrist?"

"No, I was playing for the first. "

"For the first? For the school! My word, Mike, I didn't know that. Nowonder you're feeling badly treated. Of course, I remember your fathersaying you had played once for the school, and done well; but Ithought that was only as a substitute. I didn't know you were aregular member of the team. What bad luck. Will you get anotherchance?"

"Depends on Bob. "

"Has Bob got your place?"

Mike nodded. 

"If he does well to-day, they'll probably keep him in. "

"Isn't there room for both of you?"

"Such a lot of old colours. There are only three vacancies, andHenfrey got one of those a week ago. I expect they'll give one of theother two to a bowler, Neville-Smith, I should think, if he does wellagainst Geddington. Then there'll be only the last place left. "

"Rather awkward, that. "

"Still, it's Bob's last year. I've got plenty of time. But I wish Icould get in this year. "

After they had watched the match for an hour, Uncle John's restlessnature asserted itself. 

"Suppose we go for a pull on the river now?" he suggested. 

They got up. 

"Let's just call at the shop, " said Mike. "There ought to be atelegram from Geddington by this time. I wonder how Bob's got on. "

Apparently Bob had not had a chance yet of distinguishing himself. Thetelegram read, "Geddington 151 for four. Lunch. "

"Not bad that, " said Mike. "But I believe they're weak in bowling. "

They walked down the road towards the school landing-stage. 

"The worst of a school, " said Uncle John, as he pulled up-stream withstrong, unskilful stroke, "is that one isn't allowed to smoke on thegrounds. I badly want a pipe. The next piece of shade that you see, sing out, and we'll put in there. "

"Pull your left, " said Mike. "That willow's what you want. "

Uncle John looked over his shoulder, caught a crab, recovered himself, and steered the boat in under the shade of the branches. 

"Put the rope over that stump. Can you manage with one hand? Here, letme--Done it? Good. A-ah!"

He blew a great cloud of smoke into the air, and sighed contentedly. 

"I hope you don't smoke, Mike?"

"No. "

"Rotten trick for a boy. When you get to my age you need it. Boysought to be thinking about keeping themselves fit and being good atgames. Which reminds me. Let's have a look at the wrist. "

A hunted expression came into Mike's eyes. 

"It's really nothing, " he began, but his uncle had already removed thesling, and was examining the arm with the neat rapidity of one who hasbeen brought up to such things. 

To Mike it seemed as if everything in the world was standing still andwaiting. He could hear nothing but his own breathing. 

His uncle pressed the wrist gingerly once or twice, then gave it alittle twist. 

"That hurt?" he asked. 

"Ye--no, " stammered Mike. 

Uncle John looked up sharply. Mike was crimson. 

"What's the game?" inquired Uncle John. 

Mike said nothing. 

There was a twinkle in his uncle's eyes. 

"May as well tell me. I won't give you away. Why this wounded warriorbusiness when you've no more the matter with you than I have?"

Mike hesitated. 

"I only wanted to get out of having to write this morning. There wasan exam, on. "

The idea had occurred to him just before he spoke. It had struck himas neat and plausible. 

To Uncle John it did not appear in the same light. 

"Do you always write with your left hand? And if you had gone with thefirst eleven to Geddington, wouldn't that have got you out of yourexam? Try again. "

When in doubt, one may as well tell the truth. Mike told it. 

"I know. It wasn't that, really. Only----"

"Well?"

"Oh, well, dash it all then. Old Bob got me out of an awful row theday before yesterday, and he seemed a bit sick at not playing for thefirst, so I thought I might as well let him. That's how it was. Lookhere, swear you won't tell him. "

Uncle John was silent. Inwardly he was deciding that the fiveshillings which he had intended to bestow on Mike on his departureshould become a sovereign. (This, it may be mentioned as aninteresting biographical fact, was the only occasion in his lifeon which Mike earned money at the rate of fifteen shillings ahalf-minute. )

"Swear you won't tell him. He'd be most frightfully sick if he knew. "

"I won't tell him. "

Conversation dwindled to vanishing-point. Uncle John smoked on inweighty silence, while Mike, staring up at the blue sky through thebranches of the willow, let his mind wander to Geddington, where hisfate was even now being sealed. How had the school got on? What hadBob done? If he made about twenty, would they give him his cap?Supposing.... 

A faint snore from Uncle John broke in on his meditations. Then therewas a clatter as a briar pipe dropped on to the floor of the boat, andhis uncle sat up, gaping. 

"Jove, I was nearly asleep. What's the time? Just on six? Didn't knowit was so late. "

"I ought to be getting back soon, I think. Lock-up's at half-past. "

"Up with the anchor, then. You can tackle that rope with two handsnow, eh? We are not observed. Don't fall overboard. I'm going to shoveher off. "

"There'll be another telegram, I should think, " said Mike, as theyreached the school gates. 

"Shall we go and look?"

They walked to the shop. 

A second piece of grey paper had been pinned up under the first. Mikepushed his way through the crowd. It was a longer message this time. 

It ran as follows:

 "Geddington 247 (Burgess six wickets, Neville-Smith four). Wrykyn 270 for nine (Berridge 86, Marsh 58, Jackson 48). "

Mike worked his way back through the throng, and rejoined his uncle. 

"Well?" said Uncle John. 

"We won. "

He paused for a moment. 

"Bob made forty-eight, " he added carelessly. 

Uncle John felt in his pocket, and silently slid a sovereign intoMike's hand. 

It was the only possible reply. 

CHAPTER XVII

ANOTHER VACANCY

Wyatt got back late that night, arriving at the dormitory as Mike wasgoing to bed. 

"By Jove, I'm done, " he said. "It was simply baking at Geddington. AndI came back in a carriage with Neville-Smith and Ellerby, and theyragged the whole time. I wanted to go to sleep, only they wouldn't letme. Old Smith was awfully bucked because he'd taken four wickets. Ishould think he'd go off his nut if he took eight ever. He was singingcomic songs when he wasn't trying to put Ellerby under the seat. How'syour wrist?"

"Oh, better, thanks. "

Wyatt began to undress. 

"Any colours?" asked Mike after a pause. First eleven colours weregenerally given in the pavilion after a match or on the journey home. 

"No. Only one or two thirds. Jenkins and Clephane, and another chap, can't remember who. No first, though. "

"What was Bob's innings like?"

"Not bad. A bit lucky. He ought to have been out before he'd scored, and he was out when he'd made about sixteen, only the umpire didn'tseem to know that it's l-b-w when you get your leg right in front ofthe wicket and the ball hits it. Never saw a clearer case in my life. I was in at the other end. Bit rotten for the Geddington chaps. Justlost them the match. Their umpire, too. Bit of luck for Bob. He didn'tgive the ghost of a chance after that. "

"I should have thought they'd have given him his colours. "

"Most captains would have done, only Burgess is so keen on fieldingthat he rather keeps off it. "

"Why, did he field badly?"

"Rottenly. And the man always will choose Billy's bowling to dropcatches off. And Billy would cut his rich uncle from Australia if hekept on dropping them off him. Bob's fielding's perfectly sinful. Hewas pretty bad at the beginning of the season, but now he's got sonervous that he's a dozen times worse. He turns a delicate green whenhe sees a catch coming. He let their best man off twice in one over, off Billy, to-day; and the chap went on and made a hundred odd. Ripping innings bar those two chances. I hear he's got an average ofeighty in school matches this season. Beastly man to bowl to. Knockedme off in half a dozen overs. And, when he does give a couple of easychances, Bob puts them both on the floor. Billy wouldn't have givenhim his cap after the match if he'd made a hundred. Bob's the sort ofman who wouldn't catch a ball if you handed it to him on a plate, withwatercress round it. "

Burgess, reviewing the match that night, as he lay awake in hiscubicle, had come to much the same conclusion. He was very fond ofBob, but two missed catches in one over was straining the bonds ofhuman affection too far. There would have been serious trouble betweenDavid and Jonathan if either had persisted in dropping catches off theother's bowling. He writhed in bed as he remembered the second of thetwo chances which the wretched Bob had refused. The scene wasindelibly printed on his mind. Chap had got a late cut which hefancied rather. With great guile he had fed this late cut. Sent down acouple which he put to the boundary. Then fired a third much fasterand a bit shorter. Chap had a go at it, just as he had expected: andhe felt that life was a good thing after all when the ball justtouched the corner of the bat and flew into Bob's hands. And Bobdropped it!

The memory was too bitter. If he dwelt on it, he felt, he would getinsomnia. So he turned to pleasanter reflections: the yorker which hadshattered the second-wicket man, and the slow head-ball which had ledto a big hitter being caught on the boundary. Soothed by thesememories, he fell asleep. 

Next morning he found himself in a softened frame of mind. He thoughtof Bob's iniquities with sorrow rather than wrath. He felt towards himmuch as a father feels towards a prodigal son whom there is still achance of reforming. He overtook Bob on his way to chapel. 

Directness was always one of Burgess's leading qualities. 

"Look here, Bob. About your fielding. It's simply awful. "

Bob was all remorse. 

"It's those beastly slip catches. I can't time them. "

"That one yesterday was right into your hands. Both of them were. "

"I know. I'm frightfully sorry. "

"Well, but I mean, why _can't_ you hold them? It's no good beinga good bat--you're that all right--if you're going to give away runsin the field. "

"Do you know, I believe I should do better in the deep. I could gettime to watch them there. I wish you'd give me a shot in the deep--forthe second. "

"Second be blowed! I want your batting in the first. Do you thinkyou'd really do better in the deep?"

"I'm almost certain I should. I'll practise like mad. Trevor'll hit meup catches. I hate the slips. I get in the dickens of a funk directlythe bowler starts his run now. I know that if a catch does come, Ishall miss it. I'm certain the deep would be much better. "

"All right then. Try it. "

The conversation turned to less pressing topics. 

 * * * * *

In the next two matches, accordingly, Bob figured on the boundary, where he had not much to do except throw the ball back to the bowler, and stop an occasional drive along the carpet. The beauty of fieldingin the deep is that no unpleasant surprises can be sprung upon one. There is just that moment or two for collecting one's thoughts whichmakes the whole difference. Bob, as he stood regarding the game fromafar, found his self-confidence returning slowly, drop by drop. 

As for Mike, he played for the second, and hoped for the day. 

 * * * * *

His opportunity came at last. It will be remembered that on themorning after the Great Picnic the headmaster made an announcement inHall to the effect that, owing to an outbreak of chicken-pox in thetown, all streets except the High Street would be out of bounds. Thisdid not affect the bulk of the school, for most of the shops to whichany one ever thought of going were in the High Street. But there werecertain inquiring minds who liked to ferret about in odd corners. 

Among these was one Leather-Twigg, of Seymour's, better known incriminal circles as Shoeblossom. 

Shoeblossom was a curious mixture of the Energetic Ragger and theQuiet Student. On a Monday evening you would hear a hideous uproarproceeding from Seymour's junior day-room; and, going down with aswagger-stick to investigate, you would find a tangled heap ofsquealing humanity on the floor, and at the bottom of the heap, squealing louder than any two others, would be Shoeblossom, his collarburst and blackened and his face apoplectically crimson. On theTuesday afternoon, strolling in some shady corner of the grounds youwould come upon him lying on his chest, deep in some work of fictionand resentful of interruption. On the Wednesday morning he would be inreceipt of four hundred lines from his housemaster for breaking threewindows and a gas-globe. Essentially a man of moods, Shoeblossom. 

It happened about the date of the Geddington match that he took outfrom the school library a copy of "The Iron Pirate, " and for the nextday or two he wandered about like a lost spirit trying to find asequestered spot in which to read it. His inability to hit on such aspot was rendered more irritating by the fact that, to judge from thefirst few chapters (which he had managed to get through during prep. One night under the eye of a short-sighted master), the book wasobviously the last word in hot stuff. He tried the junior day-room, but people threw cushions at him. He tried out of doors, and a ballhit from a neighbouring net nearly scalped him. Anything in the natureof concentration became impossible in these circumstances. 

Then he recollected that in a quiet backwater off the High Streetthere was a little confectioner's shop, where tea might be had at areasonable sum, and also, what was more important, peace. 

He made his way there, and in the dingy back shop, all amongst thedust and bluebottles, settled down to a thoughtful perusal of chaptersix. 

Upstairs, at the same moment, the doctor was recommending that MasterJohn George, the son of the house, be kept warm and out of draughtsand not permitted to scratch himself, however necessary such an actionmight seem to him. In brief, he was attending J. G. For chicken-pox. 

Shoeblossom came away, entering the High Street furtively, lestAuthority should see him out of bounds, and returned to the school, where he went about his lawful occasions as if there were no suchthing as chicken-pox in the world. 

But all the while the microbe was getting in some unostentatious butclever work. A week later Shoeblossom began to feel queer. He hadoccasional headaches, and found himself oppressed by a queer distastefor food. The professional advice of Dr. Oakes, the school doctor, wascalled for, and Shoeblossom took up his abode in the Infirmary, wherehe read _Punch_, sucked oranges, and thought of Life. 

Two days later Barry felt queer. He, too, disappeared from Society. 

Chicken-pox is no respecter of persons. The next victim was Marsh, ofthe first eleven. Marsh, who was top of the school averages. Wherewere his drives now, his late cuts that were wont to set the pavilionin a roar. Wrapped in a blanket, and looking like the spotted marvelof a travelling circus, he was driven across to the Infirmary in afour-wheeler, and it became incumbent upon Burgess to select asubstitute for him. 

And so it came about that Mike soared once again into the ranks of theelect, and found his name down in the team to play against theIncogniti. 

CHAPTER XVIII

BOB HAS NEWS TO IMPART

Wrykyn went down badly before the Incogs. It generally happens atleast once in a school cricket season that the team collapseshopelessly, for no apparent reason. Some schools do it in nearly everymatch, but Wrykyn so far had been particularly fortunate this year. They had only been beaten once, and that by a mere twenty odd runs ina hard-fought game. But on this particular day, against a notoverwhelmingly strong side, they failed miserably. The weather mayhave had something to do with it, for rain fell early in the morning, and the school, batting first on the drying wicket, found themselvesconsiderably puzzled by a slow left-hander. Morris and Berridge leftwith the score still short of ten, and after that the rout began. Bob, going in fourth wicket, made a dozen, and Mike kept his end up, andwas not out eleven; but nobody except Wyatt, who hit out at everythingand knocked up thirty before he was stumped, did anything todistinguish himself. The total was a hundred and seven, and theIncogniti, batting when the wicket was easier, doubled this. 

The general opinion of the school after this match was that eitherMike or Bob would have to stand down from the team when it wasdefinitely filled up, for Neville-Smith, by showing up well with theball against the Incogniti when the others failed with the bat, madeit practically certain that he would get one of the two vacancies. 

"If I do" he said to Wyatt, "there will be the biggest bust of moderntimes at my place. My pater is away for a holiday in Norway, and I'malone, bar the servants. And I can square them. Will you come?"

"Tea?"

"Tea!" said Neville-Smith scornfully. 

"Well, what then?"

"Don't you ever have feeds in the dorms. After lights-out in thehouses?"

"Used to when I was a kid. Too old now. Have to look after mydigestion. I remember, three years ago, when Wain's won the footercup, we got up and fed at about two in the morning. All sorts ofluxuries. Sardines on sugar-biscuits. I've got the taste in my mouthstill. Do you remember Macpherson? Left a couple of years ago. Hisfood ran out, so he spread brown-boot polish on bread, and ate that. Got through a slice, too. Wonderful chap! But what about this thing ofyours? What time's it going to be?"

"Eleven suit you?"

"All right. "

"How about getting out?"

"I'll do it as quickly as the team did to-day. I can't say more thanthat. "

"You were all right. "

"I'm an exceptional sort of chap. "

"What about the Jacksons?"

"It's going to be a close thing. If Bob's fielding were to improvesuddenly, he would just do it. But young Mike's all over him as a bat. In a year or two that kid'll be a marvel. He's bound to get in nextyear, of course, so perhaps it would be better if Bob got the place asit's his last season. Still, one wants the best man, of course. "

 * * * * *

Mike avoided Bob as much as possible during this anxious period; andhe privately thought it rather tactless of the latter when, meetinghim one day outside Donaldson's, he insisted on his coming in andhaving some tea. 

Mike shuffled uncomfortably as his brother filled the kettle and litthe Etna. It required more tact than he had at his disposal to carryoff a situation like this. 

Bob, being older, was more at his ease. He got tea ready, makingdesultory conversation the while, as if there were no particularreason why either of them should feel uncomfortable in the other'spresence. When he had finished, he poured Mike out a cup, passed himthe bread, and sat down. 

"Not seen much of each other lately, Mike, what?"

Mike murmured unintelligibly through a mouthful of bread-and-jam. 

"It's no good pretending it isn't an awkward situation, " continuedBob, "because it is. Beastly awkward. "

"Awful rot the pater sending us to the same school. "

"Oh, I don't know. We've all been at Wrykyn. Pity to spoil the record. It's your fault for being such a young Infant Prodigy, and mine for notbeing able to field like an ordinary human being. "

"You get on much better in the deep. "

"Bit better, yes. Liable at any moment to miss a sitter, though. Notthat it matters much really whether I do now. "

Mike stared. 

"What! Why?"

"That's what I wanted to see you about. Has Burgess said anything toyou yet?"

"No. Why? What about?"

"Well, I've a sort of idea our little race is over. I fancy you'vewon. "

"I've not heard a word----"

"I have. I'll tell you what makes me think the thing's settled. Iwas in the pav. Just now, in the First room, trying to find abatting-glove I'd mislaid. There was a copy of the _Wrykynian_lying on the mantelpiece, and I picked it up and started reading it. So there wasn't any noise to show anybody outside that there was someone in the room. And then I heard Burgess and Spence jawing on thesteps. They thought the place was empty, of course. I couldn't helphearing what they said. The pav. 's like a sounding-board. I heard everyword. Spence said, 'Well, it's about as difficult a problem as anycaptain of cricket at Wrykyn has ever had to tackle. ' I had a sort ofidea that old Billy liked to boss things all on his own, but apparentlyhe does consult Spence sometimes. After all, he's cricket-master, andthat's what he's there for. Well, Billy said, 'I don't know what todo. What do you think, sir?' Spence said, 'Well, I'll give you myopinion, Burgess, but don't feel bound to act on it. I'm simply sayingwhat I think. ' 'Yes, sir, ' said old Bill, doing a big Young Disciplewith Wise Master act. '_I_ think M. , ' said Spence. 'Decidedly M. He's a shade better than R. Now, and in a year or two, of course, there'll be no comparison. '"

"Oh, rot, " muttered Mike, wiping the sweat off his forehead. This wasone of the most harrowing interviews he had ever been through. 

"Not at all. Billy agreed with him. 'That's just what I think, sir, 'he said. 'It's rough on Bob, but still----' And then they walked downthe steps. I waited a bit to give them a good start, and then sheeredoff myself. And so home. "

Mike looked at the floor, and said nothing. 

There was nothing much to _be_ said. 

"Well, what I wanted to see you about was this, " resumed Bob. "I don'tpropose to kiss you or anything; but, on the other hand, don't let'sgo to the other extreme. I'm not saying that it isn't a bit of a brickjust missing my cap like this, but it would have been just as bad foryou if you'd been the one dropped. It's the fortune of war. I don'twant you to go about feeling that you've blighted my life, and so on, and dashing up side-streets to avoid me because you think the sight ofyou will be painful. As it isn't me, I'm jolly glad it's you; and Ishall cadge a seat in the pavilion from you when you're playing forEngland at the Oval. Congratulate you. "

It was the custom at Wrykyn, when you congratulated a man on gettingcolours, to shake his hand. They shook hands. 

"Thanks, awfully, Bob, " said Mike. And after that there seemed to benothing much to talk about. So Mike edged out of the room, and toreacross to Wain's. 

He was sorry for Bob, but he would not have been human (which hecertainly was) if the triumph of having won through at last into thefirst eleven had not dwarfed commiseration. It had been his oneambition, and now he had achieved it. 

The annoying part of the thing was that he had nobody to talk to aboutit. Until the news was official he could not mention it to the commonherd. It wouldn't do. The only possible confidant was Wyatt. And Wyattwas at Bisley, shooting with the School Eight for the Ashburton. Forbull's-eyes as well as cats came within Wyatt's range as a marksman. Cricket took up too much of his time for him to be captain of theEight and the man chosen to shoot for the Spencer, as he wouldotherwise almost certainly have been; but even though short ofpractice he was well up in the team. 

Until he returned, Mike could tell nobody. And by the time he returnedthe notice would probably be up in the Senior Block with the othercricket notices. 

In this fermenting state Mike went into the house. 

The list of the team to play for Wain's _v_. Seymour's on thefollowing Monday was on the board. As he passed it, a few wordsscrawled in pencil at the bottom caught his eye. 

 "All the above will turn out for house-fielding at 6. 30 to-morrow morning. --W. F. -S. "

"Oh, dash it, " said Mike, "what rot! Why on earth can't he leave usalone!"

For getting up an hour before his customary time for rising was notamong Mike's favourite pastimes. Still, orders were orders, he felt. It would have to be done. 

CHAPTER XIX

MIKE GOES TO SLEEP AGAIN

Mike was a stout supporter of the view that sleep in large quantitiesis good for one. He belonged to the school of thought which holds thata man becomes plain and pasty if deprived of his full spell in bed. Heaimed at the peach-bloom complexion. 

To be routed out of bed a clear hour before the proper time, even on asummer morning, was not, therefore, a prospect that appealed to him. 

When he woke it seemed even less attractive than it had done whenhe went to sleep. He had banged his head on the pillow six timesover-night, and this silent alarm proved effective, as it alwaysdoes. Reaching out a hand for his watch, he found that it was fiveminutes past six. 

This was to the good. He could manage another quarter of an hourbetween the sheets. It would only take him ten minutes to wash and getinto his flannels. 

He took his quarter of an hour, and a little more. He woke from a sortof doze to find that it was twenty-five past. 

Man's inability to get out of bed in the morning is a curious thing. One may reason with oneself clearly and forcibly without the slightesteffect. One knows that delay means inconvenience. Perhaps it may spoilone's whole day. And one also knows that a single resolute heave willdo the trick. But logic is of no use. One simply lies there. 

Mike thought he would take another minute. 

And during that minute there floated into his mind the question, Who_was_ Firby-Smith? That was the point. Who _was_ he, after all?

This started quite a new train of thought. Previously Mike had firmlyintended to get up--some time. Now he began to waver. 

The more he considered the Gazeka's insignificance and futility andhis own magnificence, the more outrageous did it seem that he shouldbe dragged out of bed to please Firby-Smith's vapid mind. Here was he, about to receive his first eleven colours on this very day probably, being ordered about, inconvenienced--in short, put upon by a worm whohad only just scraped into the third. 

Was this right, he asked himself. Was this proper?

And the hands of the watch moved round to twenty to. 

What was the matter with his fielding? _It_ was all right. Makethe rest of the team fag about, yes. But not a chap who, dash it all, had got his first _for_ fielding!

It was with almost a feeling of self-righteousness that Mike turnedover on his side and went to sleep again. 

And outside in the cricket-field, the massive mind of the Gazeka wasfilled with rage, as it was gradually borne in upon him that this wasnot a question of mere lateness--which, he felt, would be bad enough, for when he said six-thirty he meant six-thirty--but of actualdesertion. It was time, he said to himself, that the foot of Authoritywas set firmly down, and the strong right hand of Justice allowed toput in some energetic work. His comments on the team's fielding thatmorning were bitter and sarcastic. His eyes gleamed behind theirpince-nez. 

The painful interview took place after breakfast. The head of thehouse despatched his fag in search of Mike, and waited. He paced upand down the room like a hungry lion, adjusting his pince-nez (athing, by the way, which lions seldom do) and behaving in otherrespects like a monarch of the desert. One would have felt, looking athim, that Mike, in coming to his den, was doing a deed which wouldmake the achievement of Daniel seem in comparison like the tentativeeffort of some timid novice. 

And certainly Mike was not without qualms as he knocked at the door, and went in in response to the hoarse roar from the other side of it. 

Firby-Smith straightened his tie, and glared. 

"Young Jackson, " he said, "look here, I want to know what it allmeans, and jolly quick. You weren't at house-fielding this morning. Didn't you see the notice?"

Mike admitted that he had seen the notice. 

"Then you frightful kid, what do you mean by it? What?"

Mike hesitated. Awfully embarrassing, this. His real reason for notturning up to house-fielding was that he considered himself above suchthings, and Firby-Smith a toothy weed. Could he give this excuse? Hehad not his Book of Etiquette by him at the moment, but he ratherfancied not. There was no arguing against the fact that the head ofthe house _was_ a toothy weed; but he felt a firm conviction thatit would not be politic to say so. 

Happy thought: over-slept himself. 

He mentioned this. 

"Over-slept yourself! You must jolly well not over-sleep yourself. What do you mean by over-sleeping yourself?"

Very trying this sort of thing. 

"What time did you wake up?"

"Six, " said Mike. 

It was not according to his complicated, yet intelligible code ofmorality to tell lies to save himself. When others were concerned hecould suppress the true and suggest the false with a face of brass. 

"Six!"

"Five past. "

"Why didn't you get up then?"

"I went to sleep again. "

"Oh, you went to sleep again, did you? Well, just listen to me. I'vehad my eye on you for some time, and I've seen it coming on. You'vegot swelled head, young man. That's what you've got. Frightful swelledhead. You think the place belongs to you. "

"I don't, " said Mike indignantly. 

"Yes, you do, " said the Gazeka shrilly. "You think the whole frightfulplace belongs to you. You go siding about as if you'd bought it. Justbecause you've got your second, you think you can do what you like;turn up or not, as you please. It doesn't matter whether I'm only inthe third and you're in the first. That's got nothing to do with it. The point is that you're one of the house team, and I'm captain of it, so you've jolly well got to turn out for fielding with the others whenI think it necessary. See?"

Mike said nothing. 

"Do--you--see, you frightful kid?"

[Illustration: "DO--YOU--SEE, YOU FRIGHTFUL KID?"]

Mike remained stonily silent. The rather large grain of truth in whatFirby-Smith had said had gone home, as the unpleasant truth aboutourselves is apt to do; and his feelings were hurt. He was determinednot to give in and say that he saw even if the head of the houseinvoked all the majesty of the prefects' room to help him, as he hadnearly done once before. He set his teeth, and stared at a photographon the wall. 

Firby-Smith's manner became ominously calm. He produced aswagger-stick from a corner. 

"Do you see?" he asked again. 

Mike's jaw set more tightly. 

What one really wants here is a row of stars. 

 * * * * *

Mike was still full of his injuries when Wyatt came back. Wyatt wasworn out, but cheerful. The school had finished sixth for theAshburton, which was an improvement of eight places on their lastyear's form, and he himself had scored thirty at the two hundred andtwenty-seven at the five hundred totals, which had put him in a verygood humour with the world. 

"Me ancient skill has not deserted me, " he said, "That's the cats. Theman who can wing a cat by moonlight can put a bullet where he likes ona target. I didn't hit the bull every time, but that was to give theother fellows a chance. My fatal modesty has always been a hindranceto me in life, and I suppose it always will be. Well, well! And whatof the old homestead? Anything happened since I went away? Me oldfather, is he well? Has the lost will been discovered, or is there amortgage on the family estates? By Jove, I could do with a stoup ofMalvoisie. I wonder if the moke's gone to bed yet. I'll go down andlook. A jug of water drawn from the well in the old courtyard where myancestors have played as children for centuries back would just aboutsave my life. "

He left the dormitory, and Mike began to brood over his wrongs oncemore. 

Wyatt came back, brandishing a jug of water and a glass. 

"Oh, for a beaker full of the warm south, full of the true, theblushful Hippocrene! Have you ever tasted Hippocrene, young Jackson?Rather like ginger-beer, with a dash of raspberry-vinegar. Very heady. Failing that, water will do. A-ah!"

He put down the glass, and surveyed Mike, who had maintained a moodysilence throughout this speech. 

"What's your trouble?" he asked. "For pains in the back try Ju-jar. Ifit's a broken heart, Zam-buk's what you want. Who's been quarrellingwith you?"

"It's only that ass Firby-Smith. "

"Again! I never saw such chaps as you two. Always at it. What was thetrouble this time? Call him a grinning ape again? Your passion for thetruth'll be getting you into trouble one of these days. "

"He said I stuck on side. "

"Why?"

"I don't know. "

"I mean, did he buttonhole you on your way to school, and say, 'Jackson, a word in your ear. You stick on side. ' Or did he lead up toit in any way? Did he say, 'Talking of side, you stick it on. ' Whathad you been doing to him?"

"It was the house-fielding. "

"But you can't stick on side at house-fielding. I defy any one to. It's too early in the morning. "

"I didn't turn up. "

"What! Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. "

"No, but, look here, really. Did you simply bunk it?"

"Yes. "

Wyatt leaned on the end of Mike's bed, and, having observed itsoccupant thoughtfully for a moment, proceeded to speak wisdom for thegood of his soul. 

"I say, I don't want to jaw--I'm one of those quiet chaps withstrong, silent natures; you may have noticed it--but I must put ina well-chosen word at this juncture. Don't pretend to be droppingoff to sleep. Sit up and listen to what your kind old uncle's got tosay to you about manners and deportment. Otherwise, blood as you areat cricket, you'll have a rotten time here. There are some things yousimply can't do; and one of them is bunking a thing when you're putdown for it. It doesn't matter who it is puts you down. If he'scaptain, you've got to obey him. That's discipline, that 'ere is. Thespeaker then paused, and took a sip of water from the carafe whichstood at his elbow. Cheers from the audience, and a voice 'Hear!Hear!'"

Mike rolled over in bed and glared up at the orator. Most of his facewas covered by the water-jug, but his eyes stared fixedly from aboveit. He winked in a friendly way, and, putting down the jug, drew adeep breath. 

"Nothing like this old '87 water, " he said. "Such body. "

"I like you jawing about discipline, " said Mike morosely. 

"And why, my gentle che-ild, should I not talk about discipline?"

"Considering you break out of the house nearly every night. "

"In passing, rather rum when you think that a burglar would get ithot for breaking in, while I get dropped on if I break out. Whyshould there be one law for the burglar and one for me? But you weresaying--just so. I thank you. About my breaking out. When you're awhite-haired old man like me, young Jackson, you'll see that thereare two sorts of discipline at school. One you can break if you feellike taking the risks; the other you mustn't ever break. I don't knowwhy, but it isn't done. Until you learn that, you can never hope tobecome the Perfect Wrykynian like, " he concluded modestly, "me. "

Mike made no reply. He would have perished rather than admit it, butWyatt's words had sunk in. That moment marked a distinct epoch in hiscareer. His feelings were curiously mixed. He was still furious withFirby-Smith, yet at the same time he could not help acknowledging tohimself that the latter had had the right on his side. He saw andapproved of Wyatt's point of view, which was the more impressive tohim from his knowledge of his friend's contempt for, or, rather, cheerful disregard of, most forms of law and order. If Wyatt, recklessthough he was as regarded written school rules, held so rigid arespect for those that were unwritten, these last must be things whichcould not be treated lightly. That night, for the first time in hislife, Mike went to sleep with a clear idea of what the public schoolspirit, of which so much is talked and written, really meant. 

CHAPTER XX

THE TEAM IS FILLED UP

When Burgess, at the end of the conversation in the pavilion with Mr. Spence which Bob Jackson had overheard, accompanied the cricket-masteracross the field to the boarding-houses, he had distinctly made up hismind to give Mike his first eleven colours next day. There was onlyone more match to be played before the school fixture-list wasfinished. That was the match with Ripton. Both at cricket and footballRipton was the school that mattered most. Wrykyn did not always winits other school matches; but it generally did. The public schools ofEngland divide themselves naturally into little groups, as far asgames are concerned. Harrow, Eton, and Winchester are one group:Westminster and Charterhouse another: Bedford, Tonbridge, Dulwich, Haileybury, and St. Paul's are a third. In this way, Wrykyn, Ripton, Geddington, and Wilborough formed a group. There was no actualchampionship competition, but each played each, and by the end of theseason it was easy to see which was entitled to first place. Thisnearly always lay between Ripton and Wrykyn. Sometimes an exceptionalGeddington team would sweep the board, or Wrykyn, having beatenRipton, would go down before Wilborough. But this did not happenoften. Usually Wilborough and Geddington were left to scramble for thewooden spoon. 

Secretaries of cricket at Ripton and Wrykyn always liked to arrangethe date of the match towards the end of the term, so that they mighttake the field with representative and not experimental teams. By Julythe weeding-out process had generally finished. Besides which themembers of the teams had had time to get into form. 

At Wrykyn it was the custom to fill up the team, if possible, beforethe Ripton match. A player is likely to show better form if he has gothis colours than if his fate depends on what he does in thatparticular match. 

Burgess, accordingly, had resolved to fill up the first eleven just aweek before Ripton visited Wrykyn. There were two vacancies. One gavehim no trouble. Neville-Smith was not a great bowler, but he wassteady, and he had done well in the earlier matches. He had fairlyearned his place. But the choice between Bob and Mike had kept himawake into the small hours two nights in succession. Finally he hadconsulted Mr. Spence, and Mr. Spence had voted for Mike. 

Burgess was glad the thing was settled. The temptation to allowsentiment to interfere with business might have become too strong ifhe had waited much longer. He knew that it would be a wrenchdefinitely excluding Bob from the team, and he hated to have to do it. The more he thought of it, the sorrier he was for him. If he couldhave pleased himself, he would have kept Bob In. But, as the poet hasit, "Pleasure is pleasure, and biz is biz, and kep' in a sepyrit jug. "The first duty of a captain is to have no friends. 

From small causes great events do spring. If Burgess had not picked upa particularly interesting novel after breakfast on the morning ofMike's interview with Firby-Smith in the study, the list would havegone up on the notice-board after prayers. As it was, engrossed in hisbook, he let the moments go by till the sound on the bell startled himinto movement. And then there was only time to gather up his cap, andsprint. The paper on which he had intended to write the list and thepen he had laid out to write it with lay untouched on the table. 

And, as it was not his habit to put up notices except during themorning, he postponed the thing. He could write it after tea. Afterall, there was a week before the match. 

 * * * * *

When school was over, he went across to the Infirmary to Inquire aboutMarsh. The report was more than favourable. Marsh had better not seeany one just yet, In case of accident, but he was certain to be out intime to play against Ripton. 

"Doctor Oakes thinks he will be back in school on Tuesday. "

"Banzai!" said Burgess, feeling that life was good. To take the fieldagainst Ripton without Marsh would have been to court disaster. Marsh's fielding alone was worth the money. With him at short slip, Burgess felt safe when he bowled. 

The uncomfortable burden of the knowledge that he was abouttemporarily to sour Bob Jackson's life ceased for the moment totrouble him. He crooned extracts from musical comedy as he walkedtowards the nets. 

Recollection of Bob's hard case was brought to him by the sight ofthat about-to-be-soured sportsman tearing across the ground in themiddle distance in an effort to get to a high catch which Trevor hadhit up to him. It was a difficult catch, and Burgess waited to see ifhe would bring it off. 

Bob got to it with one hand, and held it. His impetus carried him onalmost to where Burgess was standing. 

"Well held, " said Burgess. 

"Hullo, " said Bob awkwardly. A gruesome thought had flashed across hismind that the captain might think that this gallery-work was anorganised advertisement. 

"I couldn't get both hands to it, " he explained. 

"You're hot stuff in the deep. "

"Easy when you're only practising. "

"I've just been to the Infirmary. "

"Oh. How's Marsh?"

"They wouldn't let me see him, but it's all right. He'll be able toplay on Saturday. "

"Good, " said Bob, hoping he had said it as if he meant it. It wasdecidedly a blow. He was glad for the sake of the school, of course, but one has one's personal ambitions. To the fact that Mike and nothimself was the eleventh cap he had become partially resigned: but hehad wanted rather badly to play against Ripton. 

Burgess passed on, his mind full of Bob once more. What hard luck itwas! There was he, dashing about in the sun to improve his fielding, and all the time the team was filled up. He felt as if he were playingsome low trick on a pal. 

Then the Jekyll and Hyde business completed itself. He suppressed hispersonal feelings, and became the cricket captain again. 

It was the cricket captain who, towards the end of the evening, cameupon Firby-Smith and Mike parting at the conclusion of a conversation. That it had not been a friendly conversation would have been evidentto the most casual observer from the manner in which Mike stumped off, swinging his cricket-bag as if it were a weapon of offence. There aremany kinds of walk. Mike's was the walk of the Overwrought Soul. 

"What's up?" inquired Burgess. 

"Young Jackson, do you mean? Oh, nothing. I was only telling him thatthere was going to be house-fielding to-morrow before breakfast. "

"Didn't he like the idea?"

"He's jolly well got to like it, " said the Gazeka, as who should say, "This way for Iron Wills. " "The frightful kid cut it this morning. There'll be worse trouble if he does it again. "

There was, it may be mentioned, not an ounce of malice in the headof Wain's house. That by telling the captain of cricket that Mike hadshirked fielding-practice he might injure the latter's prospects of afirst eleven cap simply did not occur to him. That Burgess would feel, on being told of Mike's slackness, much as a bishop might feel if heheard that a favourite curate had become a Mahometan or a Mumbo-Jumboist, did not enter his mind. All he considered was that the story of hisdealings with Mike showed him, Firby-Smith, in the favourable anddashing character of the fellow-who-will-stand-no-nonsense, a sortof Captain Kettle on dry land, in fact; and so he proceeded to tellit in detail. 

Burgess parted with him with the firm conviction that Mike was a youngslacker. Keenness in fielding was a fetish with him; and to cutpractice struck him as a crime. 

He felt that he had been deceived in Mike. 

 * * * * *

When, therefore, one takes into consideration his private bias infavour of Bob, and adds to it the reaction caused by this suddenunmasking of Mike, it is not surprising that the list Burgess made outthat night before he went to bed differed in an important respect fromthe one he had intended to write before school. 

Mike happened to be near the notice-board when he pinned it up. It wasonly the pleasure of seeing his name down in black-and-white that madehim trouble to look at the list. Bob's news of the day beforeyesterday had made it clear how that list would run. 

The crowd that collected the moment Burgess had walked off carried himright up to the board. 

He looked at the paper. 

"Hard luck!" said somebody. 

Mike scarcely heard him. 

He felt physically sick with the shock of the disappointment. For theinitial before the name Jackson was R. 

There was no possibility of mistake. Since writing was invented, therehad never been an R. That looked less like an M. Than the one on thatlist. 

Bob had beaten him on the tape. 

CHAPTER XXI

MARJORY THE FRANK

At the door of the senior block Burgess, going out, met Bob coming in, hurrying, as he was rather late. 

"Congratulate you, Bob, " he said; and passed on. 

Bob stared after him. As he stared, Trevor came out of the block. 

"Congratulate you, Bob. "

"What's the matter now?"

"Haven't you seen?"

"Seen what?"

"Why the list. You've got your first. "

"My--what? you're rotting. "

"No, I'm not. Go and look. "

The thing seemed incredible. Had he dreamed that conversation betweenSpence and Burgess on the pavilion steps? Had he mixed up the names?He was certain that he had heard Spence give his verdict for Mike, andBurgess agree with him. 

Just then, Mike, feeling very ill, came down the steps. He caughtsight of Bob and was passing with a feeble grin, when something toldhim that this was one of those occasions on which one has to show aRed Indian fortitude and stifle one's private feelings. 

"Congratulate you, Bob, " he said awkwardly. 

"Thanks awfully, " said Bob, with equal awkwardness. Trevor moved on, delicately. This was no place for him. Bob's face was looking like astuffed frog's, which was Bob's way of trying to appear unconcernedand at his ease, while Mike seemed as if at any moment he might burstinto tears. Spectators are not wanted at these awkward interviews. 

There was a short silence. 

"Jolly glad you've got it, " said Mike. 

"I believe there's a mistake. I swear I heard Burgess say to Spence----"

"He changed his mind probably. No reason why he shouldn't. "

"Well, it's jolly rummy. "

Bob endeavoured to find consolation. 

"Anyhow, you'll have three years in the first. You're a cert. For nextyear. "

"Hope so, " said Mike, with such manifest lack of enthusiasm that Bobabandoned this line of argument. When one has missed one's colours, next year seems a very, very long way off. 

They moved slowly through the cloisters, neither speaking, and up thestairs that led to the Great Hall. Each was gratefully conscious ofthe fact that prayers would be beginning in another minute, putting anend to an uncomfortable situation. 

"Heard from home lately?" inquired Mike. 

Bob snatched gladly at the subject. 

"Got a letter from mother this morning. I showed you the last one, didn't I? I've only just had time to skim through this one, as thepost was late, and I only got it just as I was going to dash across toschool. Not much in it. Here it is, if you want to read it. "

"Thanks. It'll be something to do during Math. "

"Marjory wrote, too, for the first time in her life. Haven't had timeto look at it yet. "

"After you. Sure it isn't meant for me? She owes me a letter. "

"No, it's for me all right. I'll give it you in the interval. "

The arrival of the headmaster put an end to the conversation. 

 * * * * *

By a quarter to eleven Mike had begun to grow reconciled to his fate. The disappointment was still there, but it was lessened. These thingsare like kicks on the shin. A brief spell of agony, and then a dullpain of which we are not always conscious unless our attention isdirected to it, and which in time disappears altogether. When the bellrang for the interval that morning, Mike was, as it were, sitting upand taking nourishment. 

He was doing this in a literal as well as in a figurative sense whenBob entered the school shop. 

Bob appeared curiously agitated. He looked round, and, seeing Mike, pushed his way towards him through the crowd. Most of those presentcongratulated him as he passed; and Mike noticed, with some surprise, that, in place of the blushful grin which custom demands from the manwho is being congratulated on receipt of colours, there appeared onhis face a worried, even an irritated look. He seemed to havesomething on his mind. 

"Hullo, " said Mike amiably. "Got that letter?"

"Yes. I'll show it you outside. "

"Why not here?"

"Come on. "

Mike resented the tone, but followed. Evidently something had happenedto upset Bob seriously. As they went out on the gravel, somebodycongratulated Bob again, and again Bob hardly seemed to appreciateit. '

Bob led the way across the gravel and on to the first terrace. Whenthey had left the crowd behind, he stopped. 

"What's up?" asked Mike. 

"I want you to read----"

"Jackson!"

They both turned. The headmaster was standing on the edge of thegravel. 

Bob pushed the letter into Mike's hands. 

"Read that, " he said, and went up to the headmaster. Mike heard thewords "English Essay, " and, seeing that the conversation wasapparently going to be one of some length, capped the headmaster andwalked off. He was just going to read the letter when the bell rang. He put the missive in his pocket, and went to his form-room wonderingwhat Marjory could have found to say to Bob to touch him on the raw tosuch an extent. She was a breezy correspondent, with a style of herown, but usually she entertained rather than upset people. Nosuspicion of the actual contents of the letter crossed his mind. 

He read it during school, under the desk; and ceased to wonder. Bobhad had cause to look worried. For the thousand and first time in hercareer of crime Marjory had been and done it! With a strong hand shehad shaken the cat out of the bag, and exhibited it plainly to allwhom it might concern. 

There was a curious absence of construction about the letter. Mostauthors of sensational matter nurse their bomb-shell, lead up toit, and display it to the best advantage. Marjory dropped hers intothe body of the letter, and let it take its chance with the othernews-items. 

 "DEAR BOB" (the letter ran), --

 "I hope you are quite well. I am quite well. Phyllis has a cold, Ella cheeked Mademoiselle yesterday, and had to write out 'Little Girls must be polite and obedient' a hundred times in French. She was jolly sick about it. I told her it served her right. Joe made eighty-three against Lancashire. Reggie made a duck. Have you got your first? If you have, it will be all through Mike. Uncle John told Father that Mike pretended to hurt his wrist so that you could play instead of him for the school, and Father said it was very sporting of Mike but nobody must tell you because it wouldn't be fair if you got your first for you to know that you owed it to Mike and I wasn't supposed to hear but I did because I was in the room only they didn't know I was (we were playing hide-and-seek and I was hiding) so I'm writing to tell you, "From your affectionate sister

 "Marjory. "

There followed a P. S. 

 "I'll tell you what you ought to do. I've been reading a jolly good book called 'The Boys of Dormitory Two, ' and the hero's an awfully nice boy named Lionel Tremayne, and his friend Jack Langdale saves his life when a beast of a boatman who's really employed by Lionel's cousin who wants the money that Lionel's going to have when he grows up stuns him and leaves him on the beach to drown. Well, Lionel is going to play for the school against Loamshire, and it's _the_ match of the season, but he goes to the headmaster and says he wants Jack to play instead of him. Why don't you do that?

 "M. 

 "P. P. S. --This has been a frightful fag to write. "

For the life of him Mike could not help giggling as he pictured whatBob's expression must have been when his brother read this document. But the humorous side of the thing did not appeal to him for long. What should he say to Bob? What would Bob say to him? Dash it all, itmade him look such an awful _ass_! Anyhow, Bob couldn't do much. In fact he didn't see that he could do anything. The team was filledup, and Burgess was not likely to alter it. Besides, why should healter it? Probably he would have given Bob his colours anyhow. Still, it was beastly awkward. Marjory meant well, but she had put her footright in it. Girls oughtn't to meddle with these things. No girl oughtto be taught to write till she came of age. And Uncle John had behavedin many respects like the Complete Rotter. If he was going to let outthings like that, he might at least have whispered them, or lookedbehind the curtains to see that the place wasn't chock-full of femalekids. Confound Uncle John!

Throughout the dinner-hour Mike kept out of Bob's way. But in a smallcommunity like a school it is impossible to avoid a man for ever. Theymet at the nets. 

"Well?" said Bob. 

"How do you mean?" said Mike. 

"Did you read it?"

"Yes. "

"Well, is it all rot, or did you--you know what I mean--sham a crockedwrist?"

"Yes, " said Mike, "I did. "

Bob stared gloomily at his toes. 

"I mean, " he said at last, apparently putting the finishing-touch tosome train of thought, "I know I ought to be grateful, and all that. Isuppose I am. I mean it was jolly good of you--Dash it all, " he brokeoff hotly, as if the putting his position into words had suddenlyshowed him how inglorious it was, "what did you want to do if_for_? What was the idea? What right have you got to go aboutplaying Providence over me? Dash it all, it's like giving a fellowmoney without consulting him. "

"I didn't think you'd ever know. You wouldn't have if only that assUncle John hadn't let it out. "

"How did he get to know? Why did you tell him?"

"He got it out of me. I couldn't choke him off. He came down when youwere away at Geddington, and would insist on having a look at my arm, and naturally he spotted right away there was nothing the matter withit. So it came out; that's how it was. "

Bob scratched thoughtfully at the turf with a spike of his boot. 

"Of course, it was awfully decent----"

Then again the monstrous nature of the affair came home to him. 

"But what did you do it _for_? Why should you rot up your ownchances to give me a look in?"

"Oh, I don't know.... You know, you did _me_ a jolly good turn. "

"I don't remember. When?"

"That Firby-Smith business. "

"What about it?"

"Well, you got me out of a jolly bad hole. "

"Oh, rot! And do you mean to tell me it was simply because of that----?"

Mike appeared to him in a totally new light. He stared at him as if hewere some strange creature hitherto unknown to the human race. Mikeshuffled uneasily beneath the scrutiny. 

"Anyhow, it's all over now, " Mike said, "so I don't see what's thepoint of talking about it. "

"I'm hanged if it is. You don't think I'm going to sit tight and takemy first as if nothing had happened?"

"What can you do? The list's up. Are you going to the Old Man to askhim if I can play, like Lionel Tremayne?"

The hopelessness of the situation came over Bob like a wave. He lookedhelplessly at Mike. 

"Besides, " added Mike, "I shall get in next year all right. Half asecond, I just want to speak to Wyatt about something. "

He sidled off. 

"Well, anyhow, " said Bob to himself, "I must see Burgess about it. "

CHAPTER XXII

WYATT IS REMINDED OF AN ENGAGEMENT

There are situations in life which are beyond one. The sensible manrealises this, and slides out of such situations, admitting himselfbeaten. Others try to grapple with them, but it never does any good. When affairs get into a real tangle, it is best to sit still and letthem straighten themselves out. Or, if one does not do that, simply tothink no more about them. This is Philosophy. The true philosopher isthe man who says "All right, " and goes to sleep in his arm-chair. One's attitude towards Life's Little Difficulties should be that ofthe gentleman in the fable, who sat down on an acorn one day, andhappened to doze. The warmth of his body caused the acorn togerminate, and it grew so rapidly that, when he awoke, he foundhimself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty feet from the ground. Hethought he would go home, but, finding this impossible, he altered hisplans. "Well, well, " he said, "if I cannot compel circumstances to mywill, I can at least adapt my will to circumstances. I decide toremain here. " Which he did, and had a not unpleasant time. The oaklacked some of the comforts of home, but the air was splendid and theview excellent. 

To-day's Great Thought for Young Readers. Imitate this man. 

Bob should have done so, but he had not the necessary amount ofphilosophy. He still clung to the idea that he and Burgess, incouncil, might find some way of making things right for everybody. Though, at the moment, he did not see how eleven caps were to bedivided amongst twelve candidates in such a way that each should haveone. 

And Burgess, consulted on the point, confessed to the same inabilityto solve the problem. It took Bob at least a quarter of an hour to getthe facts of the case into the captain's head, but at last Burgessgrasped the idea of the thing. At which period he remarked that it wasa rum business. 

"Very rum, " Bob agreed. "Still, what you say doesn't help us out much, seeing that the point is, what's to be done?"

"Why do anything?"

Burgess was a philosopher, and took the line of least resistance, likethe man in the oak-tree. 

"But I must do something, " said Bob. "Can't you see how rotten it isfor me?"

"I don't see why. It's not your fault. Very sporting of your brotherand all that, of course, though I'm blowed if I'd have done it myself;but why should you do anything? You're all right. Your brother stoodout of the team to let you in it, and here you _are_, in it. What's he got to grumble about?"

"He's not grumbling. It's me. "

"What's the matter with you? Don't you want your first?"

"Not like this. Can't you see what a rotten position it is for me?"

"Don't you worry. You simply keep on saying you're all right. Besides, what do you want me to do? Alter the list?"

But for the thought of those unspeakable outsiders, Lionel Tremayneand his headmaster, Bob might have answered this question in theaffirmative; but he had the public-school boy's terror of seeming topose or do anything theatrical. He would have done a good deal to putmatters right, but he could _not_ do the self-sacrificing younghero business. It would not be in the picture. These things, if theyare to be done at school, have to be carried through stealthily, afterMike's fashion. 

"I suppose you can't very well, now it's up. Tell you what, though, Idon't see why I shouldn't stand out of the team for the Ripton match. I could easily fake up some excuse. "

"I do. I don't know if it's occurred to you, but the idea is rather towin the Ripton match, if possible. So that I'm a lot keen on puttingthe best team into the field. Sorry if it upsets your arrangements inany way. "

"You know perfectly well Mike's every bit as good as me. "

"He isn't so keen. "

"What do you mean?"

"Fielding. He's a young slacker. "

When Burgess had once labelled a man as that, he did not readily letthe idea out of his mind. 

"Slacker? What rot! He's as keen as anything. "

"Anyhow, his keenness isn't enough to make him turn out forhouse-fielding. If you really want to know, that's why you'vegot your first instead of him. You sweated away, and improvedyour fielding twenty per cent. ; and I happened to be talking toFirby-Smith and found that young Mike had been shirking his, soout he went. A bad field's bad enough, but a slack field wantsskinning. "

"Smith oughtn't to have told you. "

"Well, he did tell me. So you see how it is. There won't be anychanges from the team I've put up on the board. "

"Oh, all right, " said Bob. "I was afraid you mightn't be able to doanything. So long. "

"Mind the step, " said Burgess. 

 * * * * *

At about the time when this conversation was in progress, Wyatt, crossing the cricket-field towards the school shop in search ofsomething fizzy that might correct a burning thirst acquired at thenets, espied on the horizon a suit of cricket flannels surmounted by ahuge, expansive grin. As the distance between them lessened, hediscovered that inside the flannels was Neville-Smith's body andbehind the grin the rest of Neville-Smith's face. Their visit to thenets not having coincided in point of time, as the Greek exercisebooks say, Wyatt had not seen his friend since the list of the teamhad been posted on the board, so he proceeded to congratulate him onhis colours. 

"Thanks, " said Neville-Smith, with a brilliant display of front teeth. 

"Feeling good?"

"Not the word for it. I feel like--I don't know what. "

"I'll tell you what you look like, if that's any good to you. Thatslight smile of yours will meet behind, if you don't look out, andthen the top of your head'll come off. "

"I don't care. I've got my first, whatever happens. Little Willie'sgoing to buy a nice new cap and a pretty striped jacket all for hisown self! I say, thanks for reminding me. Not that you did, butsupposing you had. At any rate, I remember what it was I wanted tosay to you. You know what I was saying to you about the bust I meantto have at home in honour of my getting my first, if I did, which Ihave--well, anyhow it's to-night. You can roll up, can't you?"

"Delighted. Anything for a free feed in these hard times. What timedid you say it was?"

"Eleven. Make it a bit earlier, if you like. "

"No, eleven'll do me all right. "

"How are you going to get out?"

"'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage. ' That's whatthe man said who wrote the libretto for the last set of Latin Verseswe had to do. I shall manage it. "

"They ought to allow you a latch-key. "

"Yes, I've often thought of asking my pater for one. Still, I get onvery well. Who are coming besides me?"

"No boarders. They all funked it. "

"The race is degenerating. "

"Said it wasn't good enough. "

"The school is going to the dogs. Who did you ask?"

"Clowes was one. Said he didn't want to miss his beauty-sleep. AndHenfrey backed out because he thought the risk of being sacked wasn'tgood enough. "

"That's an aspect of the thing that might occur to some people. Idon't blame him--I might feel like that myself if I'd got anothercouple of years at school. "

"But one or two day-boys are coming. Clephane is, for one. AndBeverley. We shall have rather a rag. I'm going to get the thingsnow. "

"When I get to your place--I don't believe I know the way, now I cometo think of it--what do I do? Ring the bell and send in my card? orsmash the nearest window and climb in?"

"Don't make too much row, for goodness sake. All the servants'll havegone to bed. You'll see the window of my room. It's just above theporch. It'll be the only one lighted up. Heave a pebble at it, andI'll come down. "

"So will the glass--with a run, I expect. Still, I'll try to do aslittle damage as possible. After all, I needn't throw a brick. "

"You _will_ turn up, won't you?"

"Nothing shall stop me. "

"Good man. "

As Wyatt was turning away, a sudden compunction seized uponNeville-Smith. He called him back. 

"I say, you don't think it's too risky, do you? I mean, you always arebreaking out at night, aren't you? I don't want to get you into arow. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said Wyatt. "Don't you worry about me. Ishould have gone out anyhow to-night. "

CHAPTER XXIII

A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY

"You may not know it, " said Wyatt to Mike in the dormitory that night, "but this is the maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year. "

Mike could not help thinking that for himself it was the very reverse, but he did not state his view of the case. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

"Neville-Smith's giving a meal at his place in honour of his gettinghis first. I understand the preparations are on a scale of the utmostmagnificence. No expense has been spared. Ginger-beer will flow likewater. The oldest cask of lemonade has been broached; and a sardine isroasting whole in the market-place. "

"Are you going?"

"If I can tear myself away from your delightful society. The kick-offis fixed for eleven sharp. I am to stand underneath his window andheave bricks till something happens. I don't know if he keeps a dog. If so, I shall probably get bitten to the bone. "

"When are you going to start?"

"About five minutes after Wain has been round the dormitories to seethat all's well. That ought to be somewhere about half-past ten. "

"Don't go getting caught. "

"I shall do my little best not to be. Rather tricky work, though, getting back. I've got to climb two garden walls, and I shall probablybe so full of Malvoisie that you'll be able to hear it swishing aboutinside me. No catch steeple-chasing if you're like that. They've nothought for people's convenience here. Now at Bradford they've gotstudies on the ground floor, the windows looking out over theboundless prairie. No climbing or steeple-chasing needed at all. Allyou have to do is to open the window and step out. Still, we must makethe best of things. Push us over a pinch of that tooth-powder ofyours. I've used all mine. "

Wyatt very seldom penetrated further than his own garden on theoccasions when he roamed abroad at night. For cat-shooting the Wainspinneys were unsurpassed. There was one particular dustbin where onemight be certain of flushing a covey any night; and the wall by thepotting-shed was a feline club-house. 

But when he did wish to get out into the open country he had a specialroute which he always took. He climbed down from the wall that ranbeneath the dormitory window into the garden belonging to Mr. Appleby, the master who had the house next to Mr. Wain's. Crossing this, heclimbed another wall, and dropped from it into a small lane whichended in the main road leading to Wrykyn town. 

This was the route which he took to-night. It was a glorious Julynight, and the scent of the flowers came to him with a curiousdistinctness as he let himself down from the dormitory window. At anyother time he might have made a lengthy halt, and enjoyed the scentsand small summer noises, but now he felt that it would be better notto delay. There was a full moon, and where he stood he could be seendistinctly from the windows of both houses. They were all dark, it istrue, but on these occasions it was best to take no risks. 

He dropped cautiously into Appleby's garden, ran lightly across it, and was in the lane within a minute. 

There he paused, dusted his trousers, which had suffered on thetwo walls, and strolled meditatively in the direction of the town. Half-past ten had just chimed from the school clock. He was in plentyof time. 

"What a night!" he said to himself, sniffing as he walked. 

 * * * * *

Now it happened that he was not alone in admiring the beauty of thatparticular night. At ten-fifteen it had struck Mr. Appleby, lookingout of his study into the moonlit school grounds, that a pipe in theopen would make an excellent break in his night's work. He hadacquired a slight headache as the result of correcting a batch ofexamination papers, and he thought that an interval of an hour in theopen air before approaching the half-dozen or so papers which stillremained to be looked at might do him good. The window of his studywas open, but the room had got hot and stuffy. Nothing like a littlefresh air for putting him right. 

For a few moments he debated the rival claims of a stroll in thecricket-field and a seat in the garden. Then he decided on the latter. The little gate in the railings opposite his house might not beopen, and it was a long way round to the main entrance. So he took adeck-chair which leaned against the wall, and let himself out of theback door. 

He took up his position in the shadow of a fir-tree with his back tothe house. From here he could see the long garden. He was fond of hisgarden, and spent what few moments he could spare from work and gamespottering about it. He had his views as to what the ideal gardenshould be, and he hoped in time to tinker his own three acres up tothe desired standard. At present there remained much to be done. Whynot, for instance, take away those laurels at the end of the lawn, andhave a flower-bed there instead? Laurels lasted all the year round, true, whereas flowers died and left an empty brown bed in the winter, but then laurels were nothing much to look at at any time, and agarden always had a beastly appearance in winter, whatever you did toit. Much better have flowers, and get a decent show for one's money insummer at any rate. 

The problem of the bed at the end of the lawn occupied his completeattention for more than a quarter of an hour, at the end of whichperiod he discovered that his pipe had gone out. 

He was just feeling for his matches to relight it when Wyatt droppedwith a slight thud into his favourite herbaceous border. 

The surprise, and the agony of feeling that large boots were tramplingamong his treasures kept him transfixed for just the length of timenecessary for Wyatt to cross the garden and climb the opposite wall. As he dropped into the lane, Mr. Appleby recovered himselfsufficiently to emit a sort of strangled croak, but the sound was tooslight to reach Wyatt. That reveller was walking down the Wrykyn roadbefore Mr. Appleby had left his chair. 

It is an interesting point that it was the gardener rather than theschoolmaster in Mr. Appleby that first awoke to action. It was not theidea of a boy breaking out of his house at night that occurred to himfirst as particularly heinous; it was the fact that the boy had brokenout _via_ his herbaceous border. In four strides he was on thescene of the outrage, examining, on hands and knees, with the aid ofthe moonlight, the extent of the damage done. 

As far as he could see, it was not serious. By a happy accidentWyatt's boots had gone home to right and left of precious plants butnot on them. With a sigh of relief Mr. Appleby smoothed over thecavities, and rose to his feet. 

At this point it began to strike him that the episode affected him asa schoolmaster also. 

In that startled moment when Wyatt had suddenly crossed his line ofvision, he had recognised him. The moon had shone full on his face ashe left the flowerbed. There was no doubt in his mind as to theidentity of the intruder. 

He paused, wondering how he should act. It was not an easy question. There was nothing of the spy about Mr. Appleby. He went his wayopenly, liked and respected by boys and masters. He always played thegame. The difficulty here was to say exactly what the game was. Sentiment, of course, bade him forget the episode, treat it as if ithad never happened. That was the simple way out of the difficulty. There was nothing unsporting about Mr. Appleby. He knew that therewere times when a master might, without blame, close his eyes or lookthe other way. If he had met Wyatt out of bounds in the day-time, andit had been possible to convey the impression that he had not seenhim, he would have done so. To be out of bounds is not a particularlydeadly sin. A master must check it if it occurs too frequently, but hemay use his discretion. 

Breaking out at night, however, was a different thing altogether. Itwas on another plane. There are times when a master must waivesentiment, and remember that he is in a position of trust, and owes aduty directly to his headmaster, and indirectly, through theheadmaster, to the parents. He receives a salary for doing this duty, and, if he feels that sentiment is too strong for him, he shouldresign in favour of some one of tougher fibre. 

This was the conclusion to which Mr. Appleby came over his relightedpipe. He could not let the matter rest where it was. 

In ordinary circumstances it would have been his duty to report theaffair to the headmaster but in the present case he thought that aslightly different course might be pursued. He would lay the wholething before Mr. Wain, and leave him to deal with it as he thoughtbest. It was one of the few cases where it was possible for anassistant master to fulfil his duty to a parent directly, instead ofthrough the agency of the headmaster. 

 * * * * *

Knocking out the ashes of his pipe against a tree, he folded hisdeck-chair and went into the house. The examination papers werespread invitingly on the table, but they would have to wait. Heturned down his lamp, and walked round to Wain's. 

There was a light in one of the ground-floor windows. He tapped on thewindow, and the sound of a chair being pushed back told him that hehad been heard. The blind shot up, and he had a view of a roomlittered with books and papers, in the middle of which stood Mr. Wain, like a sea-beast among rocks. 

Mr. Wain recognised his visitor and opened the window. Mr. Applebycould not help feeling how like Wain it was to work on a warm summer'snight in a hermetically sealed room. There was always something queerand eccentric about Wyatt's step-father. 

"Can I have a word with you, Wain?" he said. 

"Appleby! Is there anything the matter? I was startled when youtapped. Exceedingly so. "

"Sorry, " said Mr. Appleby. "Wouldn't have disturbed you, only it'ssomething important. I'll climb in through here, shall I? No need tounlock the door. " And, greatly to Mr. Wain's surprise and rather tohis disapproval, Mr. Appleby vaulted on to the window-sill, andsqueezed through into the room. 

CHAPTER XXIV

CAUGHT

"Got some rather bad news for you, I'm afraid, " began Mr. Appleby. "I'll smoke, if you don't mind. About Wyatt. "

"James!"

"I was sitting in my garden a few minutes ago, having a pipe beforefinishing the rest of my papers, and Wyatt dropped from the wall on tomy herbaceous border. "

Mr. Appleby said this with a tinge of bitterness. The thing stillrankled. 

"James! In your garden! Impossible. Why, it is not a quarter of anhour since I left him in his dormitory. "

"He's not there now. "

"You astound me, Appleby. I am astonished. "

"So was I. "

"How is such a thing possible? His window is heavily barred. "

"Bars can be removed. "

"You must have been mistaken. "

"Possibly, " said Mr. Appleby, a little nettled. Gaping astonishment isalways apt to be irritating. "Let's leave it at that, then. Sorry tohave disturbed you. "

"No, sit down, Appleby. Dear me, this is most extraordinary. Exceedingly so. You are certain it was James?"

"Perfectly. It's like daylight out of doors. "

Mr. Wain drummed on the table with his fingers. 

"What shall I do?"

Mr. Appleby offered no suggestion. 

"I ought to report it to the headmaster. That is certainly the courseI should pursue. "

"I don't see why. It isn't like an ordinary case. You're the parent. You can deal with the thing directly. If you come to think of it, aheadmaster's only a sort of middleman between boys and parents. Heplays substitute for the parent in his absence. I don't see why youshould drag in the master at all here. "

"There is certainly something in what you say, " said Mr. Wain onreflection. 

"A good deal. Tackle the boy when he comes in, and have it out withhim. Remember that it must mean expulsion if you report him to theheadmaster. He would have no choice. Everybody who has ever broken outof his house here and been caught has been expelled. I should stronglyadvise you to deal with the thing yourself. "

"I will. Yes. You are quite right, Appleby. That is a very good ideaof yours. You are not going?"

"Must. Got a pile of examination papers to look over. Good-night. "

"Good-night. "

Mr. Appleby made his way out of the window and through the gate intohis own territory in a pensive frame of mind. He was wondering whatwould happen. He had taken the only possible course, and, if only Wainkept his head and did not let the matter get through officially to theheadmaster, things might not be so bad for Wyatt after all. He hopedthey would not. He liked Wyatt. It would be a thousand pities, hefelt, if he were to be expelled. What would Wain do? What would_he_ do in a similar case? It was difficult to say. Probably talkviolently for as long as he could keep it up, and then consider theepisode closed. He doubted whether Wain would have the common sense todo this. Altogether it was very painful and disturbing, and he wastaking a rather gloomy view of the assistant master's lot as he satdown to finish off the rest of his examination papers. It was not allroses, the life of an assistant master at a public school. He hadcontinually to be sinking his own individual sympathies in the claimsof his duty. Mr. Appleby was the last man who would willingly havereported a boy for enjoying a midnight ramble. But he was the last manto shirk the duty of reporting him, merely because it was onedecidedly not to his taste. 

Mr. Wain sat on for some minutes after his companion had left, pondering over the news he had heard. Even now he clung to the ideathat Appleby had made some extraordinary mistake. Gradually he beganto convince himself of this. He had seen Wyatt actually in bed aquarter of an hour before--not asleep, it was true, but apparently onthe verge of dropping off. And the bars across the window had lookedso solid.... Could Appleby have been dreaming? Something of the kindmight easily have happened. He had been working hard, and the nightwas warm.... 

Then it occurred to him that he could easily prove or disprove thetruth of his colleague's statement by going to the dormitory andseeing if Wyatt were there or not. If he had gone out, he would hardlyhave returned yet. 

He took a candle, and walked quietly upstairs. 

Arrived at his step-son's dormitory, he turned the door-handle softlyand went in. The light of the candle fell on both beds. Mike wasthere, asleep. He grunted, and turned over with his face to the wallas the light shone on his eyes. But the other bed was empty. Applebyhad been right. 

If further proof had been needed, one of the bars was missing from thewindow. The moon shone in through the empty space. 

The house-master sat down quietly on the vacant bed. He blew thecandle out, and waited there in the semi-darkness, thinking. For yearshe and Wyatt had lived in a state of armed neutrality, broken byvarious small encounters. Lately, by silent but mutual agreement, theyhad kept out of each other's way as much as possible, and it hadbecome rare for the house-master to have to find fault officially withhis step-son. But there had never been anything even remotelyapproaching friendship between them. Mr. Wain was not a man whoinspired affection readily, least of all in those many years youngerthan himself. Nor did he easily grow fond of others. Wyatt he hadregarded, from the moment when the threads of their lives becameentangled, as a complete nuisance. 

It was not, therefore, a sorrowful, so much as an exasperated, vigilthat he kept in the dormitory. There was nothing of the sorrowingfather about his frame of mind. He was the house-master about to dealwith a mutineer, and nothing else. 

This breaking-out, he reflected wrathfully, was the last straw. Wyatt's presence had been a nervous inconvenience to him for years. The time had come to put an end to it. It was with a comfortablefeeling of magnanimity that he resolved not to report the breach ofdiscipline to the headmaster. Wyatt should not be expelled. But heshould leave, and that immediately. He would write to the bank beforehe went to bed, asking them to receive his step-son at once; and theletter should go by the first post next day. The discipline of thebank would be salutary and steadying. And--this was a particularlygrateful reflection--a fortnight annually was the limit of the holidayallowed by the management to its junior employees. 

Mr. Wain had arrived at this conclusion, and was beginning to feel alittle cramped, when Mike Jackson suddenly sat up. 

"Hullo!" said Mike. 

"Go to sleep, Jackson, immediately, " snapped the house-master. 

Mike had often heard and read of people's hearts leaping to theirmouths, but he had never before experienced that sensation ofsomething hot and dry springing in the throat, which is what reallyhappens to us on receipt of a bad shock. A sickening feeling that thegame was up beyond all hope of salvation came to him. He lay downagain without a word. 

What a frightful thing to happen! How on earth had this come about?What in the world had brought Wain to the dormitory at that hour? Poorold Wyatt! If it had upset _him_ (Mike) to see the house-masterin the room, what would be the effect of such a sight on Wyatt, returning from the revels at Neville-Smith's!

And what could he do? Nothing. There was literally no way out. Hismind went back to the night when he had saved Wyatt by a brilliant_coup_. The most brilliant of _coups_ could effect nothing now. Absolutely and entirely the game was up. 

 * * * * *

Every minute that passed seemed like an hour to Mike. Dead silencereigned in the dormitory, broken every now and then by the creak ofthe other bed, as the house-master shifted his position. Twelve boomedacross the field from the school clock. Mike could not help thinkingwhat a perfect night it must be for him to be able to hear the strokesso plainly. He strained his ears for any indication of Wyatt'sapproach, but could hear nothing. Then a very faint scraping noisebroke the stillness, and presently the patch of moonlight on the floorwas darkened. 

At that moment Mr. Wain relit his candle. 

The unexpected glare took Wyatt momentarily aback. Mike saw him start. Then he seemed to recover himself. In a calm and leisurely manner heclimbed into the room. 

"James!" said Mr. Wain. His voice sounded ominously hollow. 

Wyatt dusted his knees, and rubbed his hands together. "Hullo, is thatyou, father!" he said pleasantly. 

CHAPTER XXV

MARCHING ORDERS

A silence followed. To Mike, lying in bed, holding his breath, itseemed a long silence. As a matter of fact it lasted for perhaps tenseconds. Then Mr. Wain spoke. 

"You have been out, James?"

It is curious how in the more dramatic moments of life the inaneremark is the first that comes to us. 

"Yes, sir, " said Wyatt. 

"I am astonished. Exceedingly astonished. "

"I got a bit of a start myself, " said Wyatt. 

"I shall talk to you in my study. Follow me there. "

"Yes, sir. "

He left the room, and Wyatt suddenly began to chuckle. 

"I say, Wyatt!" said Mike, completely thrown off his balance by theevents of the night. 

Wyatt continued to giggle helplessly. He flung himself down on hisbed, rolling with laughter. Mike began to get alarmed. 

"It's all right, " said Wyatt at last, speaking with difficulty. "But, I say, how long had he been sitting there?"

"It seemed hours. About an hour, I suppose, really. "

"It's the funniest thing I've ever struck. Me sweating to get inquietly, and all the time him camping out on my bed!"

"But look here, what'll happen?"

Wyatt sat up. 

"That reminds me. Suppose I'd better go down. "

"What'll he do, do you think?"

"Ah, now, what!"

"But, I say, it's awful. What'll happen?"

"That's for him to decide. Speaking at a venture, I should say----"

"You don't think----?"

"The boot. The swift and sudden boot. I shall be sorry to part withyou, but I'm afraid it's a case of 'Au revoir, my little Hyacinth. ' Weshall meet at Philippi. This is my Moscow. To-morrow I shall go outinto the night with one long, choking sob. Years hence a white-hairedbank-clerk will tap at your door when you're a prosperous professionalcricketer with your photograph in _Wisden_. That'll be me. Well, I suppose I'd better go down. We'd better all get to bed _some_time to-night. Don't go to sleep. "

"Not likely. "

"I'll tell you all the latest news when I come back. Where are meslippers? Ha, 'tis well! Lead on, then, minions. I follow. "

 * * * * *

In the study Mr. Wain was fumbling restlessly with his papers whenWyatt appeared. 

"Sit down, James, " he said. 

Wyatt sat down. One of his slippers fell off with a clatter. Mr. Wainjumped nervously. 

"Only my slipper, " explained Wyatt. "It slipped. "

Mr. Wain took up a pen, and began to tap the table. 

"Well, James?"

Wyatt said nothing. 

"I should be glad to hear your explanation of this disgracefulmatter. "

"The fact is----" said Wyatt. 

"Well?"

"I haven't one, sir. "

"What were you doing out of your dormitory, out of the house, at thathour?"

"I went for a walk, sir. "

"And, may I inquire, are you in the habit of violating the strictestschool rules by absenting yourself from the house during the night?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What?"

"Yes, sir. "

"This is an exceedingly serious matter. "

Wyatt nodded agreement with this view. 

"Exceedingly. "

The pen rose and fell with the rapidity of the cylinder of amotor-car. Wyatt, watching it, became suddenly aware that thething was hypnotising him. In a minute or two he would be asleep. 

"I wish you wouldn't do that, father. Tap like that, I mean. It'ssending me to sleep. "

"James!"

"It's like a woodpecker. "

"Studied impertinence----"

"I'm very sorry. Only it _was_ sending me off. "

Mr. Wain suspended tapping operations, and resumed the thread of hisdiscourse. 

"I am sorry, exceedingly, to see this attitude in you, James. It isnot fitting. It is in keeping with your behaviour throughout. Yourconduct has been lax and reckless in the extreme. It is possible thatyou imagine that the peculiar circumstances of our relationship secureyou from the penalties to which the ordinary boy----"

"No, sir. "

"I need hardly say, " continued Mr. Wain, ignoring the interruption, "that I shall treat you exactly as I should treat any other member ofmy house whom I had detected in the same misdemeanour. "

"Of course, " said Wyatt, approvingly. 

"I must ask you not to interrupt me when I am speaking to you, James. I say that your punishment will be no whit less severe than would bethat of any other boy. You have repeatedly proved yourself lacking inballast and a respect for discipline in smaller ways, but this is afar more serious matter. Exceedingly so. It is impossible for me tooverlook it, even were I disposed to do so. You are aware of thepenalty for such an action as yours?"

"The sack, " said Wyatt laconically. 

"It is expulsion. You must leave the school. At once. "

Wyatt nodded. 

"As you know, I have already secured a nomination for you in theLondon and Oriental Bank. I shall write to-morrow to the managerasking him to receive you at once----"

"After all, they only gain an extra fortnight of me. "

"You will leave directly I receive his letter. I shall arrange withthe headmaster that you are withdrawn privately----"

"_Not_ the sack?"

"Withdrawn privately. You will not go to school to-morrow. Do youunderstand? That is all. Have you anything to say?"

Wyatt reflected. 

"No, I don't think----"

His eye fell on a tray bearing a decanter and a syphon. 

"Oh, yes, " he said. "Can't I mix you a whisky and soda, father, beforeI go off to bed?"

 * * * * *

"Well?" said Mike. 

Wyatt kicked off his slippers, and began to undress. 

"What happened?"

"We chatted. "

"Has he let you off?"

"Like a gun. I shoot off almost immediately. To-morrow I take awell-earned rest away from school, and the day after I become thegay young bank-clerk, all amongst the ink and ledgers. "

Mike was miserably silent. 

"Buck up, " said Wyatt cheerfully. "It would have happened anyhow inanother fortnight. So why worry?"

Mike was still silent. The reflection was doubtless philosophic, butit failed to comfort him. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE AFTERMATH

Bad news spreads quickly. By the quarter to eleven interval next daythe facts concerning Wyatt and Mr. Wain were public property. Mike, asan actual spectator of the drama, was in great request as aninformant. As he told the story to a group of sympathisers outside theschool shop, Burgess came up, his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy. 

"Anybody seen young--oh, here you are. What's all this about JimmyWyatt? They're saying he's been sacked, or some rot. "

[Illustration: "WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT JIMMY WYATT?"]

"So he has--at least, he's got to leave. "

"What? When?"

"He's left already. He isn't coming to school again. "

Burgess's first thought, as befitted a good cricket captain, was forhis team. 

"And the Ripton match on Saturday!"

Nobody seemed to have anything except silent sympathy at his command. 

"Dash the man! Silly ass! What did he want to do it for! Poor oldJimmy, though!" he added after a pause. "What rot for him!"

"Beastly, " agreed Mike. 

"All the same, " continued Burgess, with a return to the austere mannerof the captain of cricket, "he might have chucked playing the goattill after the Ripton match. Look here, young Jackson, you'll turn outfor fielding with the first this afternoon. You'll play on Saturday. "

"All right, " said Mike, without enthusiasm. The Wyatt disaster was toorecent for him to feel much pleasure at playing against Ripton_vice_ his friend, withdrawn. 

Bob was the next to interview him. They met in the cloisters. 

"Hullo, Mike!" said Bob. "I say, what's all this about Wyatt?"

"Wain caught him getting back into the dorm. Last night afterNeville-Smith's, and he's taken him away from the school. "

"What's he going to do? Going into that bank straight away?"

"Yes. You know, that's the part he bars most. He'd have been leavinganyhow in a fortnight, you see; only it's awful rot for a chap likeWyatt to have to go and froust in a bank for the rest of his life. "

"He'll find it rather a change, I expect. I suppose you won't beseeing him before he goes?"

"I shouldn't think so. Not unless he comes to the dorm. During thenight. He's sleeping over in Wain's part of the house, but I shouldn'tbe surprised if he nipped out after Wain has gone to bed. Hope hedoes, anyway. "

"I should like to say good-bye. But I don't suppose it'll bepossible. "

They separated in the direction of their respective form-rooms. Mikefelt bitter and disappointed at the way the news had been received. Wyatt was his best friend, his pal; and it offended him that theschool should take the tidings of his departure as they had done. Mostof them who had come to him for information had expressed a sort ofsympathy with the absent hero of his story, but the chief sensationseemed to be one of pleasurable excitement at the fact that somethingbig had happened to break the monotony of school routine. They treatedthe thing much as they would have treated the announcement that arecord score had been made in first-class cricket. The school was notso much regretful as comfortably thrilled. And Burgess had actuallycursed before sympathising. Mike felt resentful towards Burgess. As amatter of fact, the cricket captain wrote a letter to Wyatt duringpreparation that night which would have satisfied even Mike's sense ofwhat was fit. But Mike had no opportunity of learning this. 

There was, however, one exception to the general rule, one member ofthe school who did not treat the episode as if it were merely aninteresting and impersonal item of sensational news. Neville-Smithheard of what had happened towards the end of the interval, and rushedoff instantly in search of Mike. He was too late to catch him beforehe went to his form-room, so he waited for him at half-past twelve, when the bell rang for the end of morning school. 

"I say, Jackson, is this true about old Wyatt?"

Mike nodded. 

"What happened?"

Mike related the story for the sixteenth time. It was a melancholypleasure to have found a listener who heard the tale in the rightspirit. There was no doubt about Neville-Smith's interest andsympathy. He was silent for a moment after Mike had finished. 

"It was all my fault, " he said at length. "If it hadn't been for me, this wouldn't have happened. What a fool I was to ask him to my place!I might have known he would be caught. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Mike. 

"It was absolutely my fault. "

Mike was not equal to the task of soothing Neville-Smith's woundedconscience. He did not attempt it. They walked on without furtherconversation till they reached Wain's gate, where Mike left him. Neville-Smith proceeded on his way, plunged in meditation. 

The result of which meditation was that Burgess got a second shockbefore the day was out. Bob, going over to the nets rather late in theafternoon, came upon the captain of cricket standing apart from hisfellow men with an expression on his face that spoke of mentalupheavals on a vast scale. 

"What's up?" asked Bob. 

"Nothing much, " said Burgess, with a forced and grisly calm. "Onlythat, as far as I can see, we shall play Ripton on Saturday with asort of second eleven. You don't happen to have got sacked oranything, by the way, do you?"

"What's happened now?"

"Neville-Smith. In extra on Saturday. That's all. Only our first- andsecond-change bowlers out of the team for the Ripton match in one day. I suppose by to-morrow half the others'll have gone, and we shall takethe field on Saturday with a scratch side of kids from the JuniorSchool. "

"Neville-Smith! Why, what's he been doing?"

"Apparently he gave a sort of supper to celebrate his getting hisfirst, and it was while coming back from that that Wyatt got collared. Well, I'm blowed if Neville-Smith doesn't toddle off to the Old Manafter school to-day and tell him the whole yarn! Said it was all hisfault. What rot! Sort of thing that might have happened to any one. IfWyatt hadn't gone to him, he'd probably have gone out somewhere else. "

"And the Old Man shoved him in extra?"

"Next two Saturdays. "

"Are Ripton strong this year?" asked Bob, for lack of anything betterto say. 

"Very, from all accounts. They whacked the M. C. C. Jolly hot team ofM. C. C. Too. Stronger than the one we drew with. "

"Oh, well, you never know what's going to happen at cricket. I mayhold a catch for a change. "

Burgess grunted. 

Bob went on his way to the nets. Mike was just putting on his pads. 

"I say, Mike, " said Bob. "I wanted to see you. It's about Wyatt. I'vethought of something. "

"What's that?"

"A way of getting him out of that bank. If it comes off, that's tosay. "

"By Jove, he'd jump at anything. What's the idea?"

"Why shouldn't he get a job of sorts out in the Argentine? There oughtto be heaps of sound jobs going there for a chap like Wyatt. He's ajolly good shot, to start with. I shouldn't wonder if it wasn't rathera score to be able to shoot out there. And he can ride, I know. "

"By Jove, I'll write to father to-night. He must be able to work it, Ishould think. He never chucked the show altogether, did he?"

Mike, as most other boys of his age would have been, was profoundlyignorant as to the details by which his father's money had been, orwas being, made. He only knew vaguely that the source of revenue hadsomething to do with the Argentine. His brother Joe had been born inBuenos Ayres; and once, three years ago, his father had gone overthere for a visit, presumably on business. All these things seemed toshow that Mr. Jackson senior was a useful man to have about if youwanted a job in that Eldorado, the Argentine Republic. 

As a matter of fact, Mike's father owned vast tracts of land upcountry, where countless sheep lived and had their being. He had longretired from active superintendence of his estate. Like Mr. Spenlow, he had a partner, a stout fellow with the work-taint highly developed, who asked nothing better than to be left in charge. So Mr. Jackson hadreturned to the home of his fathers, glad to be there again. But hestill had a decided voice in the ordering of affairs on the ranches, and Mike was going to the fountain-head of things when he wrote to hisfather that night, putting forward Wyatt's claims to attention andability to perform any sort of job with which he might be presented. 

The reflection that he had done all that could be done tended toconsole him for the non-appearance of Wyatt either that night or nextmorning--a non-appearance which was due to the simple fact that hepassed that night in a bed in Mr. Wain's dressing-room, the door ofwhich that cautious pedagogue, who believed in taking no chances, locked from the outside on retiring to rest. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE RIPTON MATCH

Mike got an answer from his father on the morning of the Ripton match. A letter from Wyatt also lay on his plate when he came down tobreakfast. 

Mr. Jackson's letter was short, but to the point. He said he would goand see Wyatt early in the next week. He added that being expelledfrom a public school was not the only qualification for success as asheep-farmer, but that, if Mike's friend added to this a generalintelligence and amiability, and a skill for picking off cats with anair-pistol and bull's-eyes with a Lee-Enfield, there was no reason whysomething should not be done for him. In any case he would buy him alunch, so that Wyatt would extract at least some profit from hisvisit. He said that he hoped something could be managed. It was a pitythat a boy accustomed to shoot cats should be condemned for the restof his life to shoot nothing more exciting than his cuffs. 

Wyatt's letter was longer. It might have been published under thetitle "My First Day in a Bank, by a Beginner. " His advent hadapparently caused little sensation. He had first had a briefconversation with the manager, which had run as follows:

"Mr. Wyatt?"

"Yes, sir. "

"H'm ... Sportsman?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Cricketer?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Play football?"

"Yes, sir. "

"H'm ... Racquets?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Everything?"

"Yes, sir. "

"H'm ... Well, you won't get any more of it now. "

After which a Mr. Blenkinsop had led him up to a vast ledger, in whichhe was to inscribe the addresses of all out-going letters. Theseletters he would then stamp, and subsequently take in bundles to thepost office. Once a week he would be required to buy stamps. "If Iwere one of those Napoleons of Finance, " wrote Wyatt, "I should cookthe accounts, I suppose, and embezzle stamps to an incredible amount. But it doesn't seem in my line. I'm afraid I wasn't cut out for abusiness career. Still, I have stamped this letter at the expenseof the office, and entered it up under the heading 'Sundries, ' whichis a sort of start. Look out for an article in the _Wrykynian_, 'Hints for Young Criminals, by J. Wyatt, champion catch-as-catch-canstamp-stealer of the British Isles. ' So long. I suppose you areplaying against Ripton, now that the world of commerce has found thatit can't get on without me. Mind you make a century, and then perhapsBurgess'll give you your first after all. There were twelve coloursgiven three years ago, because one chap left at half-term and the manwho played instead of him came off against Ripton. "

 * * * * *

This had occurred to Mike independently. The Ripton match was aspecial event, and the man who performed any outstanding feat againstthat school was treated as a sort of Horatius. Honours were heapedupon him. If he could only make a century! or even fifty. Even twenty, if it got the school out of a tight place. He was as nervous on theSaturday morning as he had been on the morning of the M. C. C. Match. Itwas Victory or Westminster Abbey now. To do only averagely well, to beamong the ruck, would be as useless as not playing at all, as far ashis chance of his first was concerned. 

It was evident to those who woke early on the Saturday morning thatthis Ripton match was not likely to end in a draw. During the Fridayrain had fallen almost incessantly in a steady drizzle. It had stoppedlate at night; and at six in the morning there was every prospect ofanother hot day. There was that feeling in the air which shows thatthe sun is trying to get through the clouds. The sky was a dull greyat breakfast time, except where a flush of deeper colour gave a hintof the sun. It was a day on which to win the toss, and go in first. Ateleven-thirty, when the match was timed to begin, the wicket would betoo wet to be difficult. Runs would come easily till the sun came outand began to dry the ground. When that happened there would be troublefor the side that was batting. 

Burgess, inspecting the wicket with Mr. Spence during the quarter toeleven interval, was not slow to recognise this fact. 

"I should win the toss to-day, if I were you, Burgess, " said Mr. Spence. 

"Just what I was thinking, sir. "

"That wicket's going to get nasty after lunch, if the sun comes out. Aregular Rhodes wicket it's going to be. "

"I wish we _had_ Rhodes, " said Burgess. "Or even Wyatt. It wouldjust suit him, this. "

Mr. Spence, as a member of the staff, was not going to be drawn intodiscussing Wyatt and his premature departure, so he diverted theconversation on to the subject of the general aspect of the school'sattack. 

"Who will go on first with you, Burgess?"

"Who do you think, sir? Ellerby? It might be his wicket. "

Ellerby bowled medium inclining to slow. On a pitch that suited him hewas apt to turn from leg and get people out caught at the wicket orshort slip. 

"Certainly, Ellerby. This end, I think. The other's yours, though I'mafraid you'll have a poor time bowling fast to-day. Even with plentyof sawdust I doubt if it will be possible to get a decent footholdtill after lunch. "

"I must win the toss, " said Burgess. "It's a nuisance too, about ourbatting. Marsh will probably be dead out of form after being in theInfirmary so long. If he'd had a chance of getting a bit of practiceyesterday, it might have been all right. "

"That rain will have a lot to answer for if we lose. On a dry, hardwicket I'm certain we should beat them four times out of six. I wastalking to a man who played against them for the Nomads. He said thaton a true wicket there was not a great deal of sting in their bowling, but that they've got a slow leg-break man who might be dangerous on aday like this. A boy called de Freece. I don't know of him. He wasn'tin the team last year. "

"I know the chap. He played wing three for them at footer against usthis year on their ground. He was crocked when they came here. He's apretty useful chap all round, I believe. Plays racquets for them too. "

"Well, my friend said he had one very dangerous ball, of the Bosanquettype. Looks as if it were going away, and comes in instead. "

"I don't think a lot of that, " said Burgess ruefully. "One consolationis, though, that that sort of ball is easier to watch on a slowwicket. I must tell the fellows to look out for it. "

"I should. And, above all, win the toss. "

 * * * * *

Burgess and Maclaine, the Ripton captain, were old acquaintances. Theyhad been at the same private school, and they had played against oneanother at football and cricket for two years now. 

"We'll go in first, Mac, " said Burgess, as they met on the pavilionsteps after they had changed. 

"It's awfully good of you to suggest it, " said Maclaine. "but I thinkwe'll toss. It's a hobby of mine. You call. "

"Heads. "

"Tails it is. I ought to have warned you that you hadn't a chance. I've lost the toss five times running, so I was bound to win to-day. "

"You'll put us in, I suppose?"

"Yes--after us. "

"Oh, well, we sha'n't have long to wait for our knock, that's acomfort. Buck up and send some one in, and let's get at you. "

And Burgess went off to tell the ground-man to have plenty of sawdustready, as he would want the field paved with it. 

 * * * * *

The policy of the Ripton team was obvious from the first over. Theymeant to force the game. Already the sun was beginning to peep throughthe haze. For about an hour run-getting ought to be a tolerably simpleprocess; but after that hour singles would be as valuable as threesand boundaries an almost unheard-of luxury. 

So Ripton went in to hit. 

The policy proved successful for a time, as it generally does. Burgess, who relied on a run that was a series of tiger-like leapsculminating in a spring that suggested that he meant to lower the longjump record, found himself badly handicapped by the state of theground. In spite of frequent libations of sawdust, he was compelled totread cautiously, and this robbed his bowling of much of its pace. Thescore mounted rapidly. Twenty came in ten minutes. At thirty-five thefirst wicket fell, run out. 

At sixty Ellerby, who had found the pitch too soft for him and hadbeen expensive, gave place to Grant. Grant bowled what were supposedto be slow leg-breaks, but which did not always break. The changeworked. 

Maclaine, after hitting the first two balls to the boundary, skied thethird to Bob Jackson in the deep, and Bob, for whom constant practicehad robbed this sort of catch of its terrors, held it. 

A yorker from Burgess disposed of the next man before he could settledown; but the score, seventy-four for three wickets, was large enoughin view of the fact that the pitch was already becoming moredifficult, and was certain to get worse, to make Ripton feel that theadvantage was with them. Another hour of play remained before lunch. The deterioration of the wicket would be slow during that period. Thesun, which was now shining brightly, would put in its deadliest workfrom two o'clock onwards. Maclaine's instructions to his men were togo on hitting. 

A too liberal interpretation of the meaning of the verb "to hit" ledto the departure of two more Riptonians in the course of the next twoovers. There is a certain type of school batsman who considers that toforce the game means to swipe blindly at every ball on the chance oftaking it half-volley. This policy sometimes leads to a boundary ortwo, as it did on this occasion, but it means that wickets will fall, as also happened now. Seventy-four for three became eighty-six forfive. Burgess began to look happier. 

His contentment increased when he got the next man leg-before-wicketwith the total unaltered. At this rate Ripton would be out beforelunch for under a hundred. 

But the rot stopped with the fall of that wicket. Dashing tactics werelaid aside. The pitch had begun to play tricks, and the pair now insettled down to watch the ball. They plodded on, scoring slowly andjerkily till the hands of the clock stood at half-past one. ThenEllerby, who had gone on again instead of Grant, beat the less steadyof the pair with a ball that pitched on the middle stump and shot intothe base of the off. A hundred and twenty had gone up on the board atthe beginning of the over. 

That period which is always so dangerous, when the wicket is bad, theten minutes before lunch, proved fatal to two more of the enemy. Thelast man had just gone to the wickets, with the score at a hundred andthirty-one, when a quarter to two arrived, and with it the luncheoninterval. 

So far it was anybody's game. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

MIKE WINS HOME

The Ripton last-wicket man was de Freece, the slow bowler. He wasapparently a young gentleman wholly free from the curse ofnervousness. He wore a cheerful smile as he took guard beforereceiving the first ball after lunch, and Wrykyn had plenty ofopportunity of seeing that that was his normal expression when at thewickets. There is often a certain looseness about the attack afterlunch, and the bowler of googlies took advantage of it now. He seemedto be a batsman with only one hit; but he had also a very accurateeye, and his one hit, a semicircular stroke, which suggested the golflinks rather than the cricket field, came off with distressingfrequency. He mowed Burgess's first ball to the square-leg boundary, missed his second, and snicked the third for three over long-slip'shead. The other batsman played out the over, and de Freece proceededto treat Ellerby's bowling with equal familiarity. The scoring-boardshowed an increase of twenty as the result of three overs. Everyrun was invaluable now, and the Ripton contingent made the pavilionre-echo as a fluky shot over mid-on's head sent up the hundred andfifty. 

There are few things more exasperating to the fielding side than alast-wicket stand. It resembles in its effect the dragging-out of abook or play after the _dénouement_ has been reached. At the fallof the ninth wicket the fieldsmen nearly always look on their outingas finished. Just a ball or two to the last man, and it will be theirturn to bat. If the last man insists on keeping them out in the field, they resent it. 

What made it especially irritating now was the knowledge that astraight yorker would solve the whole thing. But when Burgess bowled ayorker, it was not straight. And when he bowled a straight ball, itwas not a yorker. A four and a three to de Freece, and a four bye sentup a hundred and sixty. 

It was beginning to look as if this might go on for ever, whenEllerby, who had been missing the stumps by fractions of an inch, for the last ten minutes, did what Burgess had failed to do. Hebowled a straight, medium-paced yorker, and de Freece, swiping at itwith a bright smile, found his leg-stump knocked back. He had madetwenty-eight. His record score, he explained to Mike, as they walkedto the pavilion, for this or any ground. 

The Ripton total was a hundred and sixty-six. 

 * * * * *

With the ground in its usual true, hard condition, Wrykyn would havegone in against a score of a hundred and sixty-six with the cheeryintention of knocking off the runs for the loss of two or threewickets. It would have been a gentle canter for them. 

But ordinary standards would not apply here. On a good wicket Wrykynthat season were a two hundred and fifty to three hundred side. On abad wicket--well, they had met the Incogniti on a bad wicket, andtheir total--with Wyatt playing and making top score--had worked outat a hundred and seven. 

A grim determination to do their best, rather than confidence thattheir best, when done, would be anything record-breaking, was thespirit which animated the team when they opened their innings. 

And in five minutes this had changed to a dull gloom. 

The tragedy started with the very first ball. It hardly seemed thatthe innings had begun, when Morris was seen to leave the crease, andmake for the pavilion. 

"It's that googly man, " said Burgess blankly. 

"What's happened?" shouted a voice from the interior of the firsteleven room. 

"Morris is out. "

"Good gracious! How?" asked Ellerby, emerging from the room with onepad on his leg and the other in his hand. 

"L. -b. -w. First ball. "

"My aunt! Who's in next? Not me?"

"No. Berridge. For goodness sake, Berry, stick a bat in the way, andnot your legs. Watch that de Freece man like a hawk. He breaks likesin all over the shop. Hullo, Morris! Bad luck! Were you out, do youthink?" A batsman who has been given l. -b. -w. Is always asked thisquestion on his return to the pavilion, and he answers it in ninecases out of ten in the negative. Morris was the tenth case. Hethought it was all right, he said. 

"Thought the thing was going to break, but it didn't. "

"Hear that, Berry? He doesn't always break. You must look out forthat, " said Burgess helpfully. Morris sat down and began to take offhis pads. 

"That chap'll have Berry, if he doesn't look out, " he said. 

But Berridge survived the ordeal. He turned his first ball to leg fora single. 

This brought Marsh to the batting end; and the second tragedyoccurred. 

It was evident from the way he shaped that Marsh was short ofpractice. His visit to the Infirmary had taken the edge off hisbatting. He scratched awkwardly at three balls without hitting them. The last of the over had him in two minds. He started to play forward, changed his stroke suddenly and tried to step back, and the nextmoment the bails had shot up like the _débris_ of a smallexplosion, and the wicket-keeper was clapping his gloved hands gentlyand slowly in the introspective, dreamy way wicket-keepers have onthese occasions. 

A silence that could be felt brooded over the pavilion. 

The voice of the scorer, addressing from his little wooden hut themelancholy youth who was working the telegraph-board, broke it. 

"One for two. Last man duck. "

Ellerby echoed the remark. He got up, and took off his blazer. 

"This is all right, " he said, "isn't it! I wonder if the man at theother end is a sort of young Rhodes too!"

Fortunately he was not. The star of the Ripton attack was evidently deFreece. The bowler at the other end looked fairly plain. He sent themdown medium-pace, and on a good wicket would probably have beensimple. But to-day there was danger in the most guileless-lookingdeliveries. 

Berridge relieved the tension a little by playing safely through theover, and scoring a couple of twos off it. And when Ellerby not onlysurvived the destructive de Freece's second over, but actually lifteda loose ball on to the roof of the scoring-hut, the cloud beganperceptibly to lift. A no-ball in the same over sent up the first ten. Ten for two was not good; but it was considerably better than one fortwo. 

With the score at thirty, Ellerby was missed in the slips off deFreece. He had been playing with slowly increasing confidence tillthen, but this seemed to throw him out of his stride. He played insidethe next ball, and was all but bowled: and then, jumping out to drive, he was smartly stumped. The cloud began to settle again. 

Bob was the next man in. 

Ellerby took off his pads, and dropped into the chair next to Mike's. Mike was silent and thoughtful. He was in after Bob, and to be on theeve of batting does not make one conversational. 

"You in next?" asked Ellerby. 

Mike nodded. 

"It's getting trickier every minute, " said Ellerby. "The only thingis, if we can only stay in, we might have a chance. The wicket'll getbetter, and I don't believe they've any bowling at all bar de Freece. By George, Bob's out!... No, he isn't. "

Bob had jumped out at one of de Freece's slows, as Ellerby had done, and had nearly met the same fate. The wicket-keeper, however, hadfumbled the ball. 

"That's the way I was had, " said Ellerby. "That man's keeping such ajolly good length that you don't know whether to stay in your groundor go out at them. If only somebody would knock him off his length, Ibelieve we might win yet. "

The same idea apparently occurred to Burgess. He came to where Mikewas sitting. 

"I'm going to shove you down one, Jackson, " he said. "I shall go innext myself and swipe, and try and knock that man de Freece off. "

"All right, " said Mike. He was not quite sure whether he was glad orsorry at the respite. 

"It's a pity old Wyatt isn't here, " said Ellerby. "This is just thesort of time when he might have come off. "

"Bob's broken his egg, " said Mike. 

"Good man. Every little helps.... Oh, you silly ass, get _back_!"

Berridge had called Bob for a short run that was obviously no run. Third man was returning the ball as the batsmen crossed. The nextmoment the wicket-keeper had the bails off. Berridge was out by ayard. 

"Forty-one for four, " said Ellerby. "Help!"

Burgess began his campaign against de Freece by skying his firstball over cover's head to the boundary. A howl of delight went upfrom the school, which was repeated, _fortissimo_, when, moreby accident than by accurate timing, the captain put on two morefours past extra-cover. The bowler's cheerful smile never varied. 

Whether Burgess would have knocked de Freece off his length or not wasa question that was destined to remain unsolved, for in the middle ofthe other bowler's over Bob hit a single; the batsmen crossed; andBurgess had his leg-stump uprooted while trying a gigantic pull-stroke. 

The melancholy youth put up the figures, 54, 5, 12, on the board. 

Mike, as he walked out of the pavilion to join Bob, was not consciousof any particular nervousness. It had been an ordeal having to waitand look on while wickets fell, but now that the time of inaction wasat an end he felt curiously composed. When he had gone out to batagainst the M. C. C. On the occasion of his first appearance for theschool, he experienced a quaint sensation of unreality. He seemed tobe watching his body walking to the wickets, as if it were some oneelse's. There was no sense of individuality. 

But now his feelings were different. He was cool. He noticed smallthings--mid-off chewing bits of grass, the bowler re-tying the scarfround his waist, little patches of brown where the turf had been wornaway. He took guard with a clear picture of the positions of thefieldsmen photographed on his brain. 

Fitness, which in a batsman exhibits itself mainly in an increasedpower of seeing the ball, is one of the most inexplicable thingsconnected with cricket. It has nothing, or very little, to do withactual health. A man may come out of a sick-room with just that extraquickness in sighting the ball that makes all the difference; or hemay be in perfect training and play inside straight half-volleys. Mikewould not have said that he felt more than ordinarily well that day. Indeed, he was rather painfully conscious of having bolted his food atlunch. But something seemed to whisper to him, as he settled himselfto face the bowler, that he was at the top of his batting form. Adifficult wicket always brought out his latent powers as a bat. It wasa standing mystery with the sporting Press how Joe Jackson managed tocollect fifties and sixties on wickets that completely upset men whowere, apparently, finer players. On days when the Olympians of thecricket world were bringing their averages down with ducks andsingles, Joe would be in his element, watching the ball and pushing itthrough the slips as if there were no such thing as a tricky wicket. And Mike took after Joe. 

A single off the fifth ball of the over opened his score and broughthim to the opposite end. Bob played ball number six back to thebowler, and Mike took guard preparatory to facing de Freece. 

The Ripton slow bowler took a long run, considering his pace. In theearly part of an innings he often trapped the batsmen in this way, byleading them to expect a faster ball than he actually sent down. Aqueer little jump in the middle of the run increased the difficulty ofwatching him. 

The smiting he had received from Burgess in the previous over had nothad the effect of knocking de Freece off his length. The ball was tooshort to reach with comfort, and not short enough to take libertieswith. It pitched slightly to leg, and whipped in quickly. Mike hadfaced half-left, and stepped back. The increased speed of the ballafter it had touched the ground beat him. The ball hit his right pad. 

"'S that?" shouted mid-on. Mid-on has a habit of appealing forl. -b. -w. In school matches. 

De Freece said nothing. The Ripton bowler was as conscientious in thematter of appeals as a good bowler should be. He had seen that theball had pitched off the leg-stump. 

The umpire shook his head. Mid-on tried to look as if he had notspoken. 

Mike prepared himself for the next ball with a glow of confidence. Hefelt that he knew where he was now. Till then he had not thought thewicket was so fast. The two balls he had played at the other end hadtold him nothing. They had been well pitched up, and he had smotheredthem. He knew what to do now. He had played on wickets of this pace athome against Saunders's bowling, and Saunders had shown him the rightway to cope with them. 

The next ball was of the same length, but this time off the off-stump. Mike jumped out, and hit it before it had time to break. It flew alongthe ground through the gap between cover and extra-cover, acomfortable three. 

Bob played out the over with elaborate care. 

Off the second ball of the other man's over Mike scored his firstboundary. It was a long-hop on the off. He banged it behind point tothe terrace-bank. The last ball of the over, a half-volley to leg, helifted over the other boundary. 

"Sixty up, " said Ellerby, in the pavilion, as the umpire signalledanother no-ball. "By George! I believe these chaps are going to knockoff the runs. Young Jackson looks as if he was in for a century. "

"You ass, " said Berridge. "Don't say that, or he's certain to getout. "

Berridge was one of those who are skilled in cricket superstitions. 

But Mike did not get out. He took seven off de Freece's next over bymeans of two cuts and a drive. And, with Bob still exhibiting a stolidand rock-like defence, the score mounted to eighty, thence to ninety, and so, mainly by singles, to a hundred. 

At a hundred and four, when the wicket had put on exactly fifty, Bobfell to a combination of de Freece and extra-cover. He had stuck likea limpet for an hour and a quarter, and made twenty-one. 

Mike watched him go with much the same feelings as those of a man whoturns away from the platform after seeing a friend off on a longrailway journey. His departure upset the scheme of things. For himselfhe had no fear now. He might possibly get out off his next ball, buthe felt set enough to stay at the wickets till nightfall. He had hadnarrow escapes from de Freece, but he was full of that conviction, which comes to all batsmen on occasion, that this was his day. He hadmade twenty-six, and the wicket was getting easier. He could feel thesting going out of the bowling every over. 

Henfrey, the next man in, was a promising rather than an effectivebat. He had an excellent style, but he was uncertain. (Two yearslater, when he captained the Wrykyn teams, he made a lot of runs. ) Butthis season his batting had been spasmodic. 

To-day he never looked like settling down. He survived an over from deFreece, and hit a fast change bowler who had been put on at the otherend for a couple of fluky fours. Then Mike got the bowling for threeconsecutive overs, and raised the score to a hundred and twenty-six. Abye brought Henfrey to the batting end again, and de Freece's petgoogly, which had not been much in evidence hitherto, led to hissnicking an easy catch into short-slip's hands. 

A hundred and twenty-seven for seven against a total of a hundred andsixty-six gives the impression that the batting side has theadvantage. In the present case, however, it was Ripton who were reallyin the better position. Apparently, Wrykyn had three more wickets tofall. Practically they had only one, for neither Ashe, nor Grant, norDevenish had any pretensions to be considered batsmen. Ashe was theschool wicket-keeper. Grant and Devenish were bowlers. Between themthe three could not be relied on for a dozen in a decent match. 

Mike watched Ashe shape with a sinking heart. The wicket-keeper lookedlike a man who feels that his hour has come. Mike could see himlicking his lips. There was nervousness written all over him. 

He was not kept long in suspense. De Freece's first ball made ahideous wreck of his wicket. 

"Over, " said the umpire. 

Mike felt that the school's one chance now lay in his keeping thebowling. But how was he to do this? It suddenly occurred to him thatit was a delicate position that he was in. It was not often that hewas troubled by an inconvenient modesty, but this happened now. Grantwas a fellow he hardly knew, and a school prefect to boot. Could he goup to him and explain that he, Jackson, did not consider him competentto bat in this crisis? Would not this get about and be accounted tohim for side? He had made forty, but even so.... 

Fortunately Grant solved the problem on his own account. He came up toMike and spoke with an earnestness born of nerves. "For goodnesssake, " he whispered, "collar the bowling all you know, or we're done. I shall get outed first ball. "

"All right, " said Mike, and set his teeth. Forty to win! A largeorder. But it was going to be done. His whole existence seemed toconcentrate itself on those forty runs. 

The fast bowler, who was the last of several changes that had beentried at the other end, was well-meaning but erratic. The wicket wasalmost true again now, and it was possible to take liberties. 

Mike took them. 

A distant clapping from the pavilion, taken up a moment later allround the ground, and echoed by the Ripton fieldsmen, announced thathe had reached his fifty. 

The last ball of the over he mishit. It rolled in the direction ofthird man. 

"Come on, " shouted Grant. 

Mike and the ball arrived at the opposite wicket almostsimultaneously. Another fraction of a second, and he would have beenrun out. 

[Illustration: MIKE AND THE BALL ARRIVED ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY]

The last balls of the next two overs provided repetitions of thisperformance. But each time luck was with him, and his bat was acrossthe crease before the bails were off. The telegraph-board showed ahundred and fifty. 

The next over was doubly sensational. The original medium-paced bowlerhad gone on again in place of the fast man, and for the first fiveballs he could not find his length. During those five balls Mikeraised the score to a hundred and sixty. 

But the sixth was of a different kind. Faster than the rest and of aperfect length, it all but got through Mike's defence. As it was, hestopped it. But he did not score. The umpire called "Over!" and therewas Grant at the batting end, with de Freece smiling pleasantly as hewalked back to begin his run with the comfortable reflection that atlast he had got somebody except Mike to bowl at. 

That over was an experience Mike never forgot. 

Grant pursued the Fabian policy of keeping his bat almost immovableand trusting to luck. Point and the slips crowded round. Mid-off andmid-on moved half-way down the pitch. Grant looked embarrassed, butdetermined. For four balls he baffled the attack, though once nearlycaught by point a yard from the wicket. The fifth curled round hisbat, and touched the off-stump. A bail fell silently to the ground. 

Devenish came in to take the last ball of the over. 

It was an awe-inspiring moment. A great stillness was over all theground. Mike's knees trembled. Devenish's face was a delicate grey. 

The only person unmoved seemed to be de Freece. His smile was evenmore amiable than usual as he began his run. 

The next moment the crisis was past. The ball hit the very centre ofDevenish's bat, and rolled back down the pitch. 

The school broke into one great howl of joy. There were still sevenruns between them and victory, but nobody appeared to recognise thisfact as important. Mike had got the bowling, and the bowling was notde Freece's. 

It seemed almost an anti-climax when a four to leg and two two'sthrough the slips settled the thing. 

 * * * * *

Devenish was caught and bowled in de Freece's next over; but theWrykyn total was one hundred and seventy-two. 

 * * * * *

"Good game, " said Maclaine, meeting Burgess in the pavilion. "Who wasthe man who made all the runs? How many, by the way?"

"Eighty-three. It was young Jackson. Brother of the other one. "

"That family! How many more of them are you going to have here?"

"He's the last. I say, rough luck on de Freece. He bowled rippingly. "

Politeness to a beaten foe caused Burgess to change his usual "notbad. "

"The funny part of it is, " continued he, "that young Jackson was onlyplaying as a sub. "

"You've got a rum idea of what's funny, " said Maclaine. 

CHAPTER XXIX

WYATT AGAIN

It was a morning in the middle of September. The Jacksons werebreakfasting. Mr. Jackson was reading letters. The rest, includingGladys Maud, whose finely chiselled features were graduallydisappearing behind a mask of bread-and-milk, had settled down toserious work. The usual catch-as-catch-can contest between Marjory andPhyllis for the jam (referee and time-keeper, Mrs. Jackson) hadresulted, after both combatants had been cautioned by the referee, ina victory for Marjory, who had duly secured the stakes. The hour beingnine-fifteen, and the official time for breakfast nine o'clock, Mike'splace was still empty. 

"I've had a letter from MacPherson, " said Mr. Jackson. 

MacPherson was the vigorous and persevering gentleman, referred to ina previous chapter, who kept a fatherly eye on the Buenos Ayres sheep. 

"He seems very satisfied with Mike's friend Wyatt. At the moment ofwriting Wyatt is apparently incapacitated owing to a bullet in theshoulder, but expects to be fit again shortly. That young man seems tomake things fairly lively wherever he is. I don't wonder he found apublic school too restricted a sphere for his energies. "

"Has he been fighting a duel?" asked Marjory, interested. 

"Bushrangers, " said Phyllis. 

"There aren't any bushrangers in Buenos Ayres, " said Ella. 

"How do you know?" said Phyllis clinchingly. 

"Bush-ray, bush-ray, bush-ray, " began Gladys Maud, conversationally, through the bread-and-milk; but was headed off. 

"He gives no details. Perhaps that letter on Mike's plate suppliesthem. I see it comes from Buenos Ayres. "

"I wish Mike would come and open it, " said Marjory. "Shall I go andhurry him up?"

The missing member of the family entered as she spoke. 

"Buck up, Mike, " she shouted. "There's a letter from Wyatt. He's beenwounded in a duel. "

"With a bushranger, " added Phyllis. 

"Bush-ray, " explained Gladys Maud. 

"Is there?" said Mike. "Sorry I'm late. "

He opened the letter and began to read. 

"What does he say?" inquired Marjory. "Who was the duel with?"

"How many bushrangers were there?" asked Phyllis. 

Mike read on. 

"Good old Wyatt! He's shot a man. "

"Killed him?" asked Marjory excitedly. 

"No. Only potted him in the leg. This is what he says. First page ismostly about the Ripton match and so on. Here you are. 'I'm dictatingthis to a sportsman of the name of Danvers, a good chap who can't helpbeing ugly, so excuse bad writing. The fact is we've been having abust-up here, and I've come out of it with a bullet in the shoulder, which has crocked me for the time being. It happened like this. Anass of a Gaucho had gone into the town and got jolly tight, andcoming back, he wanted to ride through our place. The old woman whokeeps the lodge wouldn't have it at any price. Gave him the absolutemiss-in-baulk. So this rotter, instead of shifting off, proceeded tocut the fence, and go through that way. All the farms out here havetheir boundaries marked by wire fences, and it is supposed to be adeadly sin to cut these. Well, the lodge-keeper's son dashed off insearch of help. A chap called Chester, an Old Wykehamist, and I weredipping sheep close by, so he came to us and told us what had happened. We nipped on to a couple of horses, pulled out our revolvers, andtooled after him. After a bit we overtook him, and that's when thetrouble began. The johnny had dismounted when we arrived. I thoughthe was simply tightening his horse's girths. What he was really doingwas getting a steady aim at us with his revolver. He fired as we cameup, and dropped poor old Chester. I thought he was killed at first, butit turned out it was only his leg. I got going then. I emptied all thesix chambers of my revolver, and missed him clean every time. In themeantime he got me in the right shoulder. Hurt like sin afterwards, though it was only a sort of dull shock at the moment. The next itemof the programme was a forward move in force on the part of the enemy. The man had got his knife out now--why he didn't shoot again I don'tknow--and toddled over in our direction to finish us off. Chester wasunconscious, and it was any money on the Gaucho, when I happened tocatch sight of Chester's pistol, which had fallen just by where I camedown. I picked it up, and loosed off. Missed the first shot, but gothim with the second in the ankle at about two yards; and his day'swork was done. That's the painful story. Danvers says he's gettingwriter's cramp, so I shall have to stop.... '"

"By Jove!" said Mike. 

"What a dreadful thing!" said Mrs. Jackson. 

"Anyhow, it was practically a bushranger, " said Phyllis. 

"I told you it was a duel, and so it was, " said Marjory. 

"What a terrible experience for the poor boy!" said Mrs. Jackson. 

"Much better than being in a beastly bank, " said Mike, summing up. "I'm glad he's having such a ripping time. It must be almost as decentas Wrykyn out there.... I say, what's under that dish?"

CHAPTER XXX

MR. JACKSON MAKES UP HIS MIND

Two years have elapsed and Mike is home again for the Easter holidays. 

If Mike had been in time for breakfast that morning he might havegathered from the expression on his father's face, as Mr. Jacksonopened the envelope containing his school report and read thecontents, that the document in question was not exactly a paean ofpraise from beginning to end. But he was late, as usual. Mike alwayswas late for breakfast in the holidays. 

When he came down on this particular morning, the meal was nearlyover. Mr. Jackson had disappeared, taking his correspondence with him;Mrs. Jackson had gone into the kitchen, and when Mike appeared thething had resolved itself into a mere vulgar brawl between Phyllis andElla for the jam, while Marjory, who had put her hair up a fortnightbefore, looked on in a detached sort of way, as if these juvenilegambols distressed her. 

"Hullo, Mike, " she said, jumping up as he entered; "here you are--I'vebeen keeping everything hot for you. "

"Have you? Thanks awfully. I say--" his eye wandered in mild surpriseround the table. "I'm a bit late. "

Marjory was bustling about, fetching and carrying for Mike, as shealways did. She had adopted him at an early age, and did the thingthoroughly. She was fond of her other brothers, especially when theymade centuries in first-class cricket, but Mike was her favourite. Shewould field out in the deep as a natural thing when Mike was battingat the net in the paddock, though for the others, even for Joe, whohad played in all five Test Matches in the previous summer, she woulddo it only as a favour. 

Phyllis and Ella finished their dispute and went out. Marjory sat onthe table and watched Mike eat. 

"Your report came this morning, Mike, " she said. 

The kidneys failed to retain Mike's undivided attention. He looked upinterested. "What did it say?"

"I didn't see--I only caught sight of the Wrykyn crest on theenvelope. Father didn't say anything. "

Mike seemed concerned. "I say, that looks rather rotten! I wonder ifit was awfully bad. It's the first I've had from Appleby. "

"It can't be any worse than the horrid ones Mr. Blake used to writewhen you were in his form. "

"No, that's a comfort, " said Mike philosophically. "Think there's anymore tea in that pot?"

"I call it a shame, " said Marjory; "they ought to be jolly glad tohave you at Wrykyn just for cricket, instead of writing beastlyreports that make father angry and don't do any good to anybody. "

"Last summer he said he'd take me away if I got another one. "

"He didn't mean it really, I _know_ he didn't! He couldn't!You're the best bat Wrykyn's ever had. "

"What ho!" interpolated Mike. 

"You _are_. Everybody says you are. Why, you got your first thevery first term you were there--even Joe didn't do anything nearly sogood as that. Saunders says you're simply bound to play for England inanother year or two. "

"Saunders is a jolly good chap. He bowled me a half-volley on the offthe first ball I had in a school match. By the way, I wonder if he'sout at the net now. Let's go and see. "

Saunders was setting up the net when they arrived. Mike put on hispads and went to the wickets, while Marjory and the dogs retired asusual to the far hedge to retrieve. 

She was kept busy. Saunders was a good sound bowler of the M. C. C. Minor match type, and there had been a time when he had worried Mikeconsiderably, but Mike had been in the Wrykyn team for three seasonsnow, and each season he had advanced tremendously in his batting. Hehad filled out in three years. He had always had the style, and now hehad the strength as well. Saunders's bowling on a true wicket seemedsimple to him. It was early in the Easter holidays, but already he wasbeginning to find his form. Saunders, who looked on Mike as his ownspecial invention, was delighted. 

"If you don't be worried by being too anxious now that you're captain, Master Mike, " he said, "you'll make a century every match next term. "

"I wish I wasn't; it's a beastly responsibility. "

Henfrey, the Wrykyn cricket captain of the previous season, was notreturning next term, and Mike was to reign in his stead. He liked theprospect, but it certainly carried with it a rather awe-inspiringresponsibility. At night sometimes he would lie awake, appalled by thefear of losing his form, or making a hash of things by choosing thewrong men to play for the school and leaving the right men out. It isno light thing to captain a public school at cricket. 

As he was walking towards the house, Phyllis met him. "Oh, I've beenhunting for you, Mike; father wants you. "

"What for?"

"I don't know. "

"Where?"

"He's in the study. He seems--" added Phyllis, throwing in theinformation by way of a make-weight, "in a beastly wax. "

Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do withthat bally report, " was his muttered exclamation. 

Mike's dealings with his father were as a rule of a most pleasantnature. Mr. Jackson was an understanding sort of man, who treated hissons as companions. From time to time, however, breezes were apt toruffle the placid sea of good-fellowship. Mike's end-of-term reportwas an unfailing wind-raiser; indeed, on the arrival of Mr. Blake'ssarcastic _résumé_ of Mike's short-comings at the end of theprevious term, there had been something not unlike a typhoon. It wason this occasion that Mr. Jackson had solemnly declared his intentionof removing Mike from Wrykyn unless the critics became moreflattering; and Mr. Jackson was a man of his word. 

It was with a certain amount of apprehension, therefore, that Jacksonentered the study. 

"Come in, Mike, " said his father, kicking the waste-paper basket; "Iwant to speak to you. "

Mike, skilled in omens, scented a row in the offing. Only in momentsof emotion was Mr. Jackson in the habit of booting the basket. 

There followed an awkward silence, which Mike broke by remarking thathe had carted a half-volley from Saunders over the on-side hedge thatmorning. 

"It was just a bit short and off the leg stump, so I stepped out--mayI bag the paper-knife for a jiffy? I'll just show----"

"Never mind about cricket now, " said Mr. Jackson; "I want you tolisten to this report. "

"Oh, is that my report, father?" said Mike, with a sort of sicklyinterest, much as a dog about to be washed might evince in his tub. 

"It is, " replied Mr. Jackson in measured tones, "your report; what ismore, it is without exception the worst report you have ever had. "

"Oh, I say!" groaned the record-breaker. 

"'His conduct, '" quoted Mr. Jackson, "'has been unsatisfactory in theextreme, both in and out of school. '"

"It wasn't anything really. I only happened----"

Remembering suddenly that what he had happened to do was to drop acannon-ball (the school weight) on the form-room floor, not once, buton several occasions, he paused. 

"'French bad; conduct disgraceful----'"

"Everybody rags in French. "

"'Mathematics bad. Inattentive and idle. '"

"Nobody does much work in Math. "

"'Latin poor. Greek, very poor. '"

"We were doing Thucydides, Book Two, last term--all speeches anddoubtful readings, and cruxes and things--beastly hard! Everybody saysso. "

"Here are Mr. Appleby's remarks: 'The boy has genuine ability, whichhe declines to use in the smallest degree. '"

Mike moaned a moan of righteous indignation. 

"'An abnormal proficiency at games has apparently destroyed all desirein him to realise the more serious issues of life. ' There is more tothe same effect. "

Mr. Appleby was a master with very definite ideas as to whatconstituted a public-school master's duties. As a man he wasdistinctly pro-Mike. He understood cricket, and some of Mike's shotson the off gave him thrills of pure aesthetic joy; but as a master healways made it his habit to regard the manners and customs of the boysin his form with an unbiased eye, and to an unbiased eye Mike in aform-room was about as near the extreme edge as a boy could be, andMr. Appleby said as much in a clear firm hand. 

"You remember what I said to you about your report at Christmas, Mike?" said Mr. Jackson, folding the lethal document and replacing itin its envelope. 

Mike said nothing; there was a sinking feeling in his interior. 

"I shall abide by what I said. "

Mike's heart thumped. 

"You will not go back to Wrykyn next term. "

Somewhere in the world the sun was shining, birds were twittering;somewhere in the world lambkins frisked and peasants sang blithely attheir toil (flat, perhaps, but still blithely), but to Mike at thatmoment the sky was black, and an icy wind blew over the face of theearth. 

The tragedy had happened, and there was an end of it. He made noattempt to appeal against the sentence. He knew it would be useless, his father, when he made up his mind, having all the unbendingtenacity of the normally easy-going man. 

Mr. Jackson was sorry for Mike. He understood him, and for that reasonhe said very little now. 

"I am sending you to Sedleigh, " was his next remark. 

Sedleigh! Mike sat up with a jerk. He knew Sedleigh by name--one ofthose schools with about a hundred fellows which you never hear ofexcept when they send up their gymnasium pair to Aldershot, or theirEight to Bisley. Mike's outlook on life was that of a cricketer, pureand simple. What had Sedleigh ever done? What were they ever likely todo? Whom did they play? What Old Sedleighan had ever done anything atcricket? Perhaps they didn't even _play_ cricket!

"But it's an awful hole, " he said blankly. 

Mr. Jackson could read Mike's mind like a book. Mike's point of viewwas plain to him. He did not approve of it, but he knew that in Mike'splace and at Mike's age he would have felt the same. He spoke drily tohide his sympathy. 

"It is not a large school, " he said, "and I don't suppose it couldplay Wrykyn at cricket, but it has one merit--boys work there. YoungBarlitt won a Balliol scholarship from Sedleigh last year. " Barlittwas the vicar's son, a silent, spectacled youth who did not entervery largely into Mike's world. They had met occasionally attennis-parties, but not much conversation had ensued. Barlitt'smind was massive, but his topics of conversation were not Mike's. 

"Mr. Barlitt speaks very highly of Sedleigh, " added Mr. Jackson. 

Mike said nothing, which was a good deal better than saying what hewould have liked to have said. 

CHAPTER XXXI

SEDLEIGH

The train, which had been stopping everywhere for the last half-hour, pulled up again, and Mike, seeing the name of the station, got up, opened the door, and hurled a Gladstone bag out on to the platform inan emphatic and vindictive manner. Then he got out himself and lookedabout him. 

"For the school, sir?" inquired the solitary porter, bustling up, asif he hoped by sheer energy to deceive the traveller into thinkingthat Sedleigh station was staffed by a great army of porters. 

Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given ifsomebody had met him in 1812, and said, "So you're back from Moscow, eh?" Mike was feeling thoroughly jaundiced. The future seemed whollygloomy. And, so far from attempting to make the best of things, he hadset himself deliberately to look on the dark side. He thought, forinstance, that he had never seen a more repulsive porter, or one moreobviously incompetent than the man who had attached himself with afirm grasp to the handle of the bag as he strode off in the directionof the luggage-van. He disliked his voice, his appearance, and thecolour of his hair. Also the boots he wore. He hated the station, andthe man who took his ticket. 

"Young gents at the school, sir, " said the porter, perceiving fromMike's _distrait_ air that the boy was a stranger to the place, "goes up in the 'bus mostly. It's waiting here, sir. Hi, George!"

"I'll walk, thanks, " said Mike frigidly. 

"It's a goodish step, sir. "

"Here you are. "

"Thank you, sir. I'll send up your luggage by the 'bus, sir. Which'ouse was it you was going to?"

"Outwood's. "

"Right, sir. It's straight on up this road to the school. You can'tmiss it, sir. "

"Worse luck, " said Mike. 

He walked off up the road, sorrier for himself than ever. It was suchabsolutely rotten luck. About now, instead of being on his way to aplace where they probably ran a diabolo team instead of a cricketeleven, and played hunt-the-slipper in winter, he would be on thepoint of arriving at Wrykyn. And as captain of cricket, at that. Whichwas the bitter part of it. He had never been in command. For the lasttwo seasons he had been the star man, going in first, and heading theaverages easily at the end of the season; and the three captains underwhom he had played during his career as a Wrykynian, Burgess, Enderby, and Henfrey had always been sportsmen to him. But it was not the samething. He had meant to do such a lot for Wrykyn cricket this term. Hehad had an entirely new system of coaching in his mind. Now it mightnever be used. He had handed it on in a letter to Strachan, who wouldbe captain in his place; but probably Strachan would have some schemeof his own. There is nobody who could not edit a paper in the idealway; and there is nobody who has not a theory of his own aboutcricket-coaching at school. 

Wrykyn, too, would be weak this year, now that he was no longer there. Strachan was a good, free bat on his day, and, if he survived a fewovers, might make a century in an hour, but he was not to be dependedupon. There was no doubt that Mike's sudden withdrawal meant thatWrykyn would have a bad time that season. And it had been such awretched athletic year for the school. The football fifteen had beenhopeless, and had lost both the Ripton matches, the return by oversixty points. Sheen's victory in the light-weights at Aldershot hadbeen their one success. And now, on top of all this, the captain ofcricket was removed during the Easter holidays. Mike's heart bled forWrykyn, and he found himself loathing Sedleigh and all its works witha great loathing. 

The only thing he could find in its favour was the fact that it wasset in a very pretty country. Of a different type from the Wrykyncountry, but almost as good. For three miles Mike made his way throughwoods and past fields. Once he crossed a river. It was soon after thisthat he caught sight, from the top of a hill, of a group of buildingsthat wore an unmistakably school-like look. 

This must be Sedleigh. 

Ten minutes' walk brought him to the school gates, and a baker's boydirected him to Mr. Outwood's. 

There were three houses in a row, separated from the school buildingsby a cricket-field. Outwood's was the middle one of these. 

Mike went to the front door, and knocked. At Wrykyn he had alwayscharged in at the beginning of term at the boys' entrance, but thisformal reporting of himself at Sedleigh suited his mood. 

He inquired for Mr. Outwood, and was shown into a room lined withbooks. Presently the door opened, and the house-master appeared. 

There was something pleasant and homely about Mr. Outwood. Inappearance he reminded Mike of Smee in "Peter Pan. " He had the sameeyebrows and pince-nez and the same motherly look. 

"Jackson?" he said mildly. 

"Yes, sir. "

"I am very glad to see you, very glad indeed. Perhaps you would like acup of tea after your journey. I think you might like a cup of tea. You come from Crofton, in Shropshire, I understand, Jackson, nearBrindleford? It is a part of the country which I have always wished tovisit. I daresay you have frequently seen the Cluniac Priory of St. Ambrose at Brindleford?"

Mike, who would not have recognised a Cluniac Priory if you had handedhim one on a tray, said he had not. 

"Dear me! You have missed an opportunity which I should have been gladto have. I am preparing a book on Ruined Abbeys and Priories ofEngland, and it has always been my wish to see the Cluniac Priory ofSt. Ambrose. A deeply interesting relic of the sixteenth century. Bishop Geoffrey, 1133-40----"

"Shall I go across to the boys' part, sir?"

"What? Yes. Oh, yes. Quite so. And perhaps you would like a cup of teaafter your journey? No? Quite so. Quite so. You should make a point ofvisiting the remains of the Cluniac Priory in the summer holidays, Jackson. You will find the matron in her room. In many respects it isunique. The northern altar is in a state of really wonderfulpreservation. It consists of a solid block of masonry five feet longand two and a half wide, with chamfered plinth, standing quite freefrom the apse wall. It will well repay a visit. Good-bye for thepresent, Jackson, good-bye. "

Mike wandered across to the other side of the house, his gloom visiblydeepened. All alone in a strange school, where they probably playedhopscotch, with a house-master who offered one cups of tea after one'sjourney and talked about chamfered plinths and apses. It was a littlehard. 

He strayed about, finding his bearings, and finally came to a roomwhich he took to be the equivalent of the senior day-room at a Wrykynhouse. Everywhere else he had found nothing but emptiness. Evidentlyhe had come by an earlier train than was usual. But this room wasoccupied. 

A very long, thin youth, with a solemn face and immaculate clothes, was leaning against the mantelpiece. As Mike entered, he fumbled inhis top left waistcoat pocket, produced an eyeglass attached to acord, and fixed it in his right eye. With the help of this aid tovision he inspected Mike in silence for a while, then, having flickedan invisible speck of dust from the left sleeve of his coat, he spoke. 

"Hullo, " he said. 

He spoke in a tired voice. 

"Hullo, " said Mike. 

"Take a seat, " said the immaculate one. "If you don't mind dirtyingyour bags, that's to say. Personally, I don't see any prospect of eversitting down in this place. It looks to me as if they meant to usethese chairs as mustard-and-cress beds. A Nursery Garden in the Home. That sort of idea. My name, " he added pensively, "is Smith. What'syours?"

CHAPTER XXXII

PSMITH

"Jackson, " said Mike. 

"Are you the Bully, the Pride of the School, or the Boy who is LedAstray and takes to Drink in Chapter Sixteen?"

"The last, for choice, " said Mike, "but I've only just arrived, so Idon't know. "

"The boy--what will he become? Are you new here, too, then?"

"Yes! Why, are you new?"

"Do I look as if I belonged here? I'm the latest import. Sit downon yonder settee, and I will tell you the painful story of my life. By the way, before I start, there's just one thing. If you everhave occasion to write to me, would you mind sticking a P at thebeginning of my name? P-s-m-i-t-h. See? There are too many Smiths, and I don't care for Smythe. My father's content to worry along inthe old-fashioned way, but I've decided to strike out a fresh line. I shall found a new dynasty. The resolve came to me unexpectedly thismorning, as I was buying a simple penn'orth of butterscotch out ofthe automatic machine at Paddington. I jotted it down on the back ofan envelope. In conversation you may address me as Rupert (though Ihope you won't), or simply Smith, the P not being sounded. Cp. Thename Zbysco, in which the Z is given a similar miss-in-baulk. See?"

Mike said he saw. Psmith thanked him with a certain stately old-worldcourtesy. 

"Let us start at the beginning, " he resumed. "My infancy. When I wasbut a babe, my eldest sister was bribed with a shilling an hour by mynurse to keep an rye on me, and see that I did not raise Cain. At theend of the first day she struck for one-and six, and got it. We nowpass to my boyhood. At an early age, I was sent to Eton, everybodypredicting a bright career for me. But, " said Psmith solemnly, fixingan owl-like gaze on Mike through the eye-glass, "it was not to be. "

"No?" said Mike. 

"No. I was superannuated last term. "

"Bad luck. "

"For Eton, yes. But what Eton loses, Sedleigh gains. "

"But why Sedleigh, of all places?"

"This is the most painful part of my narrative. It seems that acertain scug in the next village to ours happened last year to collara Balliol----"

"Not Barlitt!" exclaimed Mike. 

"That was the man. The son of the vicar. The vicar told the curate, who told our curate, who told our vicar, who told my father, who sentme off here to get a Balliol too. Do _you_ know Barlitt?"

"His pater's vicar of our village. It was because his son got aBalliol that I was sent here. "

"Do you come from Crofton?"

"Yes. "

"I've lived at Lower Benford all my life. We are practically long-lostbrothers. Cheer a little, will you?"

Mike felt as Robinson Crusoe felt when he met Friday. Here was afellow human being in this desert place. He could almost have embracedPsmith. The very sound of the name Lower Benford was heartening. Hisdislike for his new school was not diminished, but now he felt thatlife there might at least be tolerable. 

"Where were you before you came here?" asked Psmith. "You have heardmy painful story. Now tell me yours. "

"Wrykyn. My pater took me away because I got such a lot of badreports. "

"My reports from Eton were simply scurrilous. There's a libel actionin every sentence. How do you like this place from what you've seen ofit?"

"Rotten. "

"I am with you, Comrade Jackson. You won't mind my calling youComrade, will you? I've just become a Socialist. It's a great scheme. You ought to be one. You work for the equal distribution of property, and start by collaring all you can and sitting on it. We must sticktogether. We are companions in misfortune. Lost lambs. Sheep that havegone astray. Divided, we fall, together we may worry through. Have youseen Professor Radium yet? I should say Mr. Outwood. What do you thinkof him?"

"He doesn't seem a bad sort of chap. Bit off his nut. Jawed aboutapses and things. "

"And thereby, " said Psmith, "hangs a tale. I've been making inquiriesof a stout sportsman in a sort of Salvation Army uniform, whom I metin the grounds--he's the school sergeant or something, quite a solidman--and I hear that Comrade Outwood's an archaeological cove. Goesabout the country beating up old ruins and fossils and things. There'san Archaeological Society in the school, run by him. It goes out onhalf-holidays, prowling about, and is allowed to break bounds andgenerally steep itself to the eyebrows in reckless devilry. And, mark you, laddie, if you belong to the Archaeological Society youget off cricket. To get off cricket, " said Psmith, dusting his righttrouser-leg, "was the dream of my youth and the aspiration of my riperyears. A noble game, but a bit too thick for me. At Eton I used to haveto field out at the nets till the soles of my boots wore through. Isuppose you are a blood at the game? Play for the school againstLoamshire, and so on. "

"I'm not going to play here, at any rate, " said Mike. 

He had made up his mind on this point in the train. There is a certainfascination about making the very worst of a bad job. Achilles knewhis business when he sat in his tent. The determination not to playcricket for Sedleigh as he could not play for Wrykyn gave Mike a sortof pleasure. To stand by with folded arms and a sombre frown, as itwere, was one way of treating the situation, and one not without itsmeed of comfort. 

Psmith approved the resolve. 

"Stout fellow, " he said. "'Tis well. You and I, hand in hand, willsearch the countryside for ruined abbeys. We will snare the elusivefossil together. Above all, we will go out of bounds. We shall thusimprove our minds, and have a jolly good time as well. I shouldn'twonder if one mightn't borrow a gun from some friendly native, and doa bit of rabbit-shooting here and there. From what I saw of ComradeOutwood during our brief interview, I shouldn't think he was one ofthe lynx-eyed contingent. With tact we ought to be able to slip awayfrom the merry throng of fossil-chasers, and do a bit on our ownaccount. "

"Good idea, " said Mike. "We will. A chap at Wrykyn, called Wyatt, usedto break out at night and shoot at cats with an air-pistol. "

"It would take a lot to make me do that. I am all against anythingthat interferes with my sleep. But rabbits in the daytime is a scheme. We'll nose about for a gun at the earliest opp. Meanwhile we'd bettergo up to Comrade Outwood, and get our names shoved down for theSociety. "

"I vote we get some tea first somewhere. "

"Then let's beat up a study. I suppose they have studies here. Let'sgo and look. "

They went upstairs. On the first floor there was a passage with doorson either side. Psmith opened the first of these. 

"This'll do us well, " he said. 

It was a biggish room, looking out over the school grounds. There werea couple of deal tables, two empty bookcases, and a looking-glass, hung on a nail. 

"Might have been made for us, " said Psmith approvingly. 

"I suppose it belongs to some rotter. "

"Not now. "

"You aren't going to collar it!"

"That, " said Psmith, looking at himself earnestly in the mirror, andstraightening his tie, "is the exact programme. We must stake out ourclaims. This is practical Socialism. "

"But the real owner's bound to turn up some time or other. "

"His misfortune, not ours. You can't expect two master-minds like usto pig it in that room downstairs. There are moments when one wants tobe alone. It is imperative that we have a place to retire to after afatiguing day. And now, if you want to be really useful, come and helpme fetch up my box from downstairs. It's got an Etna and variousthings in it. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

STAKING OUT A CLAIM

Psmith, in the matter of decorating a study and preparing tea in it, was rather a critic than an executant. He was full of ideas, but hepreferred to allow Mike to carry them out. It was he who suggestedthat the wooden bar which ran across the window was unnecessary, butit was Mike who wrenched it from its place. Similarly, it was Mike whoabstracted the key from the door of the next study, though the ideawas Psmith's. 

"Privacy, " said Psmith, as he watched Mike light the Etna, "is what wechiefly need in this age of publicity. If you leave a study doorunlocked in these strenuous times, the first thing you know is, somebody comes right in, sits down, and begins to talk about himself. I think with a little care we ought to be able to make this room quitedecently comfortable. That putrid calendar must come down, though. Do you think you could make a long arm, and haul it off the parenttin-tack? Thanks. We make progress. We make progress. "

"We shall jolly well make it out of the window, " said Mike, spooningup tea from a paper bag with a postcard, "if a sort of youngHackenschmidt turns up and claims the study. What are you going to doabout it?"

"Don't let us worry about it. I have a presentiment that he will be aninsignificant-looking little weed. How are you getting on with theevening meal?"

"Just ready. What would you give to be at Eton now? I'd give somethingto be at Wrykyn. "

"These school reports, " said Psmith sympathetically, "are the verydickens. Many a bright young lad has been soured by them. Hullo. What's this, I wonder. "

A heavy body had plunged against the door, evidently without asuspicion that there would be any resistance. A rattling at the handlefollowed, and a voice outside said, "Dash the door!"

"Hackenschmidt!" said Mike. 

"The weed, " said Psmith. "You couldn't make a long arm, could you, andturn the key? We had better give this merchant audience. Remind melater to go on with my remarks on school reports. I had several brightthings to say on the subject. "

Mike unlocked the door, and flung it open. Framed in the entrance wasa smallish, freckled boy, wearing a bowler hat and carrying a bag. Onhis face was an expression of mingled wrath and astonishment. 

Psmith rose courteously from his chair, and moved forward with slowstateliness to do the honours. 

"What the dickens, " inquired the newcomer, "are you doing here?"

[Illustration: "WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YOU DOING HERE?"]

"We were having a little tea, " said Psmith, "to restore our tissuesafter our journey. Come in and join us. We keep open house, wePsmiths. Let me introduce you to Comrade Jackson. A stout fellow. Homely in appearance, perhaps, but one of us. I am Psmith. Your ownname will doubtless come up in the course of general chit-chat overthe tea-cups. "

"My name's Spiller, and this is my study. "

Psmith leaned against the mantelpiece, put up his eyeglass, andharangued Spiller in a philosophical vein. 

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, " said he, "the saddest are these:'It might have been. ' Too late! That is the bitter cry. If you hadtorn yourself from the bosom of the Spiller family by an earliertrain, all might have been well. But no. Your father held your handand said huskily, 'Edwin, don't leave us!' Your mother clung to youweeping, and said, 'Edwin, stay!' Your sisters----"

"I want to know what----"

"Your sisters froze on to your knees like little octopuses (oroctopi), and screamed, 'Don't go, Edwin!' And so, " said Psmith, deeplyaffected by his recital, "you stayed on till the later train; and, onarrival, you find strange faces in the familiar room, a people thatknow not Spiller. " Psmith went to the table, and cheered himself witha sip of tea. Spiller's sad case had moved him greatly. 

The victim of Fate seemed in no way consoled. 

"It's beastly cheek, that's what I call it. Are you new chaps?"

"The very latest thing, " said Psmith. 

"Well, it's beastly cheek. "

Mike's outlook on life was of the solid, practical order. He wentstraight to the root of the matter. 

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked. 

Spiller evaded the question. 

"It's beastly cheek, " he repeated. "You can't go about the placebagging studies. "

"But we do, " said Psmith. "In this life, Comrade Spiller, we must beprepared for every emergency. We must distinguish between the unusualand the impossible. It is unusual for people to go about the placebagging studies, so you have rashly ordered your life on theassumption that it is impossible. Error! Ah, Spiller, Spiller, letthis be a lesson to you. "

"Look here, I tell you what it----"

"I was in a motor with a man once. I said to him: 'What would happenif you trod on that pedal thing instead of that other pedal thing?' Hesaid, 'I couldn't. One's the foot-brake, and the other's theaccelerator. ' 'But suppose you did?' I said. 'I wouldn't, ' he said. 'Now we'll let her rip. ' So he stamped on the accelerator. Only itturned out to be the foot-brake after all, and we stopped dead, andskidded into a ditch. The advice I give to every young man startinglife is: 'Never confuse the unusual and the impossible. ' Take thepresent case. If you had only realised the possibility of somebodysome day collaring your study, you might have thought out dozens ofsound schemes for dealing with the matter. As it is, you areunprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The cry goes round:'Spiller has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with the situation. '"

"Can't I! I'll----"

"What _are_ you going to do about it?" said Mike. 

"All I know is, I'm going to have it. It was Simpson's last term, andSimpson's left, and I'm next on the house list, so, of course, it's mystudy. "

"But what steps, " said Psmith, "are you going to take? Spiller, theman of Logic, we know. But what of Spiller, the Man of Action? Howdo you intend to set about it? Force is useless. I was saying toComrade Jackson before you came in, that I didn't mind betting youwere an insignificant-looking little weed. And you _are_ aninsignificant-looking little weed. "

"We'll see what Outwood says about it. "

"Not an unsound scheme. By no means a scaly project. Comrade Jacksonand myself were about to interview him upon another point. We may aswell all go together. "

The trio made their way to the Presence, Spiller pink and determined, Mike sullen, Psmith particularly debonair. He hummed lightly as hewalked, and now and then pointed out to Spiller objects of interest bythe wayside. 

Mr. Outwood received them with the motherly warmth which was evidentlythe leading characteristic of his normal manner. 

"Ah, Spiller, " he said. "And Smith, and Jackson. I am glad to see thatyou have already made friends. "

"Spiller's, sir, " said Psmith, laying a hand patronisingly onthe study-claimer's shoulder--a proceeding violently resented bySpiller--"is a character one cannot help but respect. His natureexpands before one like some beautiful flower. "

Mr. Outwood received this eulogy with rather a startled expression, and gazed at the object of the tribute in a surprised way. 

"Er--quite so, Smith, quite so, " he said at last. "I like to see boysin my house friendly towards one another. "

"There is no vice in Spiller, " pursued Psmith earnestly. "His heart isthe heart of a little child. "

"Please, sir, " burst out this paragon of all the virtues, "I----"

"But it was not entirely with regard to Spiller that I wished to speakto you, sir, if you were not too busy. "

"Not at all, Smith, not at all. Is there anything----"

"Please, sir--" began Spiller. 

"I understand, sir, " said Psmith, "that there is an ArchaeologicalSociety in the school. "

Mr. Outwood's eyes sparkled behind their pince-nez. It was adisappointment to him that so few boys seemed to wish to belong to hischosen band. Cricket and football, games that left him cold, appearedto be the main interest in their lives. It was but rarely that hecould induce new boys to join. His colleague, Mr. Downing, whopresided over the School Fire Brigade, never had any difficulty infinding support. Boys came readily at his call. Mr. Outwood ponderedwistfully on this at times, not knowing that the Fire Brigade owed itssupport to the fact that it provided its light-hearted members withperfectly unparalleled opportunities for ragging, while his own band, though small, were in the main earnest. 

"Yes, Smith. " he said. "Yes. We have a small Archaeological Society. I--er--in a measure look after it. Perhaps you would care to become amember?"

"Please, sir--" said Spiller. 

"One moment, Spiller. Do you want to join, Smith?"

"Intensely, sir. Archaeology fascinates me. A grand pursuit, sir. "

"Undoubtedly, Smith. I am very pleased, very pleased indeed. I willput down your name at once. "

"And Jackson's, sir. "

"Jackson, too!" Mr. Outwood beamed. "I am delighted. Most delighted. This is capital. This enthusiasm is most capital. "

"Spiller, sir, " said Psmith sadly, "I have been unable to induce tojoin. "

"Oh, he is one of our oldest members. "

"Ah, " said Psmith, tolerantly, "that accounts for it. "

"Please, sir--" said Spiller. 

"One moment, Spiller. We shall have the first outing of the term onSaturday. We intend to inspect the Roman Camp at Embury Hill, twomiles from the school. "

"We shall be there, sir. "

"Capital!"

"Please, sir--" said Spiller. 

"One moment, Spiller, " said Psmith. "There is just one other matter, if you could spare the time, sir. "

"Certainly, Smith. What is that?"

"Would there be any objection to Jackson and myself taking Simpson'sold study?"

"By all means, Smith. A very good idea. "

"Yes, sir. It would give us a place where we could work quietly in theevenings. "

"Quite so. Quite so. "

"Thank you very much, sir. We will move our things in. "

"Thank you very much, sir, " said Mike. 

"Please, sir, " shouted Spiller, "aren't I to have it? I'm next on thelist, sir. I come next after Simpson. Can't I have it?"

"I'm afraid I have already promised it to Smith, Spiller. You shouldhave spoken before. "

"But, sir----"

Psmith eyed the speaker pityingly. 

"This tendency to delay, Spiller, " he said, "is your besetting fault. Correct it, Edwin. Fight against it. "

He turned to Mr. Outwood. 

"We should, of course, sir, always be glad to see Spiller in ourstudy. He would always find a cheery welcome waiting there for him. There is no formality between ourselves and Spiller. "

"Quite so. An excellent arrangement, Smith. I like this spirit ofcomradeship in my house. Then you will be with us on Saturday?"

"On Saturday, sir. "

"All this sort of thing, Spiller, " said Psmith, as they closed thedoor, "is very, very trying for a man of culture. Look us up in ourstudy one of these afternoons. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

GUERRILLA WARFARE

"There are few pleasures, " said Psmith, as he resumed his favouriteposition against the mantelpiece and surveyed the commandeered studywith the pride of a householder, "keener to the reflective mind thansitting under one's own roof-tree. This place would have been wastedon Spiller; he would not have appreciated it properly. "

Mike was finishing his tea. "You're a jolly useful chap to have by youin a crisis, Smith, " he said with approval. "We ought to have knowneach other before. "

"The loss was mine, " said Psmith courteously. "We will now, with yourpermission, face the future for awhile. I suppose you realise that weare now to a certain extent up against it. Spiller's hot Spanish bloodis not going to sit tight and do nothing under a blow like this. "

"What can he do? Outwood's given us the study. "

"What would you have done if somebody had bagged your study?"

"Made it jolly hot for them!"

"So will Comrade Spiller. I take it that he will collect a gang andmake an offensive movement against us directly he can. To allappearances we are in a fairly tight place. It all depends on how bigComrade Spiller's gang will be. I don't like rows, but I'm prepared totake on a reasonable number of bravoes in defence of the home. "

Mike intimated that he was with him on the point. "The difficulty is, though, " he said, "about when we leave this room. I mean, we're allright while we stick here, but we can't stay all night. "

"That's just what I was about to point out when you put it with suchadmirable clearness. Here we are in a stronghold, they can only get atus through the door, and we can lock that. "

"And jam a chair against it. "

"_And_, as you rightly remark, jam a chair against it. But whatof the nightfall? What of the time when we retire to our dormitory?"

"Or dormitories. I say, if we're in separate rooms we shall be in thecart. "

Psmith eyed Mike with approval. "He thinks of everything! You're theman, Comrade Jackson, to conduct an affair of this kind--suchforesight! such resource! We must see to this at once; if they put usin different rooms we're done--we shall be destroyed singly in thewatches of the night. "

"We'd better nip down to the matron right off. "

"Not the matron--Comrade Outwood is the man. We are as sons to him;there is nothing he can deny us. I'm afraid we are quite spoiling hisafternoon by these interruptions, but we must rout him out once more. "

As they got up, the door handle rattled again, and this time therefollowed a knocking. 

"This must be an emissary of Comrade Spiller's, " said Psmith. "Let usparley with the man. "

Mike unlocked the door. A light-haired youth with a cheerful, rathervacant face and a receding chin strolled into the room, and stoodgiggling with his hands in his pockets. 

"I just came up to have a look at you, " he explained. 

"If you move a little to the left, " said Psmith, "you will catch thelight and shade effects on Jackson's face better. "

The new-comer giggled with renewed vigour. "Are you the chap with theeyeglass who jaws all the time?"

"I _do_ wear an eyeglass, " said Psmith; "as to the rest of thedescription----"

"My name's Jellicoe. "

"Mine is Psmith--P-s-m-i-t-h--one of the Shropshire Psmiths. Theobject on the skyline is Comrade Jackson. "

"Old Spiller, " giggled Jellicoe, "is cursing you like anythingdownstairs. You _are_ chaps! Do you mean to say you simply baggedhis study? He's making no end of a row about it. "

"Spiller's fiery nature is a byword, " said Psmith. 

"What's he going to do?" asked Mike, in his practical way. 

"He's going to get the chaps to turn you out. "

"As I suspected, " sighed Psmith, as one mourning over the frailty ofhuman nature. "About how many horny-handed assistants should you saythat he would be likely to bring? Will you, for instance, join theglad throng?"

"Me? No fear! I think Spiller's an ass. "

"There's nothing like a common thought for binding people together. _I_ think Spiller's an ass. "

"How many _will_ there be, then?" asked Mike. 

"He might get about half a dozen, not more, because most of the chapsdon't see why they should sweat themselves just because Spiller'sstudy has been bagged. "

"Sturdy common sense, " said Psmith approvingly, "seems to be the chiefvirtue of the Sedleigh character. "

"We shall be able to tackle a crowd like that, " said Mike. "The onlything is we must get into the same dormitory. "

"This is where Comrade Jellicoe's knowledge of the local geographywill come in useful. Do you happen to know of any snug little room, with, say, about four beds in it? How many dormitories are there?"

"Five--there's one with three beds in it, only it belongs to threechaps. "

"I believe in the equal distribution of property. We will go toComrade Outwood and stake out another claim. "

Mr. Outwood received them even more beamingly than before. "Yes, Smith?" he said. 

"We must apologise for disturbing you, sir----"

"Not at all, Smith, not at all! I like the boys in my house to come tome when they wish for my advice or help. "

"We were wondering, sir, if you would have any objection to Jackson, Jellicoe and myself sharing the dormitory with the three beds in it. Avery warm friendship--" explained Psmith, patting the gurglingJellicoe kindly on the shoulder, "has sprung up between Jackson, Jellicoe and myself. "

"You make friends easily, Smith. I like to see it--I like to see it. "

"And we can have the room, sir?"

"Certainly--certainly! Tell the matron as you go down. "

"And now, " said Psmith, as they returned to the study, "we may saythat we are in a fairly winning position. A vote of thanks to ComradeJellicoe for his valuable assistance. "

"You _are_ a chap!" said Jellicoe. 

The handle began to revolve again. 

"That door, " said Psmith, "is getting a perfect incubus! It cuts intoone's leisure cruelly. "

This time it was a small boy. "They told me to come up and tell you tocome down, " he said. 

Psmith looked at him searchingly through his eyeglass. 

"Who?"

"The senior day-room chaps. "

"Spiller?"

"Spiller and Robinson and Stone, and some other chaps. "

"They want us to speak to them?"

"They told me to come up and tell you to come down. "

"Go and give Comrade Spiller our compliments and say that we can'tcome down, but shall be delighted to see him up here. Things, " hesaid, as the messenger departed, "are beginning to move. Better leavethe door open, I think; it will save trouble. Ah, come in, ComradeSpiller, what can we do for you?"

Spiller advanced into the study; the others waited outside, crowdingin the doorway. 

"Look here, " said Spiller, "are you going to clear out of here ornot?"

"After Mr. Outwood's kindly thought in giving us the room? You suggesta black and ungrateful action, Comrade Spiller. "

"You'll get it hot, if you don't. "

"We'll risk it, " said Mike. 

Jellicoe giggled in the background; the drama in the atmosphereappealed to him. His was a simple and appreciative mind. 

"Come on, you chaps, " cried Spiller suddenly. 

There was an inward rush on the enemy's part, but Mike had beenwatching. He grabbed Spiller by the shoulders and ran him back againstthe advancing crowd. For a moment the doorway was blocked, then theweight and impetus of Mike and Spiller prevailed, the enemy gave back, and Mike, stepping into the room again, slammed the door and lockedit. 

"A neat piece of work, " said Psmith approvingly, adjusting his tie atthe looking-glass. "The preliminaries may now be considered over, thefirst shot has been fired. The dogs of war are now loose. "

A heavy body crashed against the door. 

"They'll have it down, " said Jellicoe. 

"We must act, Comrade Jackson! Might I trouble you just to turn thatkey quietly, and the handle, and then to stand by for the nextattack. "

There was a scrambling of feet in the passage outside, and then arepetition of the onslaught on the door. This time, however, the door, instead of resisting, swung open, and the human battering-ramstaggered through into the study. Mike, turning after re-locking thedoor, was just in time to see Psmith, with a display of energy ofwhich one would not have believed him capable, grip the invaderscientifically by an arm and a leg. 

Mike jumped to help, but it was needless; the captive was alreadyon the window-sill. As Mike arrived, Psmith dropped him on to theflower-bed below. 

Psmith closed the window gently and turned to Jellicoe. "Who was ourguest?" he asked, dusting the knees of his trousers where they hadpressed against the wall. 

"Robinson. I say, you _are_ a chap!"

"Robinson, was it? Well, we are always glad to see Comrade Robinson, always. I wonder if anybody else is thinking of calling?"

Apparently frontal attack had been abandoned. Whisperings could beheard in the corridor. 

Somebody hammered on the door. 

"Yes?" called Psmith patiently. 

"You'd better come out, you know; you'll only get it hotter if youdon't. "

"Leave us, Spiller; we would be alone. "

A bell rang in the distance. 

"Tea, " said Jellicoe; "we shall have to go now. "

"They won't do anything till after tea, I shouldn't think, " said Mike. "There's no harm in going out. "

The passage was empty when they opened the door; the call to food wasevidently a thing not to be treated lightly by the enemy. 

In the dining-room the beleaguered garrison were the object of generalattention. Everybody turned to look at them as they came in. It wasplain that the study episode had been a topic of conversation. Spiller's face was crimson, and Robinson's coat-sleeve still boretraces of garden mould. 

Mike felt rather conscious of the eyes, but Psmith was in his element. His demeanour throughout the meal was that of some whimsical monarchcondescending for a freak to revel with his humble subjects. 

Towards the end of the meal Psmith scribbled a note and passed it toMike. It read: "Directly this is over, nip upstairs as quickly as youcan. "

Mike followed the advice; they were first out of the room. When theyhad been in the study a few moments, Jellicoe knocked at the door. "Lucky you two cut away so quick, " he said. "They were going to tryand get you into the senior day-room and scrag you there. "

"This, " said Psmith, leaning against the mantelpiece, "is exciting, but it can't go on. We have got for our sins to be in this place for awhole term, and if we are going to do the Hunted Fawn business all thetime, life in the true sense of the word will become an impossibility. My nerves are so delicately attuned that the strain would simply reducethem to hash. We are not prepared to carry on a long campaign--the thingmust be settled at once. "

"Shall we go down to the senior day-room, and have it out?" said Mike. 

"No, we will play the fixture on our own ground. I think we may takeit as tolerably certain that Comrade Spiller and his hired ruffianswill try to corner us in the dormitory to-night. Well, of course, wecould fake up some sort of barricade for the door, but then we shouldhave all the trouble over again to-morrow and the day after that. Personally I don't propose to be chivvied about indefinitely likethis, so I propose that we let them come into the dormitory, and seewhat happens. Is this meeting with me?"

"I think that's sound, " said Mike. "We needn't drag Jellicoe into it. "

"As a matter of fact--if you don't mind--" began that man of peace. 

"Quite right, " said Psmith; "this is not Comrade Jellicoe's scene atall; he has got to spend the term in the senior day-room, whereas wehave our little wooden _châlet_ to retire to in times of stress. Comrade Jellicoe must stand out of the game altogether. We shall beglad of his moral support, but otherwise, _ne pas_. And now, asthere won't be anything doing till bedtime, I think I'll collar thistable and write home and tell my people that all is well with theirRupert. "

CHAPTER XXXV

UNPLEASANTNESS IN THE SMALL HOURS

Jellicoe, that human encyclopaedia, consulted on the probablemovements of the enemy, deposed that Spiller, retiring at ten, wouldmake for Dormitory One in the same passage, where Robinson also had abed. The rest of the opposing forces were distributed among other andmore distant rooms. It was probable, therefore, that Dormitory Onewould be the rendezvous. As to the time when an attack might beexpected, it was unlikely that it would occur before half-past eleven. Mr. Outwood went the round of the dormitories at eleven. 

"And touching, " said Psmith, "the matter of noise, must this businessbe conducted in a subdued and _sotto voce_ manner, or may we letourselves go a bit here and there?"

"I shouldn't think old Outwood's likely to hear you--he sleeps milesaway on the other side of the house. He never hears anything. We oftenrag half the night and nothing happens. "

This appears to be a thoroughly nice, well-conducted establishment. What would my mother say if she could see her Rupert in the midst ofthese reckless youths!"

"All the better, " said Mike; "we don't want anybody butting in andstopping the show before it's half started. "

"Comrade Jackson's Berserk blood is up--I can hear it sizzling. Iquite agree these things are all very disturbing and painful, but it'sas well to do them thoroughly when one's once in for them. Is therenobody else who might interfere with our gambols?"

"Barnes might, " said Jellicoe, "only he won't. "

"Who is Barnes?"

"Head of the house--a rotter. He's in a funk of Stone and Robinson;they rag him; he'll simply sit tight. "

"Then I think, " said Psmith placidly, "we may look forward to a verypleasant evening. Shall we be moving?"

Mr. Outwood paid his visit at eleven, as predicted by Jellicoe, beaming vaguely into the darkness over a candle, and disappearedagain, closing the door. 

"How about that door?" said Mike. "Shall we leave it open for them?"

"Not so, but far otherwise. If it's shut we shall hear them at it whenthey come. Subject to your approval, Comrade Jackson, I have evolvedthe following plan of action. I always ask myself on these occasions, 'What would Napoleon have done?' I think Napoleon would have sat in achair by his washhand-stand, which is close to the door; he would haveposted you by your washhand-stand, and he would have instructedComrade Jellicoe, directly he heard the door-handle turned, to givehis celebrated imitation of a dormitory breathing heavily in itssleep. He would then----"

"I tell you what, " said Mike, "how about tying a string at the top ofthe steps?"

"Yes, Napoleon would have done that, too. Hats off to Comrade Jackson, the man with the big brain!"

The floor of the dormitory was below the level of the door. There werethree steps leading down to it. Psmith lit a candle and they examinedthe ground. The leg of a wardrobe and the leg of Jellicoe's bed madeit possible for the string to be fastened in a satisfactory manneracross the lower step. Psmith surveyed the result with approval. 

"Dashed neat!" he said. "Practically the sunken road which dished theCuirassiers at Waterloo. I seem to see Comrade Spiller coming one ofthe finest purlers in the world's history. "

"If they've got a candle----"

"They won't have. If they have, stand by with your water-jug and douseit at once; then they'll charge forward and all will be well. If theyhave no candle, fling the water at a venture--fire into the brown!Lest we forget, I'll collar Comrade Jellicoe's jug now and keep ithandy. A couple of sheets would also not be amiss--we will enmesh theenemy!"

"Right ho!" said Mike. 

"These humane preparations being concluded, " said Psmith, "we willretire to our posts and wait. Comrade Jellicoe, don't forget tobreathe like an asthmatic sheep when you hear the door opened; theymay wait at the top of the steps, listening. "

"You _are_ a chap!" said Jellicoe. 

Waiting in the dark for something to happen is always a tryingexperience, especially if, as on this occasion, silence is essential. Mike found his thoughts wandering back to the vigil he had kept withMr. Wain at Wrykyn on the night when Wyatt had come in through thewindow and found authority sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Mikewas tired after his journey, and he had begun to doze when he wasjerked back to wakefulness by the stealthy turning of the door-handle;the faintest rustle from Psmith's direction followed, and a slightgiggle, succeeded by a series of deep breaths, showed that Jellicoe, too, had heard the noise. 

There was a creaking sound. 

It was pitch-dark in the dormitory, but Mike could follow the invaders'movements as clearly as if it had been broad daylight. They had openedthe door and were listening. Jellicoe's breathing grew more asthmatic;he was flinging himself into his part with the whole-heartedness of thetrue artist. 

The creak was followed by a sound of whispering, then another creak. The enemy had advanced to the top step.... Another creak.... Thevanguard had reached the second step.... In another moment----

CRASH!

And at that point the proceedings may be said to have formally opened. 

A struggling mass bumped against Mike's shins as he rose from hischair; he emptied his jug on to this mass, and a yell of anguishshowed that the contents had got to the right address. 

Then a hand grabbed his ankle and he went down, a million sparksdancing before his eyes as a fist, flying out at a venture, caught himon the nose. 

Mike had not been well-disposed towards the invaders before, but nowhe ran amok, hitting out right and left at random. His right missed, but his left went home hard on some portion of somebody's anatomy. Akick freed his ankle and he staggered to his feet. At the same momenta sudden increase in the general volume of noise spoke eloquently ofgood work that was being put in by Psmith. 

Even at that crisis, Mike could not help feeling that if a row of thiscalibre did not draw Mr. Outwood from his bed, he must be an unusualkind of house-master. 

He plunged forward again with outstretched arms, and stumbled and fellover one of the on-the-floor section of the opposing force. Theyseized each other earnestly and rolled across the room till Mike, contriving to secure his adversary's head, bumped it on the floor withsuch abandon that, with a muffled yell, the other let go, and for thesecond time he rose. As he did so he was conscious of a curiousthudding sound that made itself heard through the other assortednoises of the battle. 

All this time the fight had gone on in the blackest darkness, but nowa light shone on the proceedings. Interested occupants of otherdormitories, roused from their slumbers, had come to observe thesport. They were crowding in the doorway with a candle. 

By the light of this Mike got a swift view of the theatre of war. Theenemy appeared to number five. The warrior whose head Mike had bumpedon the floor was Robinson, who was sitting up feeling his skull in agingerly fashion. To Mike's right, almost touching him, was Stone. Inthe direction of the door, Psmith, wielding in his right hand the cordof a dressing-gown, was engaging the remaining three with a patientsmile. They were clad in pyjamas, and appeared to be feeling thedressing-gown cord acutely. 

The sudden light dazed both sides momentarily. The defence was thefirst to recover, Mike, with a swing, upsetting Stone, and Psmith, having seized and emptied Jellicoe's jug over Spiller, getting to workagain with the cord in a manner that roused the utmost enthusiasm ofthe spectators. 

[Illustration: PSMITH SEIZED AND EMPTIED JELLICOE'S JUG OVER SPILLER]

Agility seemed to be the leading feature of Psmith's tactics. He waseverywhere--on Mike's bed, on his own, on Jellicoe's (drawing apassionate complaint from that non-combatant, on whose face heinadvertently trod), on the floor--he ranged the room, sowingdestruction. 

The enemy were disheartened; they had started with the idea that thiswas to be a surprise attack, and it was disconcerting to find thegarrison armed at all points. Gradually they edged to the door, and afinal rush sent them through. 

"Hold the door for a second, " cried Psmith, and vanished. Mike wasalone in the doorway. 

It was a situation which exactly suited his frame of mind; he stoodalone in direct opposition to the community into which Fate hadpitchforked him so abruptly. He liked the feeling; for the first timesince his father had given him his views upon school reports thatmorning in the Easter holidays, he felt satisfied with life. He hoped, outnumbered as he was, that the enemy would come on again and not givethe thing up in disgust; he wanted more. 

On an occasion like this there is rarely anything approachingconcerted action on the part of the aggressors. When the attack came, it was not a combined attack; Stone, who was nearest to the door, madea sudden dash forward, and Mike hit him under the chin. 

Stone drew back, and there was another interval for rest andreflection. 

It was interrupted by the reappearance of Psmith, who strolled backalong the passage swinging his dressing-gown cord as if it were someclouded cane. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Comrade Jackson, " he said politely. "Dutycalled me elsewhere. With the kindly aid of a guide who knows the lieof the land, I have been making a short tour of the dormitories. Ihave poured divers jugfuls of water over Comrade Spiller's bed, Comrade Robinson's bed, Comrade Stone's--Spiller, Spiller, these areharsh words; where you pick them up I can't think--not from me. Well, well, I suppose there must be an end to the pleasantest of functions. Good-night, good-night. "

The door closed behind Mike and himself. For ten minutes shufflingsand whisperings went on in the corridor, but nobody touched thehandle. 

Then there was a sound of retreating footsteps, and silence reigned. 

On the following morning there was a notice on the house-board. Itran:

 INDOOR GAMES

 Dormitory-raiders are informed that in future neither Mr. Psmith nor Mr. Jackson will be at home to visitors. This nuisance must now cease. 

 R. PSMITH. M. JACKSON. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

ADAIR

On the same morning Mike met Adair for the first time. 

He was going across to school with Psmith and Jellicoe, when a groupof three came out of the gate of the house next door. 

"That's Adair, " said Jellicoe, "in the middle. "

His voice had assumed a tone almost of awe. 

"Who's Adair?" asked Mike. 

"Captain of cricket, and lots of other things. "

Mike could only see the celebrity's back. He had broad shoulders andwiry, light hair, almost white. He walked well, as if he were used torunning. Altogether a fit-looking sort of man. Even Mike's jaundicedeye saw that. 

As a matter of fact, Adair deserved more than a casual glance. He wasthat rare type, the natural leader. Many boys and men, if accident, orthe passage of time, places them in a position where they are expectedto lead, can handle the job without disaster; but that is a verydifferent thing from being a born leader. Adair was of the sort thatcomes to the top by sheer force of character and determination. Hewas not naturally clever at work, but he had gone at it with a doggedresolution which had carried him up the school, and landed him high inthe Sixth. As a cricketer he was almost entirely self-taught. Naturehad given him a good eye, and left the thing at that. Adair'sdoggedness had triumphed over her failure to do her work thoroughly. At the cost of more trouble than most people give to their life-workhe had made himself into a bowler. He read the authorities, andwatched first-class players, and thought the thing out on his ownaccount, and he divided the art of bowling into three sections. First, and most important--pitch. Second on the list--break. Third--pace. Heset himself to acquire pitch. He acquired it. Bowling at his own paceand without any attempt at break, he could now drop the ball on anenvelope seven times out of ten. 

Break was a more uncertain quantity. Sometimes he could get it at theexpense of pitch, sometimes at the expense of pace. Some days he couldget all three, and then he was an uncommonly bad man to face onanything but a plumb wicket. 

Running he had acquired in a similar manner. He had nothingapproaching style, but he had twice won the mile and half-mile at theSports off elegant runners, who knew all about stride and the correcttiming of the sprints and all the rest of it. 

Briefly, he was a worker. He had heart. 

A boy of Adair's type is always a force in a school. In a big publicschool of six or seven hundred, his influence is felt less; but in asmall school like Sedleigh he is like a tidal wave, sweeping allbefore him. There were two hundred boys at Sedleigh, and there was notone of them in all probability who had not, directly or indirectly, been influenced by Adair. As a small boy his sphere was not large, butthe effects of his work began to be apparent even then. It is humannature to want to get something which somebody else obviously valuesvery much; and when it was observed by members of his form that Adairwas going to great trouble and inconvenience to secure a place in theform eleven or fifteen, they naturally began to think, too, that itwas worth being in those teams. The consequence was that his formalways played hard. This made other forms play hard. And the netresult was that, when Adair succeeded to the captaincy of footballand cricket in the same year, Sedleigh, as Mr. Downing, Adair'shouse-master and the nearest approach to a cricket-master thatSedleigh possessed, had a fondness for saying, was a keen school. As a whole, it both worked and played with energy. 

All it wanted now was opportunity. 

This Adair was determined to give it. He had that passionate fondnessfor his school which every boy is popularly supposed to have, butwhich really is implanted in about one in every thousand. The averagepublic-school boy _likes_ his school. He hopes it will lickBedford at footer and Malvern at cricket, but he rather bets it won't. He is sorry to leave, and he likes going back at the end of theholidays, but as for any passionate, deep-seated love of the place, hewould think it rather bad form than otherwise. If anybody came up tohim, slapped him on the back, and cried, "Come along, Jenkins, my boy!Play up for the old school, Jenkins! The dear old school! The oldplace you love so!" he would feel seriously ill. 

Adair was the exception. 

To Adair, Sedleigh was almost a religion. Both his parents were dead;his guardian, with whom he spent the holidays, was a man withneuralgia at one end of him and gout at the other; and the only reallypleasant times Adair had had, as far back as he could remember, heowed to Sedleigh. The place had grown on him, absorbed him. WhereMike, violently transplanted from Wrykyn, saw only a wretched littlehole not to be mentioned in the same breath with Wrykyn, Adair, dreaming of the future, saw a colossal establishment, a public schoolamong public schools, a lump of human radium, shooting out Blues andBalliol Scholars year after year without ceasing. 

It would not be so till long after he was gone and forgotten, but hedid not mind that. His devotion to Sedleigh was purely unselfish. Hedid not want fame. All he worked for was that the school should growand grow, keener and better at games and more prosperous year by year, till it should take its rank among _the_ schools, and to be anOld Sedleighan should be a badge passing its owner everywhere. 

"He's captain of cricket and footer, " said Jellicoe impressively. "He's in the shooting eight. He's won the mile and half two yearsrunning. He would have boxed at Aldershot last term, only he sprainedhis wrist. And he plays fives jolly well!"

"Sort of little tin god, " said Mike, taking a violent dislike to Adairfrom that moment. 

Mike's actual acquaintance with this all-round man dated from thedinner-hour that day. Mike was walking to the house with Psmith. Psmith was a little ruffled on account of a slight passage-of-arms hehad had with his form-master during morning school. 

"'There's a P before the Smith, ' I said to him. 'Ah, P. Smith, I see, 'replied the goat. 'Not Peasmith, ' I replied, exercising wonderfulself-restraint, 'just Psmith. ' It took me ten minutes to drive thething into the man's head; and when I _had_ driven it in, he sentme out of the room for looking at him through my eye-glass. ComradeJackson, I fear me we have fallen among bad men. I suspect that we aregoing to be much persecuted by scoundrels. "

"Both you chaps play cricket, I suppose?"

They turned. It was Adair. Seeing him face to face, Mike was aware ofa pair of very bright blue eyes and a square jaw. In any other placeand mood he would have liked Adair at sight. His prejudice, however, against all things Sedleighan was too much for him. "I don't, " he saidshortly. 

"Haven't you _ever_ played?"

"My little sister and I sometimes play with a soft ball at home. "

Adair looked sharply at him. A temper was evidently one of hisnumerous qualities. 

"Oh, " he said. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind turning out thisafternoon and seeing what you can do with a hard ball--if you canmanage without your little sister. "

"I should think the form at this place would be about on a level withhers. But I don't happen to be playing cricket, as I think I toldyou. "

Adair's jaw grew squarer than ever. Mike was wearing a gloomy scowl. 

Psmith joined suavely in the dialogue. 

"My dear old comrades, " he said, "don't let us brawl over this matter. This is a time for the honeyed word, the kindly eye, and the pleasantsmile. Let me explain to Comrade Adair. Speaking for Comrade Jacksonand myself, we should both be delighted to join in the mimic warfareof our National Game, as you suggest, only the fact is, we happen tobe the Young Archaeologists. We gave in our names last night. When youare being carried back to the pavilion after your century againstLoamshire--do you play Loamshire?--we shall be grubbing in the hardground for ruined abbeys. The old choice between Pleasure and Duty, Comrade Adair. A Boy's Cross-Roads. "

"Then you won't play?"

"No, " said Mike. 

"Archaeology, " said Psmith, with a deprecatory wave of the hand, "willbrook no divided allegiance from her devotees. "

Adair turned, and walked on. 

Scarcely had he gone, when another voice hailed them with preciselythe same question. 

"Both you fellows are going to play cricket, eh?"

It was a master. A short, wiry little man with a sharp nose and ageneral resemblance, both in manner and appearance, to an excitablebullfinch. 

"I saw Adair speaking to you. I suppose you will both play. I likeevery new boy to begin at once. The more new blood we have, thebetter. We want keenness here. We are, above all, a keen school. Iwant every boy to be keen. "

"We are, sir, " said Psmith, with fervour. 

"Excellent. "

"On archaeology. "

Mr. Downing--for it was no less a celebrity--started, as one whoperceives a loathly caterpillar in his salad. 

"Archaeology!"

"We gave in our names to Mr. Outwood last night, sir. Archaeology is apassion with us, sir. When we heard that there was a society here, wewent singing about the house. "

"I call it an unnatural pursuit for boys, " said Mr. Downingvehemently. "I don't like it. I tell you I don't like it. It is notfor me to interfere with one of my colleagues on the staff, but I tellyou frankly that in my opinion it is an abominable waste of time for aboy. It gets him into idle, loafing habits. "

"I never loaf, sir, " said Psmith. 

"I was not alluding to you in particular. I was referring to theprinciple of the thing. A boy ought to be playing cricket with otherboys, not wandering at large about the country, probably smoking andgoing into low public-houses. "

"A very wild lot, sir, I fear, the Archaeological Society here, "sighed Psmith, shaking his head. 

"If you choose to waste your time, I suppose I can't hinder you. Butin my opinion it is foolery, nothing else. "

He stumped off. 

"Now _he's_ cross, " said Psmith, looking after him. "I'm afraidwe're getting ourselves disliked here. "

"Good job, too. "

"At any rate, Comrade Outwood loves us. Let's go on and see what sortof a lunch that large-hearted fossil-fancier is going to give us. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

MIKE FINDS OCCUPATION

There was more than one moment during the first fortnight of term whenMike found himself regretting the attitude he had imposed upon himselfwith regard to Sedleighan cricket. He began to realise the eternaltruth of the proverb about half a loaf and no bread. In the firstflush of his resentment against his new surroundings he had refused toplay cricket. And now he positively ached for a game. Any sort of agame. An innings for a Kindergarten _v. _ the Second Eleven of aHome of Rest for Centenarians would have soothed him. There weretimes, when the sun shone, and he caught sight of white flannels on agreen ground, and heard the "plonk" of bat striking ball, when he feltlike rushing to Adair and shouting, "I _will_ be good. I was inthe Wrykyn team three years, and had an average of over fifty the lasttwo seasons. Lead me to the nearest net, and let me feel a bat in myhands again. "

But every time he shrank from such a climb down. It couldn't be done. 

What made it worse was that he saw, after watching behind the netsonce or twice, that Sedleigh cricket was not the childish burlesque ofthe game which he had been rash enough to assume that it must be. Numbers do not make good cricket. They only make the presence of goodcricketers more likely, by the law of averages. 

Mike soon saw that cricket was by no means an unknown art at Sedleigh. Adair, to begin with, was a very good bowler indeed. He was not aBurgess, but Burgess was the only Wrykyn bowler whom, in his threeyears' experience of the school, Mike would have placed above him. Hewas a long way better than Neville-Smith, and Wyatt, and Milton, andthe others who had taken wickets for Wrykyn. 

The batting was not so good, but there were some quite capable men. Barnes, the head of Outwood's, he who preferred not to interfere withStone and Robinson, was a. Mild, rather timid-looking youth--notunlike what Mr. Outwood must have been as a boy--but he knew how tokeep balls out of his wicket. He was a good bat of the old ploddingtype. 

Stone and Robinson themselves, that swash-buckling pair, who nowtreated Mike and Psmith with cold but consistent politeness, were bothfair batsmen, and Stone was a good slow bowler. 

There were other exponents of the game, mostly in Downing's house. 

Altogether, quite worthy colleagues even for a man who had been a starat Wrykyn. 

 * * * * *

One solitary overture Mike made during that first fortnight. He didnot repeat the experiment. It was on a Thursday afternoon, afterschool. The day was warm, but freshened by an almost imperceptiblebreeze. The air was full of the scent of the cut grass which lay inlittle heaps behind the nets. This is the real cricket scent, whichcalls to one like the very voice of the game. 

Mike, as he sat there watching, could stand it no longer. 

He went up to Adair. 

"May I have an innings at this net?" he asked. He was embarrassed andnervous, and was trying not to show it. The natural result was thathis manner was offensively abrupt. 

Adair was taking off his pads after his innings. He looked up. "Thisnet, " it may be observed, was the first eleven net. 

"What?" he said. 

Mike repeated his request. More abruptly this time, from increasedembarrassment. 

"This is the first eleven net, " said Adair coldly. "Go in after Lodgeover there. "

"Over there" was the end net, where frenzied novices were bowling on acorrugated pitch to a red-haired youth with enormous feet, who lookedas if he were taking his first lesson at the game. 

Mike walked away without a word. 

 * * * * *

The Archaeological Society expeditions, even though they carried withthem the privilege of listening to Psmith's views on life, proved buta poor substitute for cricket. Psmith, who had no counter-attractionshouting to him that he ought to be elsewhere, seemed to enjoy themhugely, but Mike almost cried sometimes from boredom. It was notalways possible to slip away from the throng, for Mr. Outwoodevidently looked upon them as among the very faithful, and kept themby his aide. 

Mike on these occasions was silent and jumpy, his brow "sicklied o'erwith the pale cast of care. " But Psmith followed his leader with thepleased and indulgent air of a father whose infant son is showing himround the garden. Psmith's attitude towards archaeological researchstruck a new note in the history of that neglected science. He wasamiable, but patronising. He patronised fossils, and he patronisedruins. If he had been confronted with the Great Pyramid, he would havepatronised that. 

He seemed to be consumed by a thirst for knowledge. 

That this was not altogether a genuine thirst was proved on the thirdexpedition. Mr. Outwood and his band were pecking away at the site ofan old Roman camp. Psmith approached Mike. 

"Having inspired confidence, " he said, "by the docility of ourdemeanour, let us slip away, and brood apart for awhile. Roman camps, to be absolutely accurate, give me the pip. And I never want to seeanother putrid fossil in my life. Let us find some shady nook where aman may lie on his back for a bit. "

Mike, over whom the proceedings connected with the Roman camp had longsince begun to shed a blue depression, offered no opposition, and theystrolled away down the hill. 

Looking back, they saw that the archaeologists were still hard at it. Their departure had passed unnoticed. 

"A fatiguing pursuit, this grubbing for mementoes of the past, " saidPsmith. "And, above all, dashed bad for the knees of the trousers. Mine are like some furrowed field. It's a great grief to a man ofrefinement, I can tell you, Comrade Jackson. Ah, this looks a likelyspot. "

They had passed through a gate into the field beyond. At the furtherend there was a brook, shaded by trees and running with a pleasantsound over pebbles. 

"Thus far, " said Psmith, hitching up the knees of his trousers, andsitting down, "and no farther. We will rest here awhile, and listen tothe music of the brook. In fact, unless you have anything important tosay, I rather think I'll go to sleep. In this busy life of ours thesenaps by the wayside are invaluable. Call me in about an hour. " AndPsmith, heaving the comfortable sigh of the worker who by toil hasearned rest, lay down, with his head against a mossy tree-stump, andclosed his eyes. 

Mike sat on for a few minutes, listening to the water and makingcenturies in his mind, and then, finding this a little dull, he gotup, jumped the brook, and began to explore the wood on the other side. 

He had not gone many yards when a dog emerged suddenly from theundergrowth, and began to bark vigorously at him. 

Mike liked dogs, and, on acquaintance, they always liked him. But whenyou meet a dog in some one else's wood, it is as well not to stop inorder that you may get to understand each other. Mike began to threadhis way back through the trees. 

He was too late. 

"Stop! What the dickens are you doing here?" shouted a voice behindhim. 

In the same situation a few years before, Mike would have carried on, and trusted to speed to save him. But now there seemed a lack ofdignity in the action. He came back to where the man was standing. 

"I'm sorry if I'm trespassing, " he said. "I was just having a lookround. "

"The dickens you--Why, you're Jackson!"

Mike looked at him. He was a short, broad young man with a fairmoustache. Mike knew that he had seen him before somewhere, but hecould not place him. 

"I played against you, for the Free Foresters last summer. In passing, you seem to be a bit of a free forester yourself, dancing in among mynesting pheasants. "

"I'm frightfully sorry. "

"That's all right. Where do you spring from?"

"Of course--I remember you now. You're Prendergast. You madefifty-eight not out. "

"Thanks. I was afraid the only thing you would remember about me wasthat you took a century mostly off my bowling. "

"You ought to have had me second ball, only cover dropped it. "

"Don't rake up forgotten tragedies. How is it you're not at Wrykyn?What are you doing down here?"

"I've left Wrykyn. "

Prendergast suddenly changed the conversation. When a fellow tells youthat he has left school unexpectedly, it is not always tactful toinquire the reason. He began to talk about himself. 

"I hang out down here. I do a little farming and a good deal ofpottering about. "

"Get any cricket?" asked Mike, turning to the subject next his heart. 

"Only village. Very keen, but no great shakes. By the way, how are youoff for cricket now? Have you ever got a spare afternoon?"

Mike's heart leaped. 

"Any Wednesday or Saturday. Look here, I'll tell you how it is. "

And he told how matters stood with him. 

"So, you see, " he concluded, "I'm supposed to be hunting for ruins andthings"--Mike's ideas on the subject of archaeology were vague--"but Icould always slip away. We all start out together, but I could nipback, get on to my bike--I've got it down here--and meet you anywhereyou liked. By Jove, I'm simply dying for a game. I can hardly keep myhands off a bat. "

"I'll give you all you want. What you'd better do is to ride straightto Lower Borlock--that's the name of the place--and I'll meet you onthe ground. Any one will tell you where Lower Borlock is. It's justoff the London road. There's a sign-post where you turn off. Can youcome next Saturday?"

"Rather. I suppose you can fix me up with a bat and pads? I don't wantto bring mine. "

"I'll lend you everything. I say, you know, we can't give you a Wrykynwicket. The Lower Borlock pitch isn't a shirt-front. "

"I'll play on a rockery, if you want me to, " said Mike. 

 * * * * *

"You're going to what?" asked Psmith, sleepily, on being awakened andtold the news. 

"I'm going to play cricket, for a village near here. I say, don't tella soul, will you? I don't want it to get about, or I may get lugged into play for the school. "

"My lips are sealed. I think I'll come and watch you. Cricket Idislike, but watching cricket is one of the finest of Britain's manlysports. I'll borrow Jellicoe's bicycle. "

 * * * * *

That Saturday, Lower Borlock smote the men of Chidford hip and thigh. Their victory was due to a hurricane innings of seventy-five by anew-comer to the team, M. Jackson. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FIRE BRIGADE MEETING

Cricket is the great safety-valve. If you like the game, and are in aposition to play it at least twice a week, life can never be entirelygrey. As time went on, and his average for Lower Borlock reached thefifties and stayed there, Mike began, though he would not haveadmitted it, to enjoy himself. It was not Wrykyn, but it was a verydecent substitute. 

The only really considerable element making for discomfort now was Mr. Downing. By bad luck it was in his form that Mike had been placed onarrival; and Mr. Downing, never an easy form-master to get on with, proved more than usually difficult in his dealings with Mike. 

They had taken a dislike to each other at their first meeting; and itgrew with further acquaintance. To Mike, Mr. Downing was all that amaster ought not to be, fussy, pompous, and openly influenced in hisofficial dealings with his form by his own private likes and dislikes. To Mr. Downing, Mike was simply an unamiable loafer, who did nothingfor the school and apparently had none of the instincts which shouldbe implanted in the healthy boy. Mr. Downing was rather strong on thehealthy boy. 

The two lived in a state of simmering hostility, punctuated atintervals by crises, which usually resulted in Lower Borlock having toplay some unskilled labourer in place of their star batsman, employeddoing "over-time. "

One of the most acute of these crises, and the most important, in thatit was the direct cause of Mike's appearance in Sedleigh cricket, hadto do with the third weekly meeting of the School Fire Brigade. 

It may be remembered that this well-supported institution was underMr. Downing's special care. It was, indeed, his pet hobby and theapple of his eye. 

Just as you had to join the Archaeological Society to secure theesteem of Mr. Outwood, so to become a member of the Fire Brigade was asafe passport to the regard of Mr. Downing. To show a keenness forcricket was good, but to join the Fire Brigade was best of all. The Brigade was carefully organised. At its head was Mr. Downing, a sort of high priest; under him was a captain, and under the captaina vice-captain. These two officials were those sportive allies, Stoneand Robinson, of Outwood's house, who, having perceived at a very earlydate the gorgeous opportunities for ragging which the Brigade offeredto its members, had joined young and worked their way up. 

Under them were the rank and file, about thirty in all, of whomperhaps seven were earnest workers, who looked on the Brigade in theright, or Downing, spirit. The rest were entirely frivolous. 

The weekly meetings were always full of life and excitement. 

At this point it is as well to introduce Sammy to the reader. 

Sammy, short for Sampson, was a young bull-terrier belonging to Mr. Downing. If it is possible for a man to have two apples of his eye, Sammy was the other. He was a large, light-hearted dog with a whitecoat, an engaging expression, the tongue of an ant-eater, and a mannerwhich was a happy blend of hurricane and circular saw. He had longlegs, a tenor voice, and was apparently made of india-rubber. 

Sammy was a great favourite in the school, and a particular friend ofMike's, the Wrykynian being always a firm ally of every dog he metafter two minutes' acquaintance. 

In passing, Jellicoe owned a clock-work rat, much in request duringFrench lessons. 

We will now proceed to the painful details. 

 * * * * *

The meetings of the Fire Brigade were held after school in Mr. Downing's form-room. The proceedings always began in the same way, bythe reading of the minutes of the last meeting. After that theentertainment varied according to whether the members happened to befertile or not in ideas for the disturbing of the peace. 

To-day they were in very fair form. 

As soon as Mr. Downing had closed the minute-book, Wilson, of theSchool House, held up his hand. 

"Well, Wilson?"

"Please, sir, couldn't we have a uniform for the Brigade?"

"A uniform?" Mr. Downing pondered

"Red, with green stripes, sir, "

Red, with a thin green stripe, was the Sedleigh colour. 

"Shall I put it to the vote, sir?" asked Stone. 

"One moment, Stone. "

"Those in favour of the motion move to the left, those against it tothe right. "

A scuffling of feet, a slamming of desk-lids and an upset blackboard, and the meeting had divided. 

Mr. Downing rapped irritably on his desk. 

"Sit down!" he said, "sit down! I won't have this noise anddisturbance. Stone, sit down--Wilson, get back to your place. "

"Please, sir, the motion is carried by twenty-five votes to six. "

"Please, sir, may I go and get measured this evening?"

"Please, sir----"

"Si-_lence_! The idea of a uniform is, of course, out of thequestion. "

"Oo-oo-oo-oo, sir-r-r!"

"Be _quiet!_ Entirely out of the question. We cannot plunge intoneedless expense. Stone, listen to me. I cannot have this noise anddisturbance! Another time when a point arises it must be settled by ashow of hands. Well, Wilson?"

"Please, sir, may we have helmets?"

"Very useful as a protection against falling timbers, sir, " saidRobinson. 

"I don't think my people would be pleased, sir, if they knew I wasgoing out to fires without a helmet, " said Stone. 

The whole strength of the company: "Please, sir, may we have helmets?"

"Those in favour--" began Stone. 

Mr. Downing banged on his desk. "Silence! Silence!! Silence!!! Helmetsare, of course, perfectly preposterous. "

"Oo-oo-oo-oo, sir-r-r!"

"But, sir, the danger!"

"Please, sir, the falling timbers!"

The Fire Brigade had been in action once and once only in the memoryof man, and that time it was a haystack which had burnt itself outjust as the rescuers had succeeded in fastening the hose to thehydrant. 

"Silence!"

"Then, please, sir, couldn't we have an honour cap? It wouldn't beexpensive, and it would be just as good as a helmet for all thetimbers that are likely to fall on our heads. "

Mr. Downing smiled a wry smile. 

"Our Wilson is facetious, " he remarked frostily. 

"Sir, no, sir! I wasn't facetious! Or couldn't we have footer-tops, like the first fifteen have? They----"

"Wilson, leave the room!"

"Sir, _please_, sir!"

"This moment, Wilson. And, " as he reached the door, "do me one hundredlines. "

A pained "OO-oo-oo, sir-r-r, " was cut off by the closing door. 

Mr. Downing proceeded to improve the occasion. "I deplore this growingspirit of flippancy, " he said. "I tell you I deplore it! It is notright! If this Fire Brigade is to be of solid use, there must be lessof this flippancy. We must have keenness. I want you boys above all tobe keen. I--What is that noise?"

From the other side of the door proceeded a sound like water gurglingfrom a bottle, mingled with cries half-suppressed, as if somebody werebeing prevented from uttering them by a hand laid over his mouth. Thesufferer appeared to have a high voice. 

There was a tap at the door and Mike walked in. He was not alone. Those near enough to see, saw that he was accompanied by Jellicoe'sclock-work rat, which moved rapidly over the floor in the direction ofthe opposite wall. 

"May I fetch a book from my desk, sir?" asked Mike. 

"Very well--be quick, Jackson; we are busy. "

Being interrupted in one of his addresses to the Brigade irritated Mr. Downing. 

The muffled cries grew more distinct. 

"What--is--that--noise?" shrilled Mr. Downing. 

"Noise, sir?" asked Mike, puzzled. 

"I think it's something outside the window, sir, " said Stonehelpfully. 

"A bird, I think, sir, " said Robinson. 

"Don't be absurd!" snapped Mr. Downing. "It's outside the door. Wilson!"

"Yes, sir?" said a voice "off. "

"Are you making that whining noise?"

"Whining noise, sir? No, sir, I'm not making a whining noise. "

"What _sort_ of noise, sir?" inquired Mike, as many Wrykynianshad asked before him. It was a question invented by Wrykyn for use injust such a case as this. 

"I do not propose, " said Mr. Downing acidly, "to imitate the noise;you can all hear it perfectly plainly. It is a curious whining noise. "

"They are mowing the cricket field, sir, " said the invisible Wilson. "Perhaps that's it. "

"It may be one of the desks squeaking, sir, " put in Stone. "They dosometimes. "

"Or somebody's boots, sir, " added Robinson. 

"Silence! Wilson?"

"Yes, sir?" bellowed the unseen one. 

"Don't shout at me from the corridor like that. Come in. "

"Yes, sir!"

As he spoke the muffled whining changed suddenly to a series of tenorshrieks, and the india-rubber form of Sammy bounded into the room likean excited kangaroo. 

Willing hands had by this time deflected the clockwork rat from thewall to which it had been steering, and pointed it up the alley-waybetween the two rows of desks. Mr. Downing, rising from his place, wasjust in time to see Sammy with a last leap spring on his prey andbegin worrying it. 

Chaos reigned. 

"A rat!" shouted Robinson. 

The twenty-three members of the Brigade who were not earnest instantlydealt with the situation, each in the manner that seemed proper tohim. Some leaped on to forms, others flung books, all shouted. It wasa stirring, bustling scene. 

Sammy had by this time disposed of the clock-work rat, and was nowstanding, like Marius, among the ruins barking triumphantly. 

The banging on Mr. Downing's desk resembled thunder. It rose above allthe other noises till in time they gave up the competition and diedaway. 

Mr. Downing shot out orders, threats, and penalties with the rapidityof a Maxim gun. 

"Stone, sit down! Donovan, if you do not sit down, you will beseverely punished. Henderson, one hundred lines for gross disorder!Windham, the same! Go to your seat, Vincent. What are you doing, Broughton-Knight? I will not have this disgraceful noise and disorder!The meeting is at an end; go quietly from the room, all of you. Jackson and Wilson, remain. _Quietly_, I said, Durand! Don'tshuffle your feet in that abominable way. "

Crash!

"Wolferstan, I distinctly saw you upset that black-board with amovement of your hand--one hundred lines. Go quietly from the room, everybody. "

The meeting dispersed. 

"Jackson and Wilson, come here. What's the meaning of this disgracefulconduct? Put that dog out of the room, Jackson. "

Mike removed the yelling Sammy and shut the door on him. 

"Well, Wilson?"

"Please, sir, I was playing with a clock-work rat----"

"What business have you to be playing with clock-work rats?"

"Then I remembered, " said Mike, "that I had left my Horace in my desk, so I came in----"

"And by a fluke, sir, " said Wilson, as one who tells of strangethings, "the rat happened to be pointing in the same direction, so hecame in, too. "

"I met Sammy on the gravel outside and he followed me. "

"I tried to collar him, but when you told me to come in, sir, I had tolet him go, and he came in after the rat. "

It was plain to Mr. Downing that the burden of sin was shared equallyby both culprits. Wilson had supplied the rat, Mike the dog; but Mr. Downing liked Wilson and disliked Mike. Wilson was in the FireBrigade, frivolous at times, it was true, but nevertheless a member. Also he kept wicket for the school. Mike was a member of theArchaeological Society, and had refused to play cricket. 

Mr. Downing allowed these facts to influence him in passing sentence. 

"One hundred lines, Wilson, " he said. "You may go. "

Wilson departed with the air of a man who has had a great deal of fun, and paid very little for it. 

Mr. Downing turned to Mike. "You will stay in on Saturday afternoon, Jackson; it will interfere with your Archaeological studies, I fear, but it may teach you that we have no room at Sedleigh for boys whospend their time loafing about and making themselves a nuisance. Weare a keen school; this is no place for boys who do nothing but wastetheir time. That will do, Jackson. "

And Mr. Downing walked out of the room. In affairs of this kind amaster has a habit of getting the last word. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

ACHILLES LEAVES HIS TENT

They say misfortunes never come singly. As Mike sat brooding over hiswrongs in his study, after the Sammy incident, Jellicoe came into theroom, and, without preamble, asked for the loan of a sovereign. 

When one has been in the habit of confining one's lendings andborrowings to sixpences and shillings, a request for a sovereign comesas something of a blow. 

"What on earth for?" asked Mike. 

"I say, do you mind if I don't tell you? I don't want to tell anybody. The fact is, I'm in a beastly hole. "

"Oh, sorry, " said Mike. "As a matter of fact, I do happen to have aquid. You can freeze on to it, if you like. But it's about all I havegot, so don't be shy about paying it back. "

Jellicoe was profuse in his thanks, and disappeared in a cloud ofgratitude. 

Mike felt that Fate was treating him badly. Being kept in on Saturdaymeant that he would be unable to turn out for Little Borlock againstClaythorpe, the return match. In the previous game he had scoredninety-eight, and there was a lob bowler in the Claythorpe ranks whomhe was particularly anxious to meet again. Having to yield a sovereignto Jellicoe--why on earth did the man want all that?--meant that, unless a carefully worded letter to his brother Bob at Oxford had thedesired effect, he would be practically penniless for weeks. 

In a gloomy frame of mind he sat down to write to Bob, who was playingregularly for the 'Varsity this season, and only the previous week hadmade a century against Sussex, so might be expected to be in asufficiently softened mood to advance the needful. (Which, it may bestated at once, he did, by return of post. )

Mike was struggling with the opening sentences of this letter--he wasnever a very ready writer--when Stone and Robinson burst into theroom. 

Mike put down his pen, and got up. He was in warlike mood, andwelcomed the intrusion. If Stone and Robinson wanted battle, theyshould have it. 

But the motives of the expedition were obviously friendly. Stonebeamed. Robinson was laughing. 

"You're a sportsman, " said Robinson. 

"What did he give you?" asked Stone. 

They sat down, Robinson on the table, Stone in Psmith' s deck-chair. Mike's heart warmed to them. The little disturbance in the dormitorywas a thing of the past, done with, forgotten, contemporary withJulius Caesar. He felt that he, Stone and Robinson must learn to knowand appreciate one another. 

There was, as a matter of fact, nothing much wrong with Stone andRobinson. They were just ordinary raggers of the type found at everypublic school, small and large. They were absolutely free from brain. They had a certain amount of muscle, and a vast store of animalspirits. They looked on school life purely as a vehicle for ragging. The Stones and Robinsons are the swashbucklers of the school world. They go about, loud and boisterous, with a whole-hearted and cheerfulindifference to other people's feelings, treading on the toes of theirneighbour and shoving him off the pavement, and always with an eyewide open for any adventure. As to the kind of adventure, they are notparticular so long as it promises excitement. Sometimes they gothrough their whole school career without accident. More often theyrun up against a snag in the shape of some serious-minded and muscularperson who objects to having his toes trodden on and being shoved offthe pavement, and then they usually sober down, to the mutualadvantage of themselves and the rest of the community. 

One's opinion of this type of youth varies according to one's point ofview. Small boys whom they had occasion to kick, either from pure highspirits or as a punishment for some slip from the narrow path whichthe ideal small boy should tread, regarded Stone and Robinson asbullies of the genuine "Eric" and "St. Winifred's" brand. Masters wererather afraid of them. Adair had a smouldering dislike for them. Theywere useful at cricket, but apt not to take Sedleigh as seriously ashe could have wished. 

As for Mike, he now found them pleasant company, and began to get outthe tea-things. 

"Those Fire Brigade meetings, " said Stone, "are a rag. You can do whatyou like, and you never get more than a hundred lines. "

"Don't you!" said Mike. "I got Saturday afternoon. "

"What!"

"Is Wilson in too?"

"No. He got a hundred lines. "

Stone and Robinson were quite concerned. 

"What a beastly swindle!"

"That's because you don't play cricket. Old Downing lets you do whatyou like if you join the Fire Brigade and play cricket. "

"'We are, above all, a keen school, '" quoted Stone. "Don't you everplay?"

"I have played a bit, " said Mike. 

"Well, why don't you have a shot? We aren't such flyers here. If youknow one end of a bat from the other, you could get into some sort ofa team. Were you at school anywhere before you came here?"

"I was at Wrykyn. "

"Why on earth did you leave?" asked Stone. "Were you sacked?"

"No. My pater took me away. "

"Wrykyn?" said Robinson. "Are you any relation of the Jacksonsthere--J. W. And the others?"

"Brother. "

"What!"

"Well, didn't you play at all there?"

"Yes, " said Mike, "I did. I was in the team three years, and I shouldhave been captain this year, if I'd stopped on. "

There was a profound and gratifying sensation. Stone gaped, andRobinson nearly dropped his tea-cup. 

Stone broke the silence. 

"But I mean to say--look here! What I mean is, why aren't you playing?Why don't you play now?"

"I do. I play for a village near here. Place called Little Borlock. Aman who played against Wrykyn for the Free Foresters captains them. Heasked me if I'd like some games for them. "

"But why not for the school?"

"Why should I? It's much better fun for the village. You don't getordered about by Adair, for a start. "

"Adair sticks on side, " said Stone. 

"Enough for six, " agreed Robinson. 

"By Jove, " said Stone, "I've got an idea. My word, what a rag!"

"What's wrong now?" inquired Mike politely. 

"Why, look here. To-morrow's Mid-term Service day. It's nowhere nearthe middle of the term, but they always have it in the fourth week. There's chapel at half-past nine till half-past ten. Then the rest ofthe day's a whole holiday. There are always house matches. We'replaying Downing's. Why don't you play and let's smash them?"

"By Jove, yes, " said Robinson. "Why don't you? They're always stickingon side because they've won the house cup three years running. I say, do you bat or bowl?"

"Bat. Why?"

Robinson rocked on the table. 

"Why, old Downing fancies himself as a bowler. You _must_ play, and knock the cover off him. "

"Masters don't play in house matches, surely?"

"This isn't a real house match. Only a friendly. Downing always turnsout on Mid-term Service day. I say, do play. "

"Think of the rag. "

"But the team's full, " said Mike. 

"The list isn't up yet. We'll nip across to Barnes' study, and makehim alter it. "

They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of"_Barnes_!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excitedconversation. Then footsteps returning down the passage. 

Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions. 

"I say, " he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, Imean. "

"Yes, I was in the team. "

Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his _Wisden_, and he had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket. 

"Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one pointnought three last year?"

[Illustration: "ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON, THEN, WHO HAD AN AVERAGE OFFIFTY-ONE POINT NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"]

"Yes. "

Barnes's manner became like that of a curate talking to a bishop. 

"I say, " he said, "then--er--will you play against Downing's to-morrow?"

"Rather, " said Mike. "Thanks awfully. Have some tea?"

CHAPTER XL

THE MATCH WITH DOWNING'S

It is the curious instinct which prompts most people to rub a thing inthat makes the lot of the average convert an unhappy one. Only thevery self-controlled can refrain from improving the occasion andscoring off the convert. Most leap at the opportunity. 

It was so in Mike's case. Mike was not a genuine convert, but to Mr. Downing he had the outward aspect of one. When you have beenimpressing upon a non-cricketing boy for nearly a month that(_a_) the school is above all a keen school, (_b_) that allmembers of it should play cricket, and (_c_) that by not playingcricket he is ruining his chances in this world and imperilling themin the next; and when, quite unexpectedly, you come upon this boydressed in cricket flannels, wearing cricket boots and carrying acricket bag, it seems only natural to assume that you have convertedhim, that the seeds of your eloquence have fallen on fruitful soil andsprouted. 

Mr. Downing assumed it. 

He was walking to the field with Adair and another member of his teamwhen he came upon Mike. 

"What!" he cried. "Our Jackson clad in suit of mail and armed for thefray!"

This was Mr. Downing's No. 2 manner--the playful. 

"This is indeed Saul among the prophets. Why this sudden enthusiasmfor a game which I understood that you despised? Are our opponents soreduced?"

Psmith, who was with Mike, took charge of the affair with a languidgrace which had maddened hundreds in its time, and which never failedto ruffle Mr. Downing. 

"We are, above all, sir, " he said, "a keen house. Drones are notwelcomed by us. We are essentially versatile. Jackson, thearchaeologist of yesterday, becomes the cricketer of to-day. It is theright spirit, sir, " said Psmith earnestly. "I like to see it. "

"Indeed, Smith? You are not playing yourself, I notice. Yourenthusiasm has bounds. "

"In our house, sir, competition is fierce, and the Selection Committeeunfortunately passed me over. "

 * * * * *

There were a number of pitches dotted about over the field, for therewas always a touch of the London Park about it on Mid-term Serviceday. Adair, as captain of cricket, had naturally selected the best forhis own match. It was a good wicket, Mike saw. As a matter of fact thewickets at Sedleigh were nearly always good. Adair had infected theground-man with some of his own keenness, with the result that thatonce-leisurely official now found himself sometimes, with a kind ofmild surprise, working really hard. At the beginning of the previousseason Sedleigh had played a scratch team from a neighbouring town on awicket which, except for the creases, was absolutely undistinguishablefrom the surrounding turf, and behind the pavilion after the matchAdair had spoken certain home truths to the ground-man. The latter'sreformation had dated from that moment. 

 * * * * *

Barnes, timidly jubilant, came up to Mike with the news that he hadwon the toss, and the request that Mike would go in first with him. 

In stories of the "Not Really a Duffer" type, where the nervous newboy, who has been found crying in the boot-room over the photograph ofhis sister, contrives to get an innings in a game, nobody suspectsthat he is really a prodigy till he hits the Bully's first ball out ofthe ground for six. 

With Mike it was different. There was no pitying smile on Adair's faceas he started his run preparatory to sending down the first ball. Mike, on the cricket field, could not have looked anything but acricketer if he had turned out in a tweed suit and hobnail boots. Cricketer was written all over him--in his walk, in the way he tookguard, in his stand at the wickets. Adair started to bowl with thefeeling that this was somebody who had more than a little knowledge ofhow to deal with good bowling and punish bad. 

Mike started cautiously. He was more than usually anxious to make runsto-day, and he meant to take no risks till he could afford to do so. He had seen Adair bowl at the nets, and he knew that he was good. 

The first over was a maiden, six dangerous balls beautifully played. The fieldsmen changed over. 

The general interest had now settled on the match between Outwood'sand Downing's. The fact in Mike's case had gone round the field, and, as several of the other games had not yet begun, quite a large crowdhad collected near the pavilion to watch. Mike's masterly treatment ofthe opening over had impressed the spectators, and there was a populardesire to see how he would deal with Mr. Downing's slows. It wasgenerally anticipated that he would do something special with them. 

Off the first ball of the master's over a leg-bye was run. 

Mike took guard. 

Mr. Downing was a bowler with a style of his own. He took two shortsteps, two long steps, gave a jump, took three more short steps, andended with a combination of step and jump, during which the ballemerged from behind his back and started on its slow career tothe wicket. The whole business had some of the dignity of theold-fashioned minuet, subtly blended with the careless vigour ofa cake-walk. The ball, when delivered, was billed to break fromleg, but the programme was subject to alterations. 

If the spectators had expected Mike to begin any firework effects withthe first ball, they were disappointed. He played the over throughwith a grace worthy of his brother Joe. The last ball he turned to legfor a single. 

His treatment of Adair's next over was freer. He had got a sight ofthe ball now. Half-way through the over a beautiful square cut forceda passage through the crowd by the pavilion, and dashed up against therails. He drove the sixth ball past cover for three. 

The crowd was now reluctantly dispersing to its own games, but itstopped as Mr. Downing started his minuet-cake-walk, in the hope thatit might see something more sensational. 

This time the hope was fulfilled. 

The ball was well up, slow, and off the wicket on the on-side. Perhapsif it had been allowed to pitch, it might have broken in and becomequite dangerous. Mike went out at it, and hit it a couple of feet fromthe ground. The ball dropped with a thud and a spurting of dust in theroad that ran along one side of the cricket field. 

It was returned on the instalment system by helpers from other games, and the bowler began his manoeuvres again. A half-volley this time. Mike slammed it back, and mid-on, whose heart was obviously not in thething, failed to stop it. 

"Get to them, Jenkins, " said Mr. Downing irritably, as the ball cameback from the boundary. "Get to them. "

"Sir, please, sir----"

"Don't talk in the field, Jenkins. "

Having had a full-pitch hit for six and a half-volley for four, therewas a strong probability that Mr. Downing would pitch his next ballshort. 

The expected happened. The third ball was a slow long-hop, and hit theroad at about the same spot where the first had landed. A howl ofuntuneful applause rose from the watchers in the pavilion, and Mike, with the feeling that this sort of bowling was too good to be true, waited in position for number four. 

There are moments when a sort of panic seizes a bowler. This happenednow with Mr. Downing. He suddenly abandoned science and ran amok. Hisrun lost its stateliness and increased its vigour. He charged up tothe wicket as a wounded buffalo sometimes charges a gun. His wholeidea now was to bowl fast. 

When a slow bowler starts to bowl fast, it is usually as well to bebatting, if you can manage it. 

By the time the over was finished, Mike's score had been increased bysixteen, and the total of his side, in addition, by three wides. 

And a shrill small voice, from the neighbourhood of the pavilion, uttered with painful distinctness the words, "Take him off!"

That was how the most sensational day's cricket began that Sedleighhad known. 

A description of the details of the morning's play would bemonotonous. It is enough to say that they ran on much the same linesas the third and fourth overs of the match. Mr. Downing bowled onemore over, off which Mike helped himself to sixteen runs, and thenretired moodily to cover-point, where, in Adair's fifth over, hemissed Barnes--the first occasion since the game began on which thatmild batsman had attempted to score more than a single. Scared by thisescape, Outwood's captain shrank back into his shell, sat on thesplice like a limpet, and, offering no more chances, was not out atlunch time with a score of eleven. 

Mike had then made a hundred and three. 

 * * * * *

As Mike was taking off his pads in the pavilion, Adair came up. 

"Why did you say you didn't play cricket?" he asked abruptly. 

[Illustration: "WHY DID YOU SAY YOU DIDN'T PLAY CRICKET?" HE ASKED]

When one has been bowling the whole morning, and bowling well, withoutthe slightest success, one is inclined to be abrupt. 

Mike finished unfastening an obstinate strap. Then he looked up. 

"I didn't say anything of the kind. I said I wasn't going to playhere. There's a difference. As a matter of fact, I was in the Wrykynteam before I came here. Three years. "

Adair was silent for a moment. 

"Will you play for us against the Old Sedleighans to-morrow?" he saidat length. 

Mike tossed his pads into his bag and got up. 

"No, thanks. "

There was a silence. 

"Above it, I suppose?"

"Not a bit. Not up to it. I shall want a lot of coaching at that endnet of yours before I'm fit to play for Sedleigh. "

There was another pause. 

"Then you won't play?" asked Adair. 

"I'm not keeping you, am I?" said Mike, politely. 

It was remarkable what a number of members of Outwood's house appearedto cherish a personal grudge against Mr. Downing. It had been thatmaster's somewhat injudicious practice for many years to treat hisown house as a sort of Chosen People. Of all masters, the mostunpopular is he who by the silent tribunal of a school is convictedof favouritism. And the dislike deepens if it is a house which hefavours and not merely individuals. On occasions when boys in hisown house and boys from other houses were accomplices and partnersin wrong-doing, Mr. Downing distributed his thunderbolts unequally, and the school noticed it. The result was that not only he himself, but also--which was rather unfair--his house, too, had acquired agood deal of unpopularity. 

The general consensus of opinion in Outwood's during the luncheoninterval was that, having got Downing's up a tree, they would be foolsnot to make the most of the situation. 

Barnes's remark that he supposed, unless anything happened and wicketsbegan to fall a bit faster, they had better think of declaringsomewhere about half-past three or four, was met with a storm ofopposition. 

"Declare!" said Robinson. "Great Scott, what on earth are you talkingabout?"

"Declare!" Stone's voice was almost a wail of indignation. "I neversaw such a chump. "

"They'll be rather sick if we don't, won't they?" suggested Barnes. 

"Sick! I should think they would, " said Stone. "That's just the gayidea. Can't you see that by a miracle we've got a chance of getting ajolly good bit of our own back against those Downing's ticks? Whatwe've got to do is to jolly well keep them in the field all day if wecan, and be jolly glad it's so beastly hot. If they lose about a dozenpounds each through sweating about in the sun after Jackson's drives, perhaps they'll stick on less side about things in general in future. Besides, I want an innings against that bilge of old Downing's, if Ican get it. "

"So do I, " said Robinson. 

"If you declare, I swear I won't field. Nor will Robinson. "

"Rather not. "

"Well, I won't then, " said Barnes unhappily. "Only you know they'rerather sick already. "

"Don't you worry about that, " said Stone with a wide grin. "They'll bea lot sicker before we've finished. "

And so it came about that that particular Mid-term Service-day matchmade history. Big scores had often been put up on Mid-term Serviceday. Games had frequently been one-sided. But it had never happenedbefore in the annals of the school that one side, going in first earlyin the morning, had neither completed its innings nor declared itclosed when stumps were drawn at 6. 30. In no previous Sedleigh match, after a full day's play, had the pathetic words "Did not bat" beenwritten against the whole of one of the contending teams. 

These are the things which mark epochs. 

Play was resumed at 2. 15. For a quarter of an hour Mike wascomparatively quiet. Adair, fortified by food and rest, was bowlingreally well, and his first half-dozen overs had to be watchedcarefully. But the wicket was too good to give him a chance, and Mike, playing himself in again, proceeded to get to business once more. Bowlers came and went. Adair pounded away at one end with briefintervals between the attacks. Mr. Downing took a couple more overs, in one of which a horse, passing in the road, nearly had its usefullife cut suddenly short. Change-bowlers of various actions and paces, each weirder and more futile than the last, tried their luck. Butstill the first-wicket stand continued. 

The bowling of a house team is all head and no body. The first pairprobably have some idea of length and break. The first-change pair arepoor. And the rest, the small change, are simply the sort of thingsone sees in dreams after a heavy supper, or when one is out withoutone's gun. 

Time, mercifully, generally breaks up a big stand at cricket beforethe field has suffered too much, and that is what happened now. At four o'clock, when the score stood at two hundred and twentyfor no wicket, Barnes, greatly daring, smote lustily at a ratherwide half-volley and was caught at short-slip for thirty-three. Heretired blushfully to the pavilion, amidst applause, and Stone cameout. 

As Mike had then made a hundred and eighty-seven, it was assumed bythe field, that directly he had topped his second century, the closurewould be applied and their ordeal finished. There was almost a sigh ofrelief when frantic cheering from the crowd told that the feat hadbeen accomplished. The fieldsmen clapped in quite an indulgent sort ofway, as who should say, "Capital, capital. And now let's start_our_ innings. " Some even began to edge towards the pavilion. But the next ball was bowled, and the next over, and the next afterthat, and still Barnes made no sign. (The conscience-stricken captainof Outwood's was, as a matter of fact, being practically held down byRobinson and other ruffians by force. )

A grey dismay settled on the field. 

The bowling had now become almost unbelievably bad. Lobs were beingtried, and Stone, nearly weeping with pure joy, was playing an inningsof the How-to-brighten-cricket type. He had an unorthodox style, butan excellent eye, and the road at this period of the game becameabsolutely unsafe for pedestrians and traffic. 

Mike's pace had become slower, as was only natural, but his score, too, was mounting steadily. 

"This is foolery, " snapped Mr. Downing, as the three hundred and fiftywent up on the board. "Barnes!" he called. 

There was no reply. A committee of three was at that moment engaged insitting on Barnes's head in the first eleven changing-room, in orderto correct a more than usually feverish attack of conscience. 

"Barnes!"

"Please, sir, " said Stone, some species of telepathy telling him whatwas detaining his captain. "I think Barnes must have left the field. He has probably gone over to the house to fetch something. "

"This is absurd. You must declare your innings closed. The game hasbecome a farce. "

"Declare! Sir, we can't unless Barnes does. He might be awfullyannoyed if we did anything like that without consulting him. "

"Absurd. "

"He's very touchy, sir. "

"It is perfect foolery. "

"I think Jenkins is just going to bowl, sir. "

Mr. Downing walked moodily to his place. 

 * * * * *

In a neat wooden frame in the senior day-room at Outwood's, just abovethe mantelpiece, there was on view, a week later, a slip of paper. Thewriting on it was as follows:

 OUTWOOD'S _v_. DOWNING'S

 _Outwood's. First innings. _

 J. P. Barnes, _c_. Hammond, _b_. Hassall... 33 M. Jackson, not out........................ 277 W. J. Stone, not out....................... 124 Extras............................... 37 ----- Total (for one wicket)...... 471

 Downing's did not bat. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF JELLICOE

Outwood's rollicked considerably that night. Mike, if he had cared totake the part, could have been the Petted Hero. But a cordialinvitation from the senior day-room to be the guest of the evening atabout the biggest rag of the century had been refused on the plea offatigue. One does not make two hundred and seventy-seven runs on a hotday without feeling the effects, even if one has scored mainly by themedium of boundaries; and Mike, as he lay back in Psmith's deck-chair, felt that all he wanted was to go to bed and stay there for a week. His hands and arms burned as if they were red-hot, and his eyes wereso tired that he could not keep them open. 

Psmith, leaning against the mantelpiece, discoursed in a desultory wayon the day's happenings--the score off Mr. Downing, the undeniableannoyance of that battered bowler, and the probability of his ventinghis annoyance on Mike next day. 

"In theory, " said he, "the manly what-d'you-call-it of cricket and allthat sort of thing ought to make him fall on your neck to-morrow andweep over you as a foeman worthy of his steel. But I am prepared tobet a reasonable sum that he will give no Jiu-jitsu exhibition of thiskind. In fact, from what I have seen of our bright little friend, Ishould say that, in a small way, he will do his best to make itdistinctly hot for you, here and there. "

"I don't care, " murmured Mike, shifting his aching limbs in the chair. 

"In an ordinary way, I suppose, a man can put up with having hisbowling hit a little. But your performance was cruelty to animals. Twenty-eight off one over, not to mention three wides, would have madeJob foam at the mouth. You will probably get sacked. On the otherhand, it's worth it. You have lit a candle this day which can never beblown out. You have shown the lads of the village how ComradeDowning's bowling ought to be treated. I don't suppose he'll ever takeanother wicket. "

"He doesn't deserve to. "

Psmith smoothed his hair at the glass and turned round again. 

"The only blot on this day of mirth and good-will is, " he said, "thesingular conduct of our friend Jellicoe. When all the place wasringing with song and merriment, Comrade Jellicoe crept to my side, and, slipping his little hand in mine, touched me for three quid. "

This interested Mike, fagged as he was. 

"What! Three quid!"

"Three jingling, clinking sovereigns. He wanted four. "

"But the man must be living at the rate of I don't know what. It wasonly yesterday that he borrowed a quid from _me_!"

"He must be saving money fast. There appear to be the makings of afinancier about Comrade Jellicoe. Well, I hope, when he's collectedenough for his needs, he'll pay me back a bit. I'm pretty well cleanedout. "

"I got some from my brother at Oxford. "

"Perhaps he's saving up to get married. We may be helping towardsfurnishing the home. There was a Siamese prince fellow at my dame's atEton who had four wives when he arrived, and gathered in a fifthduring his first summer holidays. It was done on the correspondencesystem. His Prime Minister fixed it up at the other end, and sent himthe glad news on a picture post-card. I think an eye ought to be kepton Comrade Jellicoe. "

 * * * * *

Mike tumbled into bed that night like a log, but he could not sleep. He ached all over. Psmith chatted for a time on human affairs ingeneral, and then dropped gently off. Jellicoe, who appeared to bewrapped in gloom, contributed nothing to the conversation. 

After Psmith had gone to sleep, Mike lay for some time running over inhis mind, as the best substitute for sleep, the various points of hisinnings that day. He felt very hot and uncomfortable. 

Just as he was wondering whether it would not be a good idea to get upand have a cold bath, a voice spoke from the darkness at his side. 

"Are you asleep, Jackson?"

"Who's that?"

"Me--Jellicoe. I can't get to sleep. "

"Nor can I. I'm stiff all over. "

"I'll come over and sit on your bed. "

There was a creaking, and then a weight descended in the neighbourhoodof Mike's toes. 

Jellicoe was apparently not in conversational mood. He uttered no wordfor quite three minutes. At the end of which time he gave a soundmidway between a snort and a sigh. 

"I say, Jackson!" he said. 

"Yes?"

"Have you--oh, nothing. "

Silence again. 

"Jackson. "

"Hullo?"

"I say, what would your people say if you got sacked?"

"All sorts of things. Especially my pater. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. So would mine. "

"Everybody's would, I expect. "

"Yes. "

The bed creaked, as Jellicoe digested these great thoughts. Then hespoke again. 

"It would be a jolly beastly thing to get sacked. "

Mike was too tired to give his mind to the subject. He was not reallylistening. Jellicoe droned on in a depressed sort of way. 

"You'd get home in the middle of the afternoon, I suppose, and you'ddrive up to the house, and the servant would open the door, and you'dgo in. They might all be out, and then you'd have to hang about, andwait; and presently you'd hear them come in, and you'd go out into thepassage, and they'd say 'Hullo!'"

Jellicoe, in order to give verisimilitude, as it were, to an otherwisebald and unconvincing narrative, flung so much agitated surprise intothe last word that it woke Mike from a troubled doze into which he hadfallen. 

"Hullo?" he said. "What's up?"

"Then you'd say. 'Hullo!' And then they'd say, 'What are you doinghere? 'And you'd say----"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"About what would happen. "

"Happen when?"

"When you got home. After being sacked, you know. "

"Who's been sacked?" Mike's mind was still under a cloud. 

"Nobody. But if you were, I meant. And then I suppose there'd be anawful row and general sickness, and all that. And then you'd be sentinto a bank, or to Australia, or something. "

Mike dozed off again. 

"My pater would be frightfully sick. My mater would be sick. My sisterwould be jolly sick, too. Have you got any sisters, Jackson? I say, Jackson!"

"Hullo! What's the matter? Who's that?"

"Me--Jellicoe. "

"What's up?"

"I asked you if you'd got any sisters. "

"Any _what_?"

"Sisters. "

"Whose sisters?"

"Yours. I asked if you'd got any. "

"Any what?"

"Sisters. "

"What about them?"

The conversation was becoming too intricate for Jellicoe. He changedthe subject. 

"I say, Jackson!"

"Well?"

"I say, you don't know any one who could lend me a pound, do you?"

"What!" cried Mike, sitting up in bed and staring through the darknessin the direction whence the numismatist's voice was proceeding. "Do_what_?"

"I say, look out. You'll wake Smith. "

"Did you say you wanted some one to lend you a quid?"

"Yes, " said Jellicoe eagerly. "Do you know any one?"

Mike's head throbbed. This thing was too much. The human brain couldnot be expected to cope with it. Here was a youth who had borrowed apound from one friend the day before, and three pounds from anotherfriend that very afternoon, already looking about him for furtherloans. Was it a hobby, or was he saving up to buy an aeroplane?

"What on earth do you want a pound for?"

"I don't want to tell anybody. But it's jolly serious. I shall getsacked if I don't get it. "

Mike pondered. 

Those who have followed Mike's career as set forth by the presenthistorian will have realised by this time that he was a good long wayfrom being perfect. As the Blue-Eyed Hero he would have been a rankfailure. Except on the cricket field, where he was a natural genius, he was just ordinary. He resembled ninety per cent. Of other membersof English public schools. He had some virtues and a good manydefects. He was as obstinate as a mule, though people whom he likedcould do as they pleased with him. He was good-natured as a generalthing, but on occasion his temper could be of the worst, and had, inhis childhood, been the subject of much adverse comment among hisaunts. He was rigidly truthful, where the issue concerned onlyhimself. Where it was a case of saving a friend, he was prepared toact in a manner reminiscent of an American expert witness. 

He had, in addition, one good quality without any defect to balanceit. He was always ready to help people. And when he set himself to dothis, he was never put off by discomfort or risk. He went at the thingwith a singleness of purpose that asked no questions. 

Bob's postal order, which had arrived that evening, was reposing inthe breast-pocket of his coat. 

It was a wrench, but, if the situation was so serious with Jellicoe, it had to be done. 

 * * * * *

Two minutes later the night was being made hideous by Jellicoe'salmost tearful protestations of gratitude, and the postal order hadmoved from one side of the dormitory to the other. 

CHAPTER XLII

JELLICOE GOES ON THE SICK-LIST

Mike woke next morning with a confused memory of having listened to agreat deal of incoherent conversation from Jellicoe, and a painfullyvivid recollection of handing over the bulk of his worldly wealth tohim. The thought depressed him, though it seemed to please Jellicoe, for the latter carolled in a gay undertone as he dressed, till Psmith, who had a sensitive ear, asked as a favour that these farm-yardimitations might cease until he was out of the room. 

There were other things to make Mike low-spirited that morning. Tobegin with, he was in detention, which in itself is enough to spoil aday. It was a particularly fine day, which made the matter worse. Inaddition to this, he had never felt stiffer in his life. It seemed tohim that the creaking of his joints as he walked must be audible toevery one within a radius of several yards. Finally, there was theinterview with Mr. Downing to come. That would probably be unpleasant. As Psmith had said, Mr. Downing was the sort of master who would belikely to make trouble. The great match had not been an ordinarymatch. Mr. Downing was a curious man in many ways, but he did not makea fuss on ordinary occasions when his bowling proved expensive. Yesterday's performance, however, stood in a class by itself. It stoodforth without disguise as a deliberate rag. One side does not keepanother in the field the whole day in a one-day match except as agrisly kind of practical joke. And Mr. Downing and his house realisedthis. The house's way of signifying its comprehension of the fact wasto be cold and distant as far as the seniors were concerned, andabusive and pugnacious as regards the juniors. Young blood had beenshed overnight, and more flowed during the eleven o'clock intervalthat morning to avenge the insult. 

Mr. Downing's methods of retaliation would have to be, of necessity, more elusive; but Mike did not doubt that in some way or other hisform-master would endeavour to get a bit of his own back. 

As events turned out, he was perfectly right. When a master has gothis knife into a boy, especially a master who allows himself to beinfluenced by his likes and dislikes, he is inclined to single him outin times of stress, and savage him as if he were the officialrepresentative of the evildoers. Just as, at sea, the skipper, when hehas trouble with the crew, works it off on the boy. 

Mr. Downing was in a sarcastic mood when he met Mike. That is to say, he began in a sarcastic strain. But this sort of thing is difficult tokeep up. By the time he had reached his peroration, the rapier hadgiven place to the bludgeon. For sarcasm to be effective, the user ofit must be met half-way. His hearer must appear to be conscious of thesarcasm and moved by it. Mike, when masters waxed sarcastic towardshim, always assumed an air of stolid stupidity, which was as a suit ofmail against satire. 

So Mr. Downing came down from the heights with a run, and began toexpress himself with a simple strength which it did his form good tolisten to. Veterans who had been in the form for terms said afterwardsthat there had been nothing to touch it, in their experience of theorator, since the glorious day when Dunster, that prince of raggers, who had left at Christmas to go to a crammer's, had introduced threelively grass-snakes into the room during a Latin lesson. 

"You are surrounded, " concluded Mr. Downing, snapping his pencil intwo in his emotion, "by an impenetrable mass of conceit and vanity andselfishness. It does not occur to you to admit your capabilities as acricketer in an open, straightforward way and place them at thedisposal of the school. No, that would not be dramatic enough for you. It would be too commonplace altogether. Far too commonplace!" Mr. Downing laughed bitterly. "No, you must conceal your capabilities. Youmust act a lie. You must--who is that shuffling his feet? I will nothave it, I _will_ have silence--you must hang back in order tomake a more effective entrance, like some wretched actor who--I will_not_ have this shuffling. I have spoken of this before. Macpherson, are you shuffling your feet?"

"Sir, no, sir. "

"Please, sir. "

"Well, Parsons?"

"I think it's the noise of the draught under the door, sir. "

Instant departure of Parsons for the outer regions. And, in theexcitement of this side-issue, the speaker lost his inspiration, andabruptly concluded his remarks by putting Mike on to translate inCicero. Which Mike, who happened to have prepared the first half-page, did with much success. 

 * * * * *

The Old Boys' match was timed to begin shortly after eleven o'clock. During the interval most of the school walked across the field to lookat the pitch. One or two of the Old Boys had already changed and werepractising in front of the pavilion. 

It was through one of these batsmen that an accident occurred whichhad a good deal of influence on Mike's affairs. 

Mike had strolled out by himself. Half-way across the field Jellicoejoined him. Jellicoe was cheerful, and rather embarrassingly grateful. He was just in the middle of his harangue when the accident happened. 

To their left, as they crossed the field, a long youth, with the faintbeginnings of a moustache and a blazer that lit up the surroundinglandscape like a glowing beacon, was lashing out recklessly at afriend's bowling. Already he had gone within an ace of slaying a smallboy. As Mike and Jellicoe proceeded on their way, there was a shout of"Heads!"

The almost universal habit of batsmen of shouting "Heads!" at whateverheight from the ground the ball may be, is not a little confusing. Theaverage person, on hearing the shout, puts his hands over his skull, crouches down and trusts to luck. This is an excellent plan if theball is falling, but is not much protection against a skimming drivealong the ground. 

When "Heads!" was called on the present occasion, Mike and Jellicoeinstantly assumed the crouching attitude. 

Jellicoe was the first to abandon it. He uttered a yell and spranginto the air. After which he sat down and began to nurse his ankle. 

The bright-blazered youth walked up. 

"Awfully sorry, you know, man. Hurt?"

Jellicoe was pressing the injured spot tenderly with his finger-tips, uttering sharp howls whenever, zeal outrunning discretion, he proddedhimself too energetically. 

"Silly ass, Dunster, " he groaned, "slamming about like that. "

"Awfully sorry. But I did yell. "

"It's swelling up rather, " said Mike. "You'd better get over to thehouse and have it looked at. Can you walk?"

Jellicoe tried, but sat down again with a loud "Ow!" At that momentthe bell rang. 

"I shall have to be going in, " said Mike, "or I'd have helped youover. "

"I'll give you a hand, " said Dunster. 

He helped the sufferer to his feet and they staggered off together, Jellicoe hopping, Dunster advancing with a sort of polka step. Mikewatched them start and then turned to go in. 

CHAPTER XLIII

MIKE RECEIVES A COMMISSION

There is only one thing to be said in favour of detention on a finesummer's afternoon, and that is that it is very pleasant to come outof. The sun never seems so bright or the turf so green as during thefirst five minutes after one has come out of the detention-room. Onefeels as if one were entering a new and very delightful world. Thereis also a touch of the Rip van Winkle feeling. Everything seems tohave gone on and left one behind. Mike, as he walked to the cricketfield, felt very much behind the times. 

Arriving on the field he found the Old Boys batting. He stopped andwatched an over of Adair's. The fifth ball bowled a man. Mike made hisway towards the pavilion. 

Before he got there he heard his name called, and turning, foundPsmith seated under a tree with the bright-blazered Dunster. 

"Return of the exile, " said Psmith. "A joyful occasion tinged withmelancholy. Have a cherry?--take one or two. These little acts ofunremembered kindness are what one needs after a couple of hours inextra pupil-room. Restore your tissues, Comrade Jackson, and when youhave finished those, apply again. 

"Is your name Jackson?" inquired Dunster, "because Jellicoe wants tosee you. "

"Alas, poor Jellicoe!" said Psmith. "He is now prone on his bed in thedormitory--there a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Jellicoe, the darling ofthe crew, faithful below he did his duty, but Comrade Dunster hasbroached him to. I have just been hearing the melancholy details. "

"Old Smith and I, " said Dunster, "were at a private school together. I'd no idea I should find him here. "

"It was a wonderfully stirring sight when we met, " said Psmith; "notunlike the meeting of Ulysses and the hound Argos, of whom you havedoubtless read in the course of your dabblings in the classics. I wasUlysses; Dunster gave a life-like representation of the faithfuldawg. "

"You still jaw as much as ever, I notice, " said the animal delineator, fondling the beginnings of his moustache. 

"More, " sighed Psmith, "more. Is anything irritating you?" he added, eyeing the other's manoeuvres with interest. 

"You needn't be a funny ass, man, " said Dunster, pained; "heaps ofpeople tell me I ought to have it waxed. "

"What it really wants is top-dressing with guano. Hullo! another manout. Adair's bowling better to-day than he did yesterday. "

"I heard about yesterday, " said Dunster. "It must have been a rag!Couldn't we work off some other rag on somebody before I go? I shallbe stopping here till Monday in the village. Well hit, sir--Adair'sbowling is perfectly simple if you go out to it. "

"Comrade Dunster went out to it first ball, " said Psmith to Mike. 

"Oh! chuck it, man; the sun was in my eyes. I hear Adair's got a matchon with the M. C. C. At last. "

"Has he?" said Psmith; "I hadn't heard. Archaeology claims somuch of my time that I have little leisure for listening to cricketchit-chat. "

"What was it Jellicoe wanted?" asked Mike; "was it anythingimportant?"

"He seemed to think so--he kept telling me to tell you to go and seehim. "

"I fear Comrade Jellicoe is a bit of a weak-minded blitherer----"

"Did you ever hear of a rag we worked off on Jellicoe once?" askedDunster. "The man has absolutely no sense of humour--can't see whenhe's being rotted. Well it was like this--Hullo! We're all out--Ishall have to be going out to field again, I suppose, dash it! I'lltell you when I see you again. "

"I shall count the minutes, " said Psmith. 

Mike stretched himself; the sun was very soothing after his two hoursin the detention-room; he felt disinclined for exertion. 

"I don't suppose it's anything special about Jellicoe, do you?" hesaid. "I mean, it'll keep till tea-time; it's no catch having to sweatacross to the house now. "

"Don't dream of moving, " said Psmith. "I have several rather profoundobservations on life to make and I can't make them without anaudience. Soliloquy is a knack. Hamlet had got it, but probably onlyafter years of patient practice. Personally, I need some one to listenwhen I talk. I like to feel that I am doing good. You stay where youare--don't interrupt too much. "

Mike tilted his hat over his eyes and abandoned Jellicoe. 

It was not until the lock-up bell rang that he remembered him. He wentover to the house and made his way to the dormitory, where he foundthe injured one in a parlous state, not so much physical as mental. The doctor had seen his ankle and reported that it would be on theactive list in a couple of days. It was Jellicoe's mind that neededattention now. 

Mike found him in a condition bordering on collapse. 

"I say, you might have come before!" said Jellicoe. 

"What's up? I didn't know there was such a hurry about it--what didyou want?"

"It's no good now, " said Jellicoe gloomily; "it's too late, I shallget sacked. "

"What on earth are you talking about? What's the row?"

"It's about that money. "

"What about it?"

"I had to pay it to a man to-day, or he said he'd write to theHead--then of course I should get sacked. I was going to take themoney to him this afternoon, only I got crocked, so I couldn't move. I wanted to get hold of you to ask you to take it for me--it's toolate now!"

Mike's face fell. "Oh, hang it!" he said, "I'm awfully sorry. I'd noidea it was anything like that--what a fool I was! Dunster did say hethought it was something important, only like an ass I thought itwould do if I came over at lock-up. "

"It doesn't matter, " said Jellicoe miserably; "it can't be helped. "

"Yes, it can, " said Mike. "I know what I'll do--it's all right. I'llget out of the house after lights-out. "

Jellicoe sat up. "You can't! You'd get sacked if you were caught. "

"Who would catch me? There was a chap at Wrykyn I knew who used tobreak out every night nearly and go and pot at cats with an air-pistol;it's as easy as anything. "

The toad-under-the-harrow expression began to fade from Jellicoe'sface. "I say, do you think you could, really?"

"Of course I can! It'll be rather a rag. "

"I say, it's frightfully decent of you. "

"What absolute rot!"

"But, look here, are you certain----"

"I shall be all right. Where do you want me to go?"

"It's a place about a mile or two from here, called Lower Borlock. "

"Lower Borlock?"

"Yes, do you know it?"

"Rather! I've been playing cricket for them all the term. "

"I say, have you? Do you know a man called Barley?"

"Barley? Rather--he runs the 'White Boar'. "

"He's the chap I owe the money to. "

"Old Barley!"

Mike knew the landlord of the "White Boar" well; he was the wag of thevillage team. Every village team, for some mysterious reason, has itscomic man. In the Lower Borlock eleven Mr. Barley filled the post. Hewas a large, stout man, with a red and cheerful face, who lookedexactly like the jovial inn-keeper of melodrama. He was the last manMike would have expected to do the "money by Monday-week or I write tothe headmaster" business. 

But he reflected that he had only seen him in his leisure moments, when he might naturally be expected to unbend and be full of the milkof human kindness. Probably in business hours he was quite different. After all, pleasure is one thing and business another. 

Besides, five pounds is a large sum of money, and if Jellicoe owed it, there was nothing strange in Mr. Barley's doing everything he could torecover it. 

He wondered a little what Jellicoe could have been doing to run up abill as big as that, but it did not occur to him to ask, which wasunfortunate, as it might have saved him a good deal of inconvenience. It seemed to him that it was none of his business to inquire intoJellicoe's private affairs. He took the envelope containing the moneywithout question. 

"I shall bike there, I think, " he said, "if I can get into the shed. "

The school's bicycles were stored in a shed by the pavilion. 

"You can manage that, " said Jellicoe; "it's locked up at night, but Ihad a key made to fit it last summer, because I used to go out in theearly morning sometimes before it was opened. "

"Got it on you?"

"Smith's got it. "

"I'll get it from him. "

"I say!"

"Well?"

"Don't tell Smith why you want it, will you? I don't want anybody toknow--if a thing once starts getting about it's all over the place inno time. "

"All right, I won't tell him. "

"I say, thanks most awfully! I don't know what I should have done, I----"

"Oh, chuck it!" said Mike. 

CHAPTER XLIV

AND FULFILS IT

Mike started on his ride to Lower Borlock with mixed feelings. It ispleasant to be out on a fine night in summer, but the pleasure is to acertain extent modified when one feels that to be detected will meanexpulsion. 

Mike did not want to be expelled, for many reasons. Now that he hadgrown used to the place he was enjoying himself at Sedleigh to acertain extent. He still harboured a feeling of resentment against theschool in general and Adair in particular, but it was pleasant inOutwood's now that he had got to know some of the members of thehouse, and he liked playing cricket for Lower Borlock; also, he wasfairly certain that his father would not let him go to Cambridge if hewere expelled from Sedleigh. Mr. Jackson was easy-going with hisfamily, but occasionally his foot came down like a steam-hammer, aswitness the Wrykyn school report affair. 

So Mike pedalled along rapidly, being wishful to get the job donewithout delay. 

Psmith had yielded up the key, but his inquiries as to why it wasneeded had been embarrassing. Mike's statement that he wanted to getup early and have a ride had been received by Psmith, with whom earlyrising was not a hobby, with honest amazement and a flood of adviceand warning on the subject. 

"One of the Georges, " said Psmith, "I forget which, once said that acertain number of hours' sleep a day--I cannot recall for the momenthow many--made a man something, which for the time being has slippedmy memory. However, there you are. I've given you the main idea of thething; and a German doctor says that early rising causes insanity. Still, if you're bent on it----" After which he had handed over thekey. 

Mike wished he could have taken Psmith into his confidence. Probablyhe would have volunteered to come, too; Mike would have been glad of acompanion. 

It did not take him long to reach Lower Borlock. The "White Boar"stood at the far end of the village, by the cricket field. He rodepast the church--standing out black and mysterious against the lightsky--and the rows of silent cottages, until he came to the inn. 

The place was shut, of course, and all the lights were out--it wassome time past eleven. 

The advantage an inn has over a private house, from the point of viewof the person who wants to get into it when it has been locked up, isthat a nocturnal visit is not so unexpected in the case of the former. Preparations have been made to meet such an emergency. Where with aprivate house you would probably have to wander round heaving rocksand end by climbing up a water-spout, when you want to get into an innyou simply ring the night-bell, which, communicating with the boots'room, has that hard-worked menial up and doing in no time. 

After Mike had waited for a few minutes there was a rattling of chainsand a shooting of bolts and the door opened. 

"Yes, sir?" said the boots, appearing in his shirt-sleeves. "Why, 'ullo! Mr. Jackson, sir!"

Mike was well known to all dwellers in Lower Borlock, his scores beingthe chief topic of conversation when the day's labours were over. 

"I want to see Mr. Barley, Jack. "

"He's bin in bed this half-hour back, Mr. Jackson. "

"I must see him. Can you get him down?"

The boots looked doubtful. "Roust the guv'nor outer bed?" he said. 

Mike quite admitted the gravity of the task. The landlord of the"White Boar" was one of those men who need a beauty sleep. 

"I wish you would--it's a thing that can't wait. I've got some moneyto give to him. "

"Oh, if it's _that_--" said the boots. 

Five minutes later mine host appeared in person, looking more thanusually portly in a check dressing-gown and red bedroom slippers ofthe _Dreadnought_ type. 

"You can pop off, Jack. "

Exit boots to his slumbers once more. 

"Well, Mr. Jackson, what's it all about?"

"Jellicoe asked me to come and bring you the money. "

"The money? What money?"

"What he owes you; the five pounds, of course. "

"The five--" Mr. Barley stared open-mouthed at Mike for a moment;then he broke into a roar of laughter which shook the sporting printson the wall and drew barks from dogs in some distant part of thehouse. He staggered about laughing and coughing till Mike began toexpect a fit of some kind. Then he collapsed into a chair, whichcreaked under him, and wiped his eyes. 

"Oh dear!" he said, "oh dear! the five pounds!"

Mike was not always abreast of the rustic idea of humour, andnow he felt particularly fogged. For the life of him he couldnot see what there was to amuse any one so much in the fact thata person who owed five pounds was ready to pay it back. It was anoccasion for rejoicing, perhaps, but rather for a solemn, thankful, eyes-raised-to-heaven kind of rejoicing. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

"Five pounds!"

"You might tell us the joke. "

Mr. Barley opened the letter, read it, and had another attack; whenthis was finished he handed the letter to Mike, who was waitingpatiently by, hoping for light, and requested him to read it. 

"Dear, dear!" chuckled Mr. Barley, "five pounds! They may teach youyoung gentlemen to talk Latin and Greek and what not at your school, but it 'ud do a lot more good if they'd teach you how many beans makefive; it 'ud do a lot more good if they'd teach you to come in when itrained, it 'ud do----"

Mike was reading the letter. 

 "DEAR MR. BARLEY, " it ran. --"I send the Ł5, which I could not get before. I hope it is in time, because I don't want you to write to the headmaster. I am sorry Jane and John ate your wife's hat and the chicken and broke the vase. "

There was some more to the same effect; it was signed "T. G. Jellicoe. "

"What on earth's it all about?" said Mike, finishing this curiousdocument. 

Mr. Barley slapped his leg. "Why, Mr. Jellicoe keeps two dogs here; Ikeep 'em for him till the young gentlemen go home for their holidays. Aberdeen terriers, they are, and as sharp as mustard. Mischief! Ibelieve you, but, love us! they don't do no harm! Bite up an old shoesometimes and such sort of things. The other day, last Wednesday itwere, about 'ar parse five, Jane--she's the worst of the two, alwaysup to it, she is--she got hold of my old hat and had it in bits beforeyou could say knife. John upset a china vase in one of the bedroomschasing a mouse, and they got on the coffee-room table and ate half acold chicken what had been left there. So I says to myself, 'I'll havea game with Mr. Jellicoe over this, ' and I sits down and writes offsaying the little dogs have eaten a valuable hat and a chicken andwhat not, and the damage'll be five pounds, and will he kindly remitsame by Saturday night at the latest or I write to his headmaster. Love us!" Mr. Barley slapped his thigh, "he took it all in, everyword--and here's the five pounds in cash in this envelope here! Ihaven't had such a laugh since we got old Tom Raxley out of bed attwelve of a winter's night by telling him his house was a-fire. "

It is not always easy to appreciate a joke of the practical order ifone has been made even merely part victim of it. Mike, as he reflectedthat he had been dragged out of his house in the middle of the night, in contravention of all school rules and discipline, simply in orderto satisfy Mr. Barley's sense of humour, was more inclined to beabusive than mirthful. Running risks is all very well when they arenecessary, or if one chooses to run them for one's own amusement, butto be placed in a dangerous position, a position imperilling one'schance of going to the 'Varsity, is another matter altogether. 

But it is impossible to abuse the Barley type of man. Barley'senjoyment of the whole thing was so honest and child-like. Probably ithad given him the happiest quarter of an hour he had known for years, since, in fact, the affair of old Tom Raxley. It would have been cruelto damp the man. 

So Mike laughed perfunctorily, took back the envelope with the fivepounds, accepted a stone ginger beer and a plateful of biscuits, androde off on his return journey. 

 * * * * *

Mention has been made above of the difference which exists betweengetting into an inn after lock-up and into a private house. Mike wasto find this out for himself. 

His first act on arriving at Sedleigh was to replace his bicycle inthe shed. This he accomplished with success. It was pitch-dark in theshed, and as he wheeled his machine in, his foot touched something onthe floor. Without waiting to discover what this might be, he leanedhis bicycle against the wall, went out, and locked the door, afterwhich he ran across to Outwood's. 

Fortune had favoured his undertaking by decreeing that a stoutdrain-pipe should pass up the wall within a few inches of his andPsmith's study. On the first day of term, it may be remembered hehad wrenched away the wooden bar which bisected the window-frame, thus rendering exit and entrance almost as simple as they had beenfor Wyatt during Mike's first term at Wrykyn. 

He proceeded to scale this water-pipe. 

He had got about half-way up when a voice from somewhere below cried, "Who's that?"

CHAPTER XLV

PURSUIT

These things are Life's Little Difficulties. One can never tellprecisely how one will act in a sudden emergency. The right thing forMike to have done at this crisis was to have ignored the voice, carried on up the water-pipe, and through the study window, and goneto bed. It was extremely unlikely that anybody could have recognisedhim at night against the dark background of the house. The positionthen would have been that somebody in Mr. Outwood's house had beenseen breaking in after lights-out; but it would have been verydifficult for the authorities to have narrowed the search down anyfurther than that. There were thirty-four boys in Outwood's, of whomabout fourteen were much the same size and build as Mike. 

The suddenness, however, of the call caused Mike to lose his head. Hemade the strategic error of sliding rapidly down the pipe, andrunning. 

There were two gates to Mr. Outwood's front garden. The carriage driveran in a semicircle, of which the house was the centre. It was fromthe right-hand gate, nearest to Mr. Downing's house, that the voicehad come, and, as Mike came to the ground, he saw a stout figuregalloping towards him from that direction. He bolted like a rabbit forthe other gate. As he did so, his pursuer again gave tongue. 

"Oo-oo-oo yer!" was the exact remark. 

Whereby Mike recognised him as the school sergeant. 

"Oo-oo-oo yer!" was that militant gentleman's habitual way ofbeginning a conversation. 

With this knowledge, Mike felt easier in his mind. Sergeant Collardwas a man of many fine qualities, (notably a talent for what he waswont to call "spott'n, " a mysterious gift which he exercised on therifle range), but he could not run. There had been a time in his hotyouth when he had sprinted like an untamed mustang in pursuit ofvolatile Pathans in Indian hill wars, but Time, increasing his girth, had taken from him the taste for such exercise. When he moved now itwas at a stately walk. The fact that he ran to-night showed how theexcitement of the chase had entered into his blood. 

"Oo-oo-oo yer!" he shouted again, as Mike, passing through the gate, turned into the road that led to the school. Mike's attentive earnoted that the bright speech was a shade more puffily delivered thistime. He began to feel that this was not such bad fun after all. Hewould have liked to be in bed, but, if that was out of the question, this was certainly the next best thing. 

He ran on, taking things easily, with the sergeant panting in hiswake, till he reached the entrance to the school grounds. He dashed inand took cover behind a tree. 

Presently the sergeant turned the corner, going badly and evidentlycured of a good deal of the fever of the chase. Mike heard him toil onfor a few yards and then stop. A sound of panting was borne to him. 

Then the sound of footsteps returning, this time at a walk. Theypassed the gate and went on down the road. 

The pursuer had given the thing up. 

Mike waited for several minutes behind his tree. His programme now wassimple. He would give Sergeant Collard about half an hour, in case thelatter took it into his head to "guard home" by waiting at the gate. Then he would trot softly back, shoot up the water-pipe once more, andso to bed. It had just struck a quarter to something--twelve, hesupposed--on the school clock. He would wait till a quarter past. 

Meanwhile, there was nothing to be gained from lurking behind a tree. He left his cover, and started to stroll in the direction of thepavilion. Having arrived there, he sat on the steps, looking out on tothe cricket field. 

His thoughts were miles away, at Wrykyn, when he was recalled toSedleigh by the sound of somebody running. Focussing his gaze, he sawa dim figure moving rapidly across the cricket field straight for him. 

His first impression, that he had been seen and followed, disappearedas the runner, instead of making for the pavilion, turned aside, andstopped at the door of the bicycle shed. Like Mike, he was evidentlypossessed of a key, for Mike heard it grate in the lock. At this pointhe left the pavilion and hailed his fellow rambler by night in acautious undertone. 

The other appeared startled. 

"Who the dickens is that?" he asked. "Is that you, Jackson?"

Mike recognised Adair's voice. The last person he would have expectedto meet at midnight obviously on the point of going for a bicycleride. 

"What are you doing out here, Jackson?"

"What are you, if it comes to that?"

Adair was lighting his lamp. 

"I'm going for the doctor. One of the chaps in our house is bad. "

"Oh!"

"What are you doing out here?"

"Just been for a stroll. "

"Hadn't you better be getting back?"

"Plenty of time. "

"I suppose you think you're doing something tremendously brave anddashing?"

"Hadn't you better be going to the doctor?"

"If you want to know what I think----"

"I don't. So long. "

Mike turned away, whistling between his teeth. After a moment's pause, Adair rode off. Mike saw his light pass across the field and throughthe gate. The school clock struck the quarter. 

It seemed to Mike that Sergeant Collard, even if he had started towait for him at the house, would not keep up the vigil for more thanhalf an hour. He would be safe now in trying for home again. 

He walked in that direction. 

Now it happened that Mr. Downing, aroused from his first sleep by thenews, conveyed to him by Adair, that MacPhee, one of the juniormembers of Adair's dormitory, was groaning and exhibiting othersymptoms of acute illness, was disturbed in his mind. Mosthousemasters feel uneasy in the event of illness in their houses, andMr. Downing was apt to get jumpy beyond the ordinary on suchoccasions. All that was wrong with MacPhee, as a matter of fact, was avery fair stomach-ache, the direct and legitimate result of eating sixbuns, half a cocoa-nut, three doughnuts, two ices, an apple, and apound of cherries, and washing the lot down with tea. But Mr. Downingsaw in his attack the beginnings of some deadly scourge which wouldsweep through and decimate the house. He had despatched Adair for thedoctor, and, after spending a few minutes prowling restlessly abouthis room, was now standing at his front gate, waiting for Adair'sreturn. 

It came about, therefore, that Mike, sprinting lightly in thedirection of home and safety, had his already shaken nerves furthermaltreated by being hailed, at a range of about two yards, with a cryof "Is that you, Adair?" The next moment Mr. Downing emerged from hisgate. 

Mike stood not upon the order of his going. He was off like anarrow--a flying figure of Guilt. Mr. Downing, after the firstsurprise, seemed to grasp the situation. Ejaculating at intervalsthe words, "Who is that? Stop! Who is that? Stop!" he dashed afterthe much-enduring Wrykynian at an extremely creditable rate ofspeed. Mr. Downing was by way of being a sprinter. He had wonhandicap events at College sports at Oxford, and, if Mike hadnot got such a good start, the race might have been over in thefirst fifty yards. As it was, that victim of Fate, going well, kept ahead. At the entrance to the school grounds he led by adozen yards. The procession passed into the field, Mike headingas before for the pavilion. 

As they raced across the soft turf, an idea occurred to Mike which hewas accustomed in after years to attribute to genius, the one flash ofit which had ever illumined his life. 

It was this. 

One of Mr. Downing's first acts, on starting the Fire Brigade atSedleigh, had been to institute an alarm bell. It had been rubbed intothe school officially--in speeches from the daďs--by the headmaster, and unofficially--in earnest private conversations--by Mr. Downing, that at the sound of this bell, at whatever hour of day or night, every member of the school must leave his house in the quickestpossible way, and make for the open. The bell might mean that theschool was on fire, or it might mean that one of the houses was onfire. In any case, the school had its orders--to get out into the openat once. 

Nor must it be supposed that the school was without practice at thisfeat. Every now and then a notice would be found posted up on theboard to the effect that there would be fire drill during the dinnerhour that day. Sometimes the performance was bright and interesting, as on the occasion when Mr. Downing, marshalling the brigade at hisfront gate, had said, "My house is supposed to be on fire. Now let'sdo a record!" which the Brigade, headed by Stone and Robinson, obligingly did. They fastened the hose to the hydrant, smashed awindow on the ground floor (Mr. Downing having retired for a moment totalk with the headmaster), and poured a stream of water into the room. When Mr. Downing was at liberty to turn his attention to the matter, he found that the room selected was his private study, most of thelight furniture of which was floating on a miniature lake. Thatepisode had rather discouraged his passion for realism, and fire drillsince then had taken the form, for the most part, of "practisingescaping. " This was done by means of canvas shoots, kept in thedormitories. At the sound of the bell the prefect of the dormitorywould heave one end of the shoot out of window, the other end beingfastened to the sill. He would then go down it himself, using hiselbows as a brake. Then the second man would follow his example, andthese two, standing below, would hold the end of the shoot so that therest of the dormitory could fly rapidly down it without injury, exceptto their digestions. 

After the first novelty of the thing had worn off, the schoolhad taken a rooted dislike to fire drill. It was a matter forself-congratulation among them that Mr. Downing had never beenable to induce the headmaster to allow the alarm bell to be soundedfor fire drill at night. The headmaster, a man who had his views onthe amount of sleep necessary for the growing boy, had drawn the lineat night operations. "Sufficient unto the day" had been the gist ofhis reply. If the alarm bell were to ring at night when there was nofire, the school might mistake a genuine alarm of fire for a bogusone, and refuse to hurry themselves. 

So Mr. Downing had had to be content with day drill. 

The alarm bell hung in the archway leading into the school grounds. The end of the rope, when not in use, was fastened to a hook half-wayup the wall. 

Mike, as he raced over the cricket field, made up his mind in a flashthat his only chance of getting out of this tangle was to shake hispursuer off for a space of time long enough to enable him to get tothe rope and tug it. Then the school would come out. He would mix withthem, and in the subsequent confusion get back to bed unnoticed. 

The task was easier than it would have seemed at the beginning of thechase. Mr. Downing, owing to the two facts that he was not in thestrictest training, and that it is only an Alfred Shrubb who can runfor any length of time at top speed shouting "Who is that? Stop! Whois that? Stop!" was beginning to feel distressed. There were bellowsto mend in the Downing camp. Mike perceived this, and forced the pace. He rounded the pavilion ten yards to the good. Then, heading for thegate, he put all he knew into one last sprint. Mr. Downing was notequal to the effort. He worked gamely for a few strides, then fellbehind. When Mike reached the gate, a good forty yards separated them. 

As far as Mike could judge--he was not in a condition to make nicecalculations--he had about four seconds in which to get busy with thatbell rope. 

Probably nobody has ever crammed more energetic work into four secondsthan he did then. 

The night was as still as only an English summer night can be, and thefirst clang of the clapper sounded like a million iron girders fallingfrom a height on to a sheet of tin. He tugged away furiously, with aneye on the now rapidly advancing and loudly shouting figure of thehousemaster. 

And from the darkened house beyond there came a gradually swellinghum, as if a vast hive of bees had been disturbed. 

The school was awake. 

CHAPTER XLVI

THE DECORATION OF SAMMY

Smith leaned against the mantelpiece in the senior day-room atOutwood's--since Mike's innings against Downing's the Lost Lambs hadbeen received as brothers by that centre of disorder, so that evenSpiller was compelled to look on the hatchet as buried--and gave hisviews on the events of the preceding night, or, rather, of thatmorning, for it was nearer one than twelve when peace had once morefallen on the school. 

"Nothing that happens in this luny-bin, " said Psmith, "has power tosurprise me now. There was a time when I might have thought it alittle unusual to have to leave the house through a canvas shoot atone o'clock in the morning, but I suppose it's quite the regular thinghere. Old school tradition, &c. Men leave the school, and find thatthey've got so accustomed to jumping out of window that they look onit as a sort of affectation to go out by the door. I suppose none ofyou merchants can give me any idea when the next knockaboutentertainment of this kind is likely to take place?"

"I wonder who rang that bell!" said Stone. "Jolly sporting idea. "

"I believe it was Downing himself. If it was, I hope he's satisfied. "

Jellicoe, who was appearing in society supported by a stick, lookedmeaningly at Mike, and giggled, receiving in answer a stony stare. Mike had informed Jellicoe of the details of his interview with Mr. Barley at the "White Boar, " and Jellicoe, after a momentary splutterof wrath against the practical joker, was now in a particularlylight-hearted mood. He hobbled about, giggling at nothing and atpeace with all the world. 

"It was a stirring scene, " said Psmith. "The agility with whichComrade Jellicoe boosted himself down the shoot was a triumph of mindover matter. He seemed to forget his ankle. It was the nearest thingto a Boneless Acrobatic Wonder that I have ever seen. "

"I was in a beastly funk, I can tell you. "

Stone gurgled. 

"So was I, " he said, "for a bit. Then, when I saw that it was all arag, I began to look about for ways of doing the thing really well. Iemptied about six jugs of water on a gang of kids under my window. "

"I rushed into Downing's, and ragged some of the beds, " said Robinson. 

"It was an invigorating time, " said Psmith. "A sort of pageant. I wasparticularly struck with the way some of the bright lads caught holdof the idea. There was no skimping. Some of the kids, to my certainknowledge, went down the shoot a dozen times. There's nothing likedoing a thing thoroughly. I saw them come down, rush upstairs, and besaved again, time after time. The thing became chronic with them. Ishould say Comrade Downing ought to be satisfied with the high stateof efficiency to which he has brought us. At any rate I hope----"

There was a sound of hurried footsteps outside the door, and Sharpe, amember of the senior day-room, burst excitedly in. He seemed amused. 

"I say, have you chaps seen Sammy?"

"Seen who?" said Stone. "Sammy? Why?"

"You'll know in a second. He's just outside. Here, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy! Sam! Sam!"

A bark and a patter of feet outside. 

"Come on, Sammy. Good dog. "

There was a moment's silence. Then a great yell of laughter burstforth. Even Psmith's massive calm was shattered. As for Jellicoe, hesobbed in a corner. 

Sammy's beautiful white coat was almost entirely concealed by a thickcovering of bright red paint. His head, with the exception of theears, was untouched, and his serious, friendly eyes seemed toemphasise the weirdness of his appearance. He stood in the doorway, barking and wagging his tail, plainly puzzled at his reception. He wasa popular dog, and was always well received when he visited any of thehouses, but he had never before met with enthusiasm like this. 

"Good old Sammy!"

"What on earth's been happening to him?"

"Who did it?"

Sharpe, the introducer, had no views on the matter. 

"I found him outside Downing's, with a crowd round him. Everybodyseems to have seen him. I wonder who on earth has gone and mucked himup like that!"

Mike was the first to show any sympathy for the maltreated animal. 

"Poor old Sammy, " he said, kneeling on the floor beside the victim, and scratching him under the ear. "What a beastly shame! It'll takehours to wash all that off him, and he'll hate it. "

"It seems to me, " said Psmith, regarding Sammy dispassionately throughhis eyeglass, "that it's not a case for mere washing. They'll eitherhave to skin him bodily, or leave the thing to time. Time, the GreatHealer. In a year or two he'll fade to a delicate pink. I don't seewhy you shouldn't have a pink bull-terrier. It would lend a touch ofdistinction to the place. Crowds would come in excursion trains to seehim. By charging a small fee you might make him self-supporting. Ithink I'll suggest it to Comrade Downing. "

"There'll be a row about this, " said Stone. 

"Rows are rather sport when you're not mixed up in them, " saidRobinson, philosophically. "There'll be another if we don't start offfor chapel soon. It's a quarter to. "

There was a general move. Mike was the last to leave the room. As hewas going, Jellicoe stopped him. Jellicoe was staying in that Sunday, owing to his ankle. 

"I say, " said Jellicoe, "I just wanted to thank you again aboutthat----"

"Oh, that's all right. "

"No, but it really was awfully decent of you. You might have got intoa frightful row. Were you nearly caught?"

"Jolly nearly. "

"It _was_ you who rang the bell, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was. But for goodness sake don't go gassing about it, orsomebody will get to hear who oughtn't to, and I shall be sacked. "

"All right. But, I say, you _are_ a chap!"

"What's the matter now?"

"I mean about Sammy, you know. It's a jolly good score off oldDowning. He'll be frightfully sick. "

"Sammy!" cried Mike. "My good man, you don't think I did that, do you?What absolute rot! I never touched the poor brute. "

"Oh, all right, " said Jellicoe. "But I wasn't going to tell any one, of course. "

"What do you mean?"

"You _are_ a chap!" giggled Jellicoe. 

Mike walked to chapel rather thoughtfully. 

CHAPTER XLVII

MR. DOWNING ON THE SCENT

There was just one moment, the moment in which, on going down to thejunior day-room of his house to quell an unseemly disturbance, he wasboisterously greeted by a vermilion bull terrier, when Mr. Downing wasseized with a hideous fear lest he had lost his senses. Glaring downat the crimson animal that was pawing at his knees, he clutched at hisreason for one second as a drowning man clutches at a lifebelt. 

Then the happy laughter of the young onlookers reassured him. 

"Who--" he shouted, "WHO has done this?"

[Illustration: "WHO--" HE SHOUTED, "WHO HAS DONE THIS?"]

"Please, sir, we don't know, " shrilled the chorus. 

"Please, sir, he came in like that. "

"Please, sir, we were sitting here when he suddenly ran in, all red. "

A voice from the crowd: "Look at old Sammy!"

The situation was impossible. There was nothing to be done. He couldnot find out by verbal inquiry who had painted the dog. Thepossibility of Sammy being painted red during the night had neveroccurred to Mr. Downing, and now that the thing had happened he had noscheme of action. As Psmith would have said, he had confused theunusual with the impossible, and the result was that he was taken bysurprise. 

While he was pondering on this the situation was rendered still moredifficult by Sammy, who, taking advantage of the door being open, escaped and rushed into the road, thus publishing his condition to alland sundry. You can hush up a painted dog while it confines itself toyour own premises, but once it has mixed with the great public thisbecomes out of the question. Sammy's state advanced from a privatetrouble into a row. Mr. Downing's next move was in the same directionthat Sammy had taken, only, instead of running about the road, he wentstraight to the headmaster. 

The Head, who had had to leave his house in the small hours in hispyjamas and a dressing-gown, was not in the best of tempers. He had acold in the head, and also a rooted conviction that Mr. Downing, inspite of his strict orders, had rung the bell himself on the previousnight in order to test the efficiency of the school in savingthemselves in the event of fire. He received the housemaster frostily, but thawed as the latter related the events which had led up to theringing of the bell. 

"Dear me!" he said, deeply interested. "One of the boys at the school, you think?"

"I am certain of it, " said Mr. Downing. 

"Was he wearing a school cap?"

"He was bare-headed. A boy who breaks out of his house at night wouldhardly run the risk of wearing a distinguishing cap. "

"No, no, I suppose not. A big boy, you say?"

"Very big. "

"You did not see his face?"

"It was dark and he never looked back--he was in front of me all thetime. "

"Dear me!"

"There is another matter----"

"Yes?"

"This boy, whoever he was, had done something before he rang thebell--he had painted my dog Sampson red. "

The headmaster's eyes protruded from their sockets. "He--he--_what_, Mr. Downing?"

"He painted my dog red--bright red. " Mr. Downing was too angry to seeanything humorous in the incident. Since the previous night he hadbeen wounded in his tenderest feelings. His Fire Brigade system hadbeen most shamefully abused by being turned into a mere instrument inthe hands of a malefactor for escaping justice, and his dog had beenheld up to ridicule to all the world. He did not want to smile, hewanted revenge. 

The headmaster, on the other hand, did want to smile. It was not hisdog, he could look on the affair with an unbiased eye, and to himthere was something ludicrous in a white dog suddenly appearing as ared dog. 

"It is a scandalous thing!" said Mr. Downing. 

"Quite so! Quite so!" said the headmaster hastily. "I shall punish theboy who did it most severely. I will speak to the school in the Hallafter chapel. "

Which he did, but without result. A cordial invitation to the criminalto come forward and be executed was received in wooden silence by theschool, with the exception of Johnson III. , of Outwood's, who, suddenly reminded of Sammy's appearance by the headmaster's words, broke into a wild screech of laughter, and was instantly awarded twohundred lines. 

The school filed out of the Hall to their various lunches, and Mr. Downing was left with the conviction that, if he wanted the criminaldiscovered, he would have to discover him for himself. 

The great thing in affairs of this kind is to get a good start, andFate, feeling perhaps that it had been a little hard upon Mr. Downing, gave him a most magnificent start. Instead of having to hunt for aneedle in a haystack, he found himself in a moment in the position ofbeing set to find it in a mere truss of straw. 

It was Mr. Outwood who helped him. Sergeant Collard had waylaid thearchaeological expert on his way to chapel, and informed him that atclose on twelve the night before he had observed a youth, unidentified, attempting to get into his house _via_ the water-pipe. Mr. Outwood, whose thoughts were occupied with apses and plinths, not to mentioncromlechs, at the time, thanked the sergeant with absent-mindedpoliteness and passed on. Later he remembered the fact _ŕ propos_of some reflections on the subject of burglars in mediaeval England, and passed it on to Mr. Downing as they walked back to lunch. 

"Then the boy was in your house!" exclaimed Mr. Downing. 

"Not actually in, as far as I understand. I gather from the sergeantthat he interrupted him before----"

"I mean he must have been one of the boys in your house. "

"But what was he doing out at that hour?"

"He had broken out. "

"Impossible, I think. Oh yes, quite impossible! I went round thedormitories as usual at eleven o'clock last night, and all the boyswere asleep--all of them. "

Mr. Downing was not listening. He was in a state of suppressedexcitement and exultation which made it hard for him to attend to hiscolleague's slow utterances. He had a clue! Now that the search hadnarrowed itself down to Outwood's house, the rest was comparativelyeasy. Perhaps Sergeant Collard had actually recognised the boy. Orreflection he dismissed this as unlikely, for the sergeant wouldscarcely have kept a thing like that to himself; but he might verywell have seen more of him than he, Downing, had seen. It was onlywith an effort that he could keep himself from rushing to the sergeantthen and there, and leaving the house lunch to look after itself. Heresolved to go the moment that meal was at an end. 

Sunday lunch at a public-school house is probably one of the longestfunctions in existence. It drags its slow length along like a languidsnake, but it finishes in time. In due course Mr. Downing, aftersitting still and eyeing with acute dislike everybody who asked for asecond helping, found himself at liberty. 

Regardless of the claims of digestion, he rushed forth on the trail. 

 * * * * *

Sergeant Collard lived with his wife and a family of unknowndimensions in the lodge at the school front gate. Dinner was just overwhen Mr. Downing arrived, as a blind man could have told. 

The sergeant received his visitor with dignity, ejecting the family, who were torpid after roast beef and resented having to move, in orderto ensure privacy. 

Having requested his host to smoke, which the latter was about to dounasked, Mr. Downing stated his case. 

"Mr. Outwood, " he said, "tells me that last night, sergeant, you saw aboy endeavouring to enter his house. "

The sergeant blew a cloud of smoke. "Oo-oo-oo, yer, " he said; "I did, sir--spotted 'im, I did. Feeflee good at spottin', I am, sir. Dook ofConnaught, he used to say, ''Ere comes Sergeant Collard, ' he used tosay, ''e's feeflee good at spottin'. '"

"What did you do?"

"Do? Oo-oo-oo! I shouts 'Oo-oo-oo yer, yer young monkey, what yerdoin' there?'"

"Yes?"

"But 'e was off in a flash, and I doubles after 'im prompt. "

"But you didn't catch him?"

"No, sir, " admitted the sergeant reluctantly. 

"Did you catch sight of his face, sergeant?"

"No, sir, 'e was doublin' away in the opposite direction. "

"Did you notice anything at all about his appearance?"

"'E was a long young chap, sir, with a pair of legs on him--feefleefast 'e run, sir. Oo-oo-oo, feeflee!"

"You noticed nothing else?"

"'E wasn't wearing no cap of any sort, sir. "

"Ah!"

"Bare-'eaded, sir, " added the sergeant, rubbing the point in. 

"It was undoubtedly the same boy, undoubtedly! I wish you could havecaught a glimpse of his face, sergeant. "

"So do I, sir. "

"You would not be able to recognise him again if you saw him, youthink?"

"Oo-oo-oo! Wouldn't go so far as to say that, sir, 'cos yer see, I'mfeeflee good at spottin', but it was a dark night. "

Mr. Downing rose to go. 

"Well, " he said, "the search is now considerably narrowed down, considerably! It is certain that the boy was one of the boys in Mr. Outwood's house. "

"Young monkeys!" interjected the sergeant helpfully. 

"Good-afternoon, sergeant. "

"Good-afternoon to you, sir. "

"Pray do not move, sergeant. "

The sergeant had not shown the slightest inclination of doing anythingof the kind. 

"I will find my way out. Very hot to-day, is it not?"

"Feeflee warm, sir; weather's goin' to break--workin' up for thunder. "

"I hope not. The school plays the M. C. C. On Wednesday, and it would bea pity if rain were to spoil our first fixture with them. Goodafternoon. "

And Mr. Downing went out into the baking sunlight, while SergeantCollard, having requested Mrs. Collard to take the children out for awalk at once, and furthermore to give young Ernie a clip side of the'ead, if he persisted in making so much noise, put a handkerchief overhis face, rested his feet on the table, and slept the sleep of thejust. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

THE SLEUTH-HOUND

For the Doctor Watsons of this world, as opposed to the SherlockHolmeses, success in the province of detective work must always be, toa very large extent, the result of luck. Sherlock Holmes can extract aclue from a wisp of straw or a flake of cigar-ash. But Doctor Watsonhas got to have it taken out for him, and dusted, and exhibitedclearly, with a label attached. 

The average man is a Doctor Watson. We are wont to scoff in apatronising manner at that humble follower of the great investigator, but, as a matter of fact, we should have been just as dull ourselves. We should not even have risen to the modest level of a Scotland YardBungler. We should simply have hung around, saying:

"My dear Holmes, how--?" and all the rest of it, just as thedowntrodden medico did. 

It is not often that the ordinary person has any need to see what hecan do in the way of detection. He gets along very comfortably in thehumdrum round of life without having to measure footprints and smilequiet, tight-lipped smiles. But if ever the emergency does arise, hethinks naturally of Sherlock Holmes, and his methods. 

Mr. Downing had read all the Holmes stories with great attention, andhad thought many times what an incompetent ass Doctor Watson was; but, now that he had started to handle his own first case, he was compelledto admit that there was a good deal to be said in extenuation ofWatson's inability to unravel tangles. It certainly was uncommonlyhard, he thought, as he paced the cricket field after leaving SergeantCollard, to detect anybody, unless you knew who had really done thecrime. As he brooded over the case in hand, his sympathy for Dr. Watson increased with every minute, and he began to feel a certainresentment against Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was all very well forSir Arthur to be so shrewd and infallible about tracing a mystery toits source, but he knew perfectly well who had done the thing beforehe started!

Now that he began really to look into this matter of the alarm belland the painting of Sammy, the conviction was creeping over him thatthe problem was more difficult than a casual observer might imagine. He had got as far as finding that his quarry of the previous night wasa boy in Mr. Outwood's house, but how was he to get any farther? Thatwas the thing. There were, of course, only a limited number of boys inMr. Outwood's house as tall as the one he had pursued; but even ifthere had been only one other, it would have complicated matters. Ifyou go to a boy and say, "Either you or Jones were out of your houselast night at twelve o'clock, " the boy does not reply, "Sir, I cannottell a lie--I was out of my house last night at twelve o'clock. " Hesimply assumes the animated expression of a stuffed fish, and leavesthe next move to you. It is practically Stalemate. 

All these things passed through Mr. Downing's mind as he walked up anddown the cricket field that afternoon. 

What he wanted was a clue. But it is so hard for the novice to tellwhat is a clue and what isn't. Probably, if he only knew, there wereclues lying all over the place, shouting to him to pick them up. 

What with the oppressive heat of the day and the fatigue of hardthinking, Mr. Downing was working up for a brain-storm, when Fate oncemore intervened, this time in the shape of Riglett, a junior member ofhis house. 

Riglett slunk up in the shamefaced way peculiar to some boys, evenwhen they have done nothing wrong, and, having capped Mr. Downing withthe air of one who has been caught in the act of doing somethingparticularly shady, requested that he might be allowed to fetch hisbicycle from the shed. 

"Your bicycle?" snapped Mr. Downing. Much thinking had made himirritable. "What do you want with your bicycle?"

Riglett shuffled, stood first on his left foot, then on his right, blushed, and finally remarked, as if it were not so much a soundreason as a sort of feeble excuse for the low and blackguardly factthat he wanted his bicycle, that he had got leave for tea thatafternoon. 

Then Mr. Downing remembered. Riglett had an aunt resident about threemiles from the school, whom he was accustomed to visit occasionally onSunday afternoons during the term. 

He felt for his bunch of keys, and made his way to the shed, Riglettshambling behind at an interval of two yards. 

Mr. Downing unlocked the door, and there on the floor was the Clue!

A clue that even Dr. Watson could not have overlooked. 

Mr. Downing saw it, but did not immediately recognise it for what itwas. What he saw at first was not a Clue, but just a mess. He had atidy soul and abhorred messes. And this was a particularly messy mess. The greater part of the flooring in the neighbourhood of the door wasa sea of red paint. The tin from which it had flowed was lying on itsside in the middle of the shed. The air was full of the pungent scent. 

"Pah!" said Mr. Downing. 

Then suddenly, beneath the disguise of the mess, he saw the clue. Afoot-mark! No less. A crimson foot-mark on the grey concrete!

Riglett, who had been waiting patiently two yards away, now coughedplaintively. The sound recalled Mr. Downing to mundane matters. 

"Get your bicycle, Riglett, " he said, "and be careful where you tread. Somebody has upset a pot of paint on the floor. "

Riglett, walking delicately through dry places, extracted his bicyclefrom the rack, and presently departed to gladden the heart of hisaunt, leaving Mr. Downing, his brain fizzing with the enthusiasm ofthe detective, to lock the door and resume his perambulation of thecricket field. 

Give Dr. Watson a fair start, and he is a demon at the game. Mr. Downing's brain was now working with a rapidity and clearness which aprofessional sleuth might have envied. 

Paint. Red paint. Obviously the same paint with which Sammy had beendecorated. A foot-mark. Whose foot-mark? Plainly that of the criminalwho had done the deed of decoration. 

Yoicks!

There were two things, however, to be considered. Your carefuldetective must consider everything. In the first place, the paintmight have been upset by the ground-man. It was the ground-man'spaint. He had been giving a fresh coating to the wood-work in front ofthe pavilion scoring-box at the conclusion of yesterday's match. (Alabour of love which was the direct outcome of the enthusiasm for workwhich Adair had instilled into him. ) In that case the foot-mark mightbe his. 

_Note one_: Interview the ground-man on this point. 

In the second place Adair might have upset the tin and trodden in itscontents when he went to get his bicycle in order to fetch the doctorfor the suffering MacPhee. This was the more probable of the twocontingencies, for it would have been dark in the shed when Adair wentinto it. 

_Note two_ Interview Adair as to whether he found, on returning tothe house, that there was paint on his boots. 

Things were moving. 

 * * * * *

He resolved to take Adair first. He could get the ground-man's addressfrom him. 

Passing by the trees under whose shade Mike and Psmith and Dunster hadwatched the match on the previous day, he came upon the Head of hishouse in a deck-chair reading a book. A summer Sunday afternoon is thetime for reading in deck-chairs. 

"Oh, Adair, " he said. "No, don't get up. I merely wished to ask you ifyou found any paint on your boots when you returned to the house lastnight?"

"Paint, sir?" Adair was plainly puzzled. His book had beeninteresting, and had driven the Sammy incident out of his head. 

"I see somebody has spilt some paint on the floor of the bicycle shed. You did not do that, I suppose, when you went to fetch your bicycle?"

"No, sir. "

"It is spilt all over the floor. I wondered whether you had happenedto tread in it. But you say you found no paint on your boots thismorning?"

"No, sir, my bicycle is always quite near the door of the shed. Ididn't go into the shed at all. "

"I see. Quite so. Thank you, Adair. Oh, by the way, Adair, where doesMarkby live?"

"I forget the name of his cottage, sir, but I could show you in asecond. It's one of those cottages just past the school gates, on theright as you turn out into the road. There are three in a row. His isthe first you come to. There's a barn just before you get to them. "

"Thank you. I shall be able to find them. I should like to speak toMarkby for a moment on a small matter. "

A sharp walk took him to the cottages Adair had mentioned. Herapped at the door of the first, and the ground-man came out inhis shirt-sleeves, blinking as if he had just woke up, as wasindeed the case. 

"Oh, Markby!"

"Sir?"

"You remember that you were painting the scoring-box in the pavilionlast night after the match?"

"Yes, sir. It wanted a lick of paint bad. The young gentlemen willscramble about and get through the window. Makes it look shabby, sir. So I thought I'd better give it a coating so as to look ship-shapewhen the Marylebone come down. "

"Just so. An excellent idea. Tell me, Markby, what did you do with thepot of paint when you had finished?"

"Put it in the bicycle shed, sir. "

"On the floor?"

"On the floor, sir? No. On the shelf at the far end, with the can ofwhitening what I use for marking out the wickets, sir. "

"Of course, yes. Quite so. Just as I thought. "

"Do you want it, sir?"

"No, thank you, Markby, no, thank you. The fact is, somebody who hadno business to do so has moved the pot of paint from the shelf to thefloor, with the result that it has been kicked over, and spilt. Youhad better get some more to-morrow. Thank you, Markby. That is all Iwished to know. "

Mr. Downing walked back to the school thoroughly excited. He was hoton the scent now. The only other possible theories had been tested andsuccessfully exploded. The thing had become simple to a degree. All hehad to do was to go to Mr. Outwood's house--the idea of searching afellow-master's house did not appear to him at all a delicate task;somehow one grew unconsciously to feel that Mr. Outwood did not reallyexist as a man capable of resenting liberties--find the paint-splashedboot, ascertain its owner, and denounce him to the headmaster. Picture, Blue Fire and "God Save the King" by the full strength of thecompany. There could be no doubt that a paint-splashed boot must be inMr. Outwood's house somewhere. A boy cannot tread in a pool of paintwithout showing some signs of having done so. It was Sunday, too, sothat the boot would not yet have been cleaned. Yoicks! Also Tally-ho!This really was beginning to be something like business. 

Regardless of the heat, the sleuth-hound hurried across to Outwood'sas fast as he could walk. 

CHAPTER XLIX

A CHECK

The only two members of the house not out in the grounds when hearrived were Mike and Psmith. They were standing on the gravel drivein front of the boys' entrance. Mike had a deck-chair in one hand anda book in the other. Psmith--for even the greatest minds willsometimes unbend--was playing diabolo. That is to say, he was tryingwithout success to raise the spool from the ground. 

"There's a kid in France, " said Mike disparagingly, as the bobbinrolled off the string for the fourth time, "who can do it threethousand seven hundred and something times. "

Psmith smoothed a crease out of his waistcoat and tried again. He hadjust succeeded in getting the thing to spin when Mr. Downing arrived. The sound of his footsteps disturbed Psmith and brought the effort tonothing. 

"Enough of this spoolery, " said he, flinging the sticks through theopen window of the senior day-room. "I was an ass ever to try it. Thephilosophical mind needs complete repose in its hours of leisure. Hullo!"

He stared after the sleuth-hound, who had just entered the house. 

"What the dickens, " said Mike, "does he mean by barging in as if he'dbought the place?"

"Comrade Downing looks pleased with himself. What brings him round inthis direction, I wonder! Still, no matter. The few articles which hemay sneak from our study are of inconsiderable value. He is welcome tothem. Do you feel inclined to wait awhile till I have fetched a chairand book?"

"I'll be going on. I shall be under the trees at the far end of theground. "

"'Tis well. I will be with you in about two ticks. "

Mike walked on towards the field, and Psmith, strolling upstairs tofetch his novel, found Mr. Downing standing in the passage with theair of one who has lost his bearings. 

"A warm afternoon, sir, " murmured Psmith courteously, as he passed. 

"Er--Smith!"

"Sir?"

"I--er--wish to go round the dormitories. "

It was Psmith's guiding rule in life never to be surprised atanything, so he merely inclined his head gracefully, and said nothing. 

"I should be glad if you would fetch the keys and show me where therooms are. "

"With acute pleasure, sir, " said Psmith. "Or shall I fetch Mr. Outwood, sir?"

"Do as I tell you, Smith, " snapped Mr. Downing. 

Psmith said no more, but went down to the matron's room. The matronbeing out, he abstracted the bunch of keys from her table and rejoinedthe master. 

"Shall I lead the way, sir?" he asked. 

Mr. Downing nodded. 

"Here, sir, " said Psmith, opening a door, "we have Barnes' dormitory. An airy room, constructed on the soundest hygienic principles. Eachboy, I understand, has quite a considerable number of cubic feet ofair all to himself. It is Mr. Outwood's boast that no boy has everasked for a cubic foot of air in vain. He argues justly----"

He broke off abruptly and began to watch the other's manoeuvres insilence. Mr. Downing was peering rapidly beneath each bed in turn. 

"Are you looking for Barnes, sir?" inquired Psmith politely. "I thinkhe's out in the field. "

Mr. Downing rose, having examined the last bed, crimson in the facewith the exercise. 

"Show me the next dormitory, Smith, " he said, panting slightly. 

"This, " said Psmith, opening the next door and sinking his voice to anawed whisper, "is where _I_ sleep!"

Mr. Downing glanced swiftly beneath the three beds. "Excuse me, sir, "said Psmith, "but are we chasing anything?"

"Be good enough, Smith, " said Mr. Downing with asperity, "to keep yourremarks to yourself. "

"I was only wondering, sir. Shall I show you the next in order?"

"Certainly. "

They moved on up the passage. 

Drawing blank at the last dormitory, Mr. Downing paused, baffled. Psmith waited patiently by. An idea struck the master. 

"The studies, Smith, " he cried. 

"Aha!" said Psmith. "I beg your pardon, sir. The observation escapedme unawares. The frenzy of the chase is beginning to enter into myblood. Here we have----"

Mr. Downing stopped short. 

"Is this impertinence studied, Smith?"

"Ferguson's study, sir? No, sir. That's further down the passage. Thisis Barnes'. "

Mr. Downing looked at him closely. Psmith's face was wooden in itsgravity. The master snorted suspiciously, then moved on. 

"Whose is this?" he asked, rapping a door. 

"This, sir, is mine and Jackson's. "

"What! Have you a study? You are low down in the school for it. "

"I think, sir, that Mr. Outwood gave it us rather as a testimonial toour general worth than to our proficiency in school-work. "

Mr. Downing raked the room with a keen eye. The absence of bars fromthe window attracted his attention. 

"Have you no bars to your windows here, such as there are in myhouse?"

"There appears to be no bar, sir, " said Psmith, putting up hiseyeglass. 

Mr Downing was leaning out of the window. 

"A lovely view, is it not, sir?" said Psmith. "The trees, the field, the distant hills----"

Mr. Downing suddenly started. His eye had been caught by the water-pipeat the side of the window. The boy whom Sergeant Collard had seenclimbing the pipe must have been making for this study. 

He spun round and met Psmith's blandly inquiring gaze. He looked atPsmith carefully for a moment. No. The boy he had chased last nighthad not been Psmith. That exquisite's figure and general appearancewere unmistakable, even in the dusk. 

"Whom did you say you shared this study with, Smith?"

"Jackson, sir. The cricketer. "

"Never mind about his cricket, Smith, " said Mr. Downing withirritation. 

"No, sir. "

"He is the only other occupant of the room?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Nobody else comes into it?"

"If they do, they go out extremely quickly, sir. "

"Ah! Thank you, Smith. "

"Not at all, sir. "

Mr. Downing pondered. Jackson! The boy bore him a grudge. The boy wasprecisely the sort of boy to revenge himself by painting the dogSammy. And, gadzooks! The boy whom he had pursued last night had beenjust about Jackson's size and build!

Mr. Downing was as firmly convinced at that moment that Mike's hadbeen the hand to wield the paint-brush as he had ever been of anythingin his life. 

"Smith!" he said excitedly. 

"On the spot, sir, " said Psmith affably. 

"Where are Jackson's boots?"

There are moments when the giddy excitement of being right on thetrail causes the amateur (or Watsonian) detective to be incautious. Such a moment came to Mr. Downing then. If he had been wise, he wouldhave achieved his object, the getting a glimpse of Mike's boots, by adevious and snaky route. As it was, he rushed straight on. 

"His boots, sir? He has them on. I noticed them as he went out justnow. "

"Where is the pair he wore yesterday?"

"Where are the boots of yester-year?" murmured Psmith to himself. "Ishould say at a venture, sir, that they would be in the basketdownstairs. Edmund, our genial knife-and-boot boy, collects them, Ibelieve, at early dawn. "

"Would they have been cleaned yet?"

"If I know Edmund, sir--no. "

"Smith, " said Mr. Downing, trembling with excitement, "go and bringthat basket to me here. "

Psmith's brain was working rapidly as he went downstairs. What exactlywas at the back of the sleuth's mind, prompting these manoeuvres, hedid not know. But that there was something, and that that somethingwas directed in a hostile manner against Mike, probably in connectionwith last night's wild happenings, he was certain. Psmith had noticed, on leaving his bed at the sound of the alarm bell, that he andJellicoe were alone in the room. That might mean that Mike had goneout through the door when the bell sounded, or it might mean that hehad been out all the time. It began to look as if the latter solutionwere the correct one. 

 * * * * *

He staggered back with the basket, painfully conscious the while thatit was creasing his waistcoat, and dumped is down on the study floor. Mr. Downing stooped eagerly over it. Psmith leaned against the wall, and straightened out the damaged garment. 

"We have here, sir, " he said, "a fair selection of our variousbootings. "

Mr. Downing looked up. 

"You dropped none of the boots on your way up, Smith?"

"Not one, sir. It was a fine performance. "

Mr. Downing uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and bent once more to histask. Boots flew about the room. Mr. Downing knelt on the floor besidethe basket, and dug like a terrier at a rat-hole. 

At last he made a dive, and, with an exclamation of triumph, rose tohis feet. In his hand he held a boot. 

"Put those back again, Smith, " he said. 

The ex-Etonian, wearing an expression such as a martyr might have wornon being told off for the stake, began to pick up the scatteredfootgear, whistling softly the tune of "I do all the dirty work, " ashe did so. 

"That's the lot, sir, " he said, rising. 

"Ah. Now come across with me to the headmaster's house. Leave thebasket here. You can carry it back when you return. "

"Shall I put back that boot, sir?"

"Certainly not. I shall take this with me, of course. "

"Shall I carry it, sir?"

Mr. Downing reflected. 

"Yes, Smith, " he said. "I think it would be best. "

It occurred to him that the spectacle of a housemaster wanderingabroad on the public highway, carrying a dirty boot, might be a trifleundignified. You never knew whom you might meet on Sunday afternoon. 

Psmith took the boot, and doing so, understood what before had puzzledhim. 

Across the toe of the boot was a broad splash of red paint. 

He knew nothing, of course, of the upset tin in the bicycle shed;but when a housemaster's dog has been painted red in the night, andwhen, on the following day, the housemaster goes about in search of apaint-splashed boot, one puts two and two together. Psmith looked atthe name inside the boot. It was "Brown, boot-maker, Bridgnorth. "Bridgnorth was only a few miles from his own home and Mike's. Undoubtedly it was Mike's boot. 

"Can you tell me whose boot that is?" asked Mr. Downing. 

Psmith looked at it again. 

"No, sir. I can't say the little chap's familiar to me. "

"Come with me, then. "

Mr. Downing left the room. After a moment Psmith followed him. 

The headmaster was in his garden. Thither Mr. Downing made his way, the boot-bearing Psmith in close attendance. 

The Head listened to the amateur detective's statement with interest. 

"Indeed?" he said, when Mr. Downing had finished. 

"Indeed? Dear me! It certainly seems--It is a curiously well-connectedthread of evidence. You are certain that there was red paint on thisboot you discovered in Mr. Outwood's house?"

"I have it with me. I brought it on purpose to show to you. Smith!"

"Sir?"

"You have the boot?"

"Ah, " said the headmaster, putting on a pair of pince-nez, "now let melook at--This, you say, is the--? Just so. Just so. Just.... But, er, Mr. Downing, it may be that I have not examined this boot withsufficient care, but--Can _you_ point out to me exactly wherethis paint is that you speak of?"

Mr. Downing stood staring at the boot with a wild, fixed stare. Of anysuspicion of paint, red or otherwise, it was absolutely and entirelyinnocent. 

CHAPTER L

THE DESTROYER OF EVIDENCE

The boot became the centre of attraction, the cynosure of all eyes. Mr. Downing fixed it with the piercing stare of one who feels that hisbrain is tottering. The headmaster looked at it with a mildly puzzledexpression. Psmith, putting up his eyeglass, gazed at it with a sortof affectionate interest, as if he were waiting for it to do a trickof some kind. 

Mr. Downing was the first to break the silence. 

"There was paint on this boot, " he said vehemently. "I tell you therewas a splash of red paint across the toe. Smith will bear me out inthis. Smith, you saw the paint on this boot?"

"Paint, sir!"

"What! Do you mean to tell me that you did _not_ see it?"

"No, sir. There was no paint on this boot. "

"This is foolery. I saw it with my own eyes. It was a broad splashright across the toe. "

The headmaster interposed. 

"You must have made a mistake, Mr. Downing. There is certainly notrace of paint on this boot. These momentary optical delusions are, I fancy, not uncommon. Any doctor will tell you----"

"I had an aunt, sir, " said Psmith chattily, "who was remarkablysubject----"

"It is absurd. I cannot have been mistaken, " said Mr. Downing. "I ampositively certain the toe of this boot was red when I found it. "

"It is undoubtedly black now, Mr. Downing. "

"A sort of chameleon boot, " murmured Psmith. 

The goaded housemaster turned on him. 

"What did you say, Smith?"

"Did I speak, sir?" said Psmith, with the start of one coming suddenlyout of a trance. 

Mr. Downing looked searchingly at him. 

"You had better be careful, Smith. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I strongly suspect you of having something to do with this. "

"Really, Mr. Downing, " said the headmaster, "that is surelyimprobable. Smith could scarcely have cleaned the boot on his way tomy house. On one occasion I inadvertently spilt some paint on a shoeof my own. I can assure you that it does not brush off. It needs avery systematic cleaning before all traces are removed. "

"Exactly, sir, " said Psmith. "My theory, if I may----?"

"Certainly, Smith. "

Psmith bowed courteously and proceeded. 

"My theory, sir, is that Mr. Downing was deceived by the light andshade effects on the toe of the boot. The afternoon sun, streaming inthrough the window, must have shone on the boot in such a manner as togive it a momentary and fictitious aspect of redness. If Mr. Downingrecollects, he did not look long at the boot. The picture on theretina of the eye, consequently, had not time to fade. I rememberthinking myself, at the moment, that the boot appeared to have acertain reddish tint. The mistake----"

"Bah!" said Mr. Downing shortly. 

"Well, really, " said the headmaster, "it seems to me that that is theonly explanation that will square with the facts. A boot that isreally smeared with red paint does not become black of itself in thecourse of a few minutes. "

"You are very right, sir, " said Psmith with benevolent approval. "MayI go now, sir? I am in the middle of a singularly impressive passageof Cicero's speech De Senectute. "

"I am sorry that you should leave your preparation till Sunday, Smith. It is a habit of which I altogether disapprove. "

"I am reading it, sir, " said Psmith, with simple dignity, "forpleasure. Shall I take the boot with me, sir?"

"If Mr. Downing does not want it?"

The housemaster passed the fraudulent piece of evidence to Psmithwithout a word, and the latter, having included both masters in akindly smile, left the garden. 

Pedestrians who had the good fortune to be passing along the roadbetween the housemaster's house and Mr. Outwood's at that moment sawwhat, if they had but known it, was a most unusual sight, thespectacle of Psmith running. Psmith's usual mode of progression was adignified walk. He believed in the contemplative style rather than thehustling. 

On this occasion, however, reckless of possible injuries to the creaseof his trousers, he raced down the road, and turning in at Outwood'sgate, bounded upstairs like a highly trained professional athlete. 

On arriving at the study, his first act was to remove a boot from thetop of the pile in the basket, place it in the small cupboard underthe bookshelf, and lock the cupboard. Then he flung himself into achair and panted. 

"Brain, " he said to himself approvingly, "is what one chiefly needs inmatters of this kind. Without brain, where are we? In the soup, everytime. The next development will be when Comrade Downing thinks itover, and is struck with the brilliant idea that it's just possiblethat the boot he gave me to carry and the boot I did carry were notone boot but two boots. Meanwhile----"

He dragged up another chair for his feet and picked up his novel. 

He had not been reading long when there was a footstep in the passage, and Mr. Downing appeared. 

The possibility, in fact the probability, of Psmith having substitutedanother boot for the one with the incriminating splash of paint on ithad occurred to him almost immediately on leaving the headmaster'sgarden. Psmith and Mike, he reflected, were friends. Psmith's impulsewould be to do all that lay in his power to shield Mike. Feelingaggrieved with himself that he had not thought of this before, he, too, hurried over to Outwood's. 

Mr. Downing was brisk and peremptory. 

"I wish to look at these boots again, " he said. Psmith, with a sigh, laid down his novel, and rose to assist him. 

"Sit down, Smith, " said the housemaster. "I can manage without yourhelp. "

Psmith sat down again, carefully tucking up the knees of his trousers, and watched him with silent interest through his eyeglass. 

The scrutiny irritated Mr. Downing. 

"Put that thing away, Smith, " he said. 

"That thing, sir?"

"Yes, that ridiculous glass. Put it away. "

"Why, sir?"

"Why! Because I tell you to do so. "

"I guessed that that was the reason, sir, " sighed Psmith replacing theeyeglass in his waistcoat pocket. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands, and resumed his contemplative inspection ofthe boot-expert, who, after fidgeting for a few moments, lodgedanother complaint. 

"Don't sit there staring at me, Smith. "

"I was interested in what you were doing, sir. "

"Never mind. Don't stare at me in that idiotic way. "

"May I read, sir?" asked Psmith, patiently. 

"Yes, read if you like. "

"Thank you, sir. "

Psmith took up his book again, and Mr. Downing, now thoroughlyirritated, pursued his investigations in the boot-basket. 

He went through it twice, but each time without success. After thesecond search, he stood up, and looked wildly round the room. He wasas certain as he could be of anything that the missing piece ofevidence was somewhere in the study. It was no use asking Psmithpoint-blank where it was, for Psmith's ability to parry dangerousquestions with evasive answers was quite out of the common. 

His eye roamed about the room. There was very little cover there, evenfor so small a fugitive as a number nine boot. The floor could beacquitted, on sight, of harbouring the quarry. 

Then he caught sight of the cupboard, and something seemed to tell himthat there was the place to look. 

"Smith!" he said. 

Psmith had been reading placidly all the while. 

"Yes, sir?"

"What is in this cupboard?"

"That cupboard, sir?"

"Yes. This cupboard. " Mr. Downing rapped the door irritably. 

"Just a few odd trifles, sir. We do not often use it. A ball ofstring, perhaps. Possibly an old note-book. Nothing of value orinterest. "

"Open it. "

"I think you will find that it is locked, sir. "

"Unlock it. "

"But where is the key, sir?"

"Have you not got the key?"

"If the key is not in the lock, sir, you may depend upon it that itwill take a long search to find it. "

"Where did you see it last?"

"It was in the lock yesterday morning. Jackson might have taken it. "

"Where is Jackson?"

"Out in the field somewhere, sir. "

Mr. Downing thought for a moment. 

"I don't believe a word of it, " he said shortly. "I have my reasonsfor thinking that you are deliberately keeping the contents of thatcupboard from me. I shall break open the door. "

Psmith got up. 

"I'm afraid you mustn't do that, sir. "

Mr. Downing stared, amazed. 

"Are you aware whom you are talking to, Smith?" he inquired acidly. 

"Yes, sir. And I know it's not Mr. Outwood, to whom that cupboardhappens to belong. If you wish to break it open, you must get hispermission. He is the sole lessee and proprietor of that cupboard. Iam only the acting manager. "

Mr. Downing paused. He also reflected. Mr. Outwood in the general ruledid not count much in the scheme of things, but possibly there werelimits to the treating of him as if he did not exist. To enter hishouse without his permission and search it to a certain extent was allvery well. But when it came to breaking up his furniture, perhaps----!

On the other hand, there was the maddening thought that if he leftthe study in search of Mr. Outwood, in order to obtain his sanctionfor the house-breaking work which he proposed to carry through, Smith would be alone in the room. And he knew that, if Smith wereleft alone in the room, he would instantly remove the boot to someother hiding-place. He thoroughly disbelieved the story of the lostkey. He was perfectly convinced that the missing boot was in thecupboard. 

He stood chewing these thoughts for awhile, Psmith in the meantimestanding in a graceful attitude in front of the cupboard, staring intovacancy. 

Then he was seized with a happy idea. Why should he leave the room atall? If he sent Smith, then he himself could wait and make certainthat the cupboard was not tampered with. 

"Smith, " he said, "go and find Mr. Outwood, and ask him to be goodenough to come here for a moment. "

CHAPTER LI

MAINLY ABOUT BOOTS

"Be quick, Smith, " he said, as the latter stood looking at him withoutmaking any movement in the direction of the door. 

"_Quick_, sir?" said Psmith meditatively, as if he had been askeda conundrum. 

"Go and find Mr. Outwood at once. "

Psmith still made no move. 

"Do you intend to disobey me, Smith?" Mr. Downing's voice was steely. 

"Yes, sir. "

"What!"

"Yes, sir. "

There was one of those you-could-have-heard-a-pin-drop silences. Psmith was staring reflectively at the ceiling. Mr. Downing waslooking as if at any moment he might say, "Thwarted to me face, ha, ha! And by a very stripling!"

It was Psmith, however, who resumed the conversation. His manner wasalmost too respectful; which made it all the more a pity that what hesaid did not keep up the standard of docility. 

"I take my stand, " he said, "on a technical point. I say to myself, 'Mr. Downing is a man I admire as a human being and respect as amaster. In----'"

"This impertinence is doing you no good, Smith. "

Psmith waved a hand deprecatingly. 

"If you will let me explain, sir. I was about to say that in anyother place but Mr. Outwood's house, your word would be law. I wouldfly to do your bidding. If you pressed a button, I would do the rest. But in Mr. Outwood's house I cannot do anything except what pleases meor what is ordered by Mr. Outwood. I ought to have remembered thatbefore. One cannot, " he continued, as who should say, "Let us bereasonable, " "one cannot, to take a parallel case, imagine the colonelcommanding the garrison at a naval station going on board a battleshipand ordering the crew to splice the jibboom spanker. It might be anadmirable thing for the Empire that the jibboom spanker _should_be spliced at that particular juncture, but the crew would naturallydecline to move in the matter until the order came from the commanderof the ship. So in my case. If you will go to Mr. Outwood, and explainto him how matters stand, and come back and say to me, 'Psmith, Mr. Outwood wishes you to ask him to be good enough to come to thisstudy, ' then I shall be only too glad to go and find him. You see mydifficulty, sir?"

"Go and fetch Mr. Outwood, Smith. I shall not tell you again. "

Psmith flicked a speck of dust from his coat-sleeve. 

"Very well, Smith. "

"I can assure you, sir, at any rate, that if there is a boot in thatcupboard now, there will be a boot there when you return. "

Mr. Downing stalked out of the room. 

"But, " added Psmith pensively to himself, as the footsteps died away, "I did not promise that it would be the same boot. "

He took the key from his pocket, unlocked the cupboard, and took outthe boot. Then he selected from the basket a particularly batteredspecimen. Placing this in the cupboard, he re-locked the door. 

His next act was to take from the shelf a piece of string. Attachingone end of this to the boot that he had taken from the cupboard, hewent to the window. His first act was to fling the cupboard-key outinto the bushes. Then he turned to the boot. On a level with the sillthe water-pipe, up which Mike had started to climb the night before, was fastened to the wall by an iron band. He tied the other end of thestring to this, and let the boot swing free. He noticed with approval, when it had stopped swinging, that it was hidden from above by thewindow-sill. 

He returned to his place at the mantelpiece. 

As an after-thought he took another boot from the basket, and thrustit up the chimney. A shower of soot fell into the grate, blackeninghis hand. 

The bathroom was a few yards down the corridor. He went there, andwashed off the soot. 

When he returned, Mr. Downing was in the study, and with him Mr. Outwood, the latter looking dazed, as if he were not quite equal tothe intellectual pressure of the situation. 

"Where have you been, Smith?" asked Mr. Downing sharply. 

"I have been washing my hands, sir. "

"H'm!" said Mr. Downing suspiciously. 

"Yes, I saw Smith go into the bathroom, " said Mr. Outwood. "Smith, Icannot quite understand what it is Mr. Downing wishes me to do. "

"My dear Outwood, " snapped the sleuth, "I thought I had made itperfectly clear. Where is the difficulty?"

"I cannot understand why you should suspect Smith of keeping his bootsin a cupboard, and, " added Mr. Outwood with spirit, catching sight ofa Good-Gracious-has-the-man-_no_-sense look on the other's face, "why he should not do so if he wishes it. "

"Exactly, sir, " said Psmith, approvingly. "You have touched the spot. "

"If I must explain again, my dear Outwood, will you kindly give meyour attention for a moment. Last night a boy broke out of your house, and painted my dog Sampson red. "

"He painted--!" said Mr. Outwood, round-eyed. "Why?"

"I don't know why. At any rate, he did. During the escapade one of hisboots was splashed with the paint. It is that boot which I believeSmith to be concealing in this cupboard. Now, do you understand?"

Mr. Outwood looked amazedly at Smith, and Psmith shook his headsorrowfully at Mr. Outwood. Psmith'a expression said, as plainly as ifhe had spoken the words, "We must humour him. "

"So with your permission, as Smith declares that he has lost the key, I propose to break open the door of this cupboard. Have you anyobjection?"

Mr. Outwood started. 

"Objection? None at all, my dear fellow, none at all. Let me see, _what_ is it you wish to do?"

"This, " said Mr. Downing shortly. 

There was a pair of dumb-bells on the floor, belonging to Mike. Henever used them, but they always managed to get themselves packed withthe rest of his belongings on the last day of the holidays. Mr. Downing seized one of these, and delivered two rapid blows at thecupboard-door. The wood splintered. A third blow smashed the flimsylock. The cupboard, with any skeletons it might contain, was open forall to view. 

Mr. Downing uttered a cry of triumph, and tore the boot from itsresting-place. 

"I told you, " he said. "I told you. "

"I wondered where that boot had got to, " said Psmith. "I've beenlooking for it for days. "

Mr. Downing was examining his find. He looked up with an exclamationof surprise and wrath. 

"This boot has no paint on it, " he said, glaring at Psmith. "This isnot the boot. "

"It certainly appears, sir, " said Psmith sympathetically, "to be freefrom paint. There's a sort of reddish glow just there, if you look atit sideways, " he added helpfully. 

"Did you place that boot there, Smith?"

"I must have done. Then, when I lost the key----"

"Are you satisfied now, Downing?" interrupted Mr. Outwood withasperity, "or is there any more furniture you wish to break?"

The excitement of seeing his household goods smashed with a dumb-bellhad made the archaeological student quite a swashbuckler for themoment. A little more, and one could imagine him giving Mr. Downing agood, hard knock. 

The sleuth-hound stood still for a moment, baffled. But his brain wasworking with the rapidity of a buzz-saw. A chance remark of Mr. Outwood's set him fizzing off on the trail once more. Mr. Outwood hadcaught sight of the little pile of soot in the grate. He bent down toinspect it. 

"Dear me, " he said, "I must remember to have the chimneys swept. Itshould have been done before. "

Mr. Downing's eye, rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven to earth, fromearth to heaven, also focussed itself on the pile of soot; and athrill went through him. Soot in the fireplace! Smith washing hishands! ("You know my methods, my dear Watson. Apply them. ")

Mr. Downing's mind at that moment contained one single thought; andthat thought was "What ho for the chimney!"

He dived forward with a rush, nearly knocking Mr. Outwood off hisfeet, and thrust an arm up into the unknown. An avalanche of soot fellupon his hand and wrist, but he ignored it, for at the same instanthis fingers had closed upon what he was seeking. 

"Ah, " he said. "I thought as much. You were not quite clever enough, after all, Smith. "

"No, sir, " said Psmith patiently. "We all make mistakes. "

"You would have done better, Smith, not to have given me all thistrouble. You have done yourself no good by it. "

"It's been great fun, though, sir, " argued Psmith. 

"Fun!" Mr. Downing laughed grimly. "You may have reason to change youropinion of what constitutes----"

His voice failed as his eye fell on the all-black toe of the boot. Helooked up, and caught Psmith's benevolent gaze. He straightenedhimself and brushed a bead of perspiration from his face with the backof his hand. Unfortunately, he used the sooty hand, and the result waslike some gruesome burlesque of a nigger minstrel. 

"Did--you--put--that--boot--there, Smith?" he asked slowly. 

[Illustration: "DID--YOU--PUT--THAT--BOOT--THERE, SMITH?"]

"Yes, sir. "

"Then what did you _MEAN_ by putting it there?" roared Mr. Downing. 

"Animal spirits, sir, " said Psmith. 

"WHAT!"

"Animal spirits, sir. "

What Mr. Downing would have replied to this one cannot tell, thoughone can guess roughly. For, just as he was opening his mouth, Mr. Outwood, catching sight of his Chirgwin-like countenance, intervened. 

"My dear Downing, " he said, "your face. It is positively covered withsoot, positively. You must come and wash it. You are quite black. Really, you present a most curious appearance, most. Let me show youthe way to my room. "

In all times of storm and tribulation there comes a breaking-point, apoint where the spirit definitely refuses, to battle any longeragainst the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Mr. Downing couldnot bear up against this crowning blow. He went down beneath it. Inthe language of the Ring, he took the count. It was the knock-out. 

"Soot!" he murmured weakly. "Soot!"

"Your face is covered, my dear fellow, quite covered. "

"It certainly has a faintly sooty aspect, sir, " said Psmith. 

His voice roused the sufferer to one last flicker of spirit. 

"You will hear more of this, Smith, " he said. "I say you will hearmore of it. "

Then he allowed Mr. Outwood to lead him out to a place where therewere towels, soap, and sponges. 

 * * * * *

When they had gone, Psmith went to the window, and hauled in thestring. He felt the calm after-glow which comes to the general after asuccessfully conducted battle. It had been trying, of course, for aman of refinement, and it had cut into his afternoon, but on the wholeit had been worth it. 

The problem now was what to do with the painted boot. It would take alot of cleaning, he saw, even if he could get hold of the necessaryimplements for cleaning it. And he rather doubted if he would be ableto do so. Edmund, the boot-boy, worked in some mysterious cell, farfrom the madding crowd, at the back of the house. In the boot-cupboarddownstairs there would probably be nothing likely to be of any use. 

His fears were realised. The boot-cupboard was empty. It seemed to himthat, for the time being, the best thing he could do would be to placethe boot in safe hiding, until he should have thought out a scheme. 

Having restored the basket to its proper place, accordingly, he wentup to the study again, and placed the red-toed boot in the chimney, atabout the same height where Mr. Downing had found the other. Nobodywould think of looking there a second time, and it was improbable thatMr. Outwood really would have the chimneys swept, as he had said. Theodds were that he had forgotten about it already. 

Psmith went to the bathroom to wash his hands again, with the feelingthat he had done a good day's work. 

CHAPTER LII

ON THE TRAIL AGAIN

The most massive minds are apt to forget things at times. The mostadroit plotters make their little mistakes. Psmith was no exception tothe rule. He made the mistake of not telling Mike of the afternoon'shappenings. 

It was not altogether forgetfulness. Psmith was one of those peoplewho like to carry through their operations entirely by themselves. Where there is only one in a secret the secret is more liable toremain unrevealed. There was nothing, he thought, to be gained fromtelling Mike. He forgot what the consequences might be if he did not. 

So Psmith kept his own counsel, with the result that Mike went over toschool on the Monday morning in pumps. 

Edmund, summoned from the hinterland of the house to give his opinionwhy only one of Mike's boots was to be found, had no views on thesubject. He seemed to look on it as one of those things which nofellow can understand. 

"'Ere's one of 'em, Mr. Jackson, " he said, as if he hoped that Mikemight be satisfied with a compromise. 

"One? What's the good of that, Edmund, you chump? I can't go over toschool in one boot. "

Edmund turned this over in his mind, and then said, "No, sir, " as muchas to say, "I may have lost a boot, but, thank goodness, I can stillunderstand sound reasoning. "

"Well, what am I to do? Where is the other boot?"

"Don't know, Mr. Jackson, " replied Edmund to both questions. 

"Well, I mean--Oh, dash it, there's the bell. "

And Mike sprinted off in the pumps he stood in. 

It is only a deviation from those ordinary rules of school life, whichone observes naturally and without thinking, that enables one torealise how strong public-school prejudices really are. At a school, for instance, where the regulations say that coats only of blackor dark blue are to be worn, a boy who appears one day in even themost respectable and unostentatious brown finds himself looked onwith a mixture of awe and repulsion, which would be excessive if hehad sand-bagged the headmaster. So in the case of boots. School rulesdecree that a boy shall go to his form-room in boots, There is no realreason why, if the day is fine, he should not wear shoes, should heprefer them. But, if he does, the thing creates a perfect sensation. Boys say, "Great Scott, what _have_ you got on?" Masters say, "Jones, _what_ are you wearing on your feet?" In the few minuteswhich elapse between the assembling of the form for call-over and thearrival of the form-master, some wag is sure either to stamp on theshoes, accompanying the act with some satirical remark, or else topull one of them off, and inaugurate an impromptu game of footballwith it. There was once a boy who went to school one morning inelastic-sided boots.... 

Mike had always been coldly distant in his relations to the rest ofhis form, looking on them, with a few exceptions, as worms; and theform, since his innings against Downing's on the Friday, had regardedMike with respect. So that he escaped the ragging he would have had toundergo at Wrykyn in similar circumstances. It was only Mr. Downingwho gave trouble. 

There is a sort of instinct which enables some masters to tell when aboy in their form is wearing shoes instead of boots, just as peoplewho dislike cats always know when one is in a room with them. Theycannot see it, but they feel it in their bones. 

Mr. Downing was perhaps the most bigoted anti-shoeist in the wholelist of English schoolmasters. He waged war remorselessly againstshoes. Satire, abuse, lines, detention--every weapon was employed byhim in dealing with their wearers. It had been the late Dunster'spractice always to go over to school in shoes when, as he usually did, he felt shaky in the morning's lesson. Mr. Downing always detected himin the first five minutes, and that meant a lecture of anything fromten minutes to a quarter of an hour on Untidy Habits and Boys WhoLooked like Loafers--which broke the back of the morning's worknicely. On one occasion, when a particularly tricky bit of Livy was onthe bill of fare, Dunster had entered the form-room in heel-lessTurkish bath-slippers, of a vivid crimson; and the subsequentproceedings, including his journey over to the house to change theheel-less atrocities, had seen him through very nearly to the quarterto eleven interval. 

Mike, accordingly, had not been in his place for three minutes whenMr. Downing, stiffening like a pointer, called his name. 

"Yes, sir?" said Mike. 

"_What_ are you wearing on your feet, Jackson?"

"Pumps, sir. "

"You are wearing pumps? Are you not aware that PUMPS are not theproper things to come to school in? Why are you wearing _PUMPS_?"

The form, leaning back against the next row of desks, settled itselfcomfortably for the address from the throne. 

"I have lost one of my boots, sir. "

A kind of gulp escaped from Mr. Downing's lips. He stared at Mike fora moment in silence. Then, turning to Stone, he told him to starttranslating. 

Stone, who had been expecting at least ten minutes' respite, was takenunawares. When he found the place in his book and began to construe, he floundered hopelessly. But, to his growing surprise andsatisfaction, the form-master appeared to notice nothing wrong. Hesaid "Yes, yes, " mechanically, and finally "That will do, " whereuponStone resumed his seat with the feeling that the age of miracles hadreturned. 

Mr. Downing's mind was in a whirl. His case was complete. Mike'sappearance in shoes, with the explanation that he had lost a boot, completed the chain. As Columbus must have felt when his ship ran intoharbour, and the first American interviewer, jumping on board, said, "Wal, sir, and what are your impressions of our glorious country?" sodid Mr. Downing feel at that moment. 

When the bell rang at a quarter to eleven, he gathered up his gown, and sped to the headmaster. 

CHAPTER LIII

THE KETTLE METHOD

It was during the interval that day that Stone and Robinson, discussing the subject of cricket over a bun and ginger-beer at theschool shop, came to a momentous decision, to wit, that they were fedup with Adair administration and meant to strike. The immediate causeof revolt was early-morning fielding-practice, that searching test ofcricket keenness. Mike himself, to whom cricket was the great andserious interest of life, had shirked early-morning fielding-practicein his first term at Wrykyn. And Stone and Robinson had but a luke-warmattachment to the game, compared with Mike's. 

As a rule, Adair had contented himself with practice in the afternoonafter school, which nobody objects to; and no strain, consequently, had been put upon Stone's and Robinson's allegiance. In view of theM. C. C. Match on the Wednesday, however, he had now added to this anextra dose to be taken before breakfast. Stone and Robinson had lefttheir comfortable beds that day at six o'clock, yawning and heavy-eyed, and had caught catches and fielded drives which, in the cool morningair, had stung like adders and bitten like serpents. Until the sun hasreally got to work, it is no joke taking a high catch. Stone's dislikeof the experiment was only equalled by Robinson's. They were neither ofthem of the type which likes to undergo hardships for the common good. They played well enough when on the field, but neither cared greatlywhether the school had a good season or not. They played the gameentirely for their own sakes. 

The result was that they went back to the house for breakfast with anever-again feeling, and at the earliest possible moment met to debateas to what was to be done about it. At all costs another experiencelike to-day's must be avoided. 

"It's all rot, " said Stone. "What on earth's the good of sweatingabout before breakfast? It only makes you tired. "

"I shouldn't wonder, " said Robinson, "if it wasn't bad for the heart. Rushing about on an empty stomach, I mean, and all that sort ofthing. "

"Personally, " said Stone, gnawing his bun, "I don't intend to stickit. "

"Nor do I. "

"I mean, it's such absolute rot. If we aren't good enough to play forthe team without having to get up overnight to catch catches, he'dbetter find somebody else. "

"Yes. "

At this moment Adair came into the shop. 

"Fielding-practice again to-morrow, " he said briskly, "at six. "

"Before breakfast?" said Robinson. 

"Rather. You two must buck up, you know. You were rotten to-day. " Andhe passed on, leaving the two malcontents speechless. 

Stone was the first to recover. 

"I'm hanged if I turn out to-morrow, " he said, as they left the shop. "He can do what he likes about it. Besides, what can he do, after all?Only kick us out of the team. And I don't mind that. "

"Nor do I. "

"I don't think he will kick us out, either. He can't play the M. C. C. With a scratch team. If he does, we'll go and play for that villageJackson plays for. We'll get Jackson to shove us into the team. "

"All right, " said Robinson. "Let's. "

Their position was a strong one. A cricket captain may seem to be anautocrat of tremendous power, but in reality he has only one weapon, the keenness of those under him. With the majority, of course, thefear of being excluded or ejected from a team is a spur that drives. The majority, consequently, are easily handled. But when a cricketcaptain runs up against a boy who does not much care whether he playsfor the team or not, then he finds himself in a difficult position, and, unless he is a man of action, practically helpless. 

Stone and Robinson felt secure. Taking it all round, they felt thatthey would just as soon play for Lower Borlock as for the school. Thebowling of the opposition would be weaker in the former case, and thechance of making runs greater. To a certain type of cricketer runs areruns, wherever and however made. 

The result of all this was that Adair, turning out with the team nextmorning for fielding-practice, found himself two short. Barnes wasamong those present, but of the other two representatives of Outwood'shouse there were no signs. 

Barnes, questioned on the subject, had no information to give, beyondthe fact that he had not seen them about anywhere. Which was not agreat help. Adair proceeded with the fielding-practice without furtherdelay. 

At breakfast that morning he was silent and apparently wrapped inthought. Mr. Downing, who sat at the top of the table with Adair onhis right, was accustomed at the morning meal to blend nourishment ofthe body with that of the mind. As a rule he had ten minutes with thedaily paper before the bell rang, and it was his practice to hand onthe results of his reading to Adair and the other house-prefects, who, not having seen the paper, usually formed an interested andappreciative audience. To-day, however, though the house-prefectsexpressed varying degrees of excitement at the news that Tyldesley hadmade a century against Gloucestershire, and that a butter famine wasexpected in the United States, these world-shaking news-items seemedto leave Adair cold. He champed his bread and marmalade with anabstracted air. 

He was wondering what to do in this matter of Stone and Robinson. 

Many captains might have passed the thing over. To take it for grantedthat the missing pair had overslept themselves would have been a safeand convenient way out of the difficulty. But Adair was not the sortof person who seeks for safe and convenient ways out of difficulties. He never shirked anything, physical or moral. 

He resolved to interview the absentees. 

It was not until after school that an opportunity offered itself. Hewent across to Outwood's and found the two non-starters in the seniorday-room, engaged in the intellectual pursuit of kicking the wall andmarking the height of each kick with chalk. Adair's entrance coincidedwith a record effort by Stone, which caused the kicker to overbalanceand stagger backwards against the captain. 

"Sorry, " said Stone. "Hullo, Adair!"

"Don't mention it. Why weren't you two at fielding-practice thismorning?"

Robinson, who left the lead to Stone in all matters, said nothing. Stone spoke. 

"We didn't turn up, " he said. 

"I know you didn't. Why not?"

Stone had rehearsed this scene in his mind, and he spoke with thecoolness which comes from rehearsal. 

"We decided not to. "

"Oh?"

"Yes. We came to the conclusion that we hadn't any use for early-morningfielding. "

Adair's manner became ominously calm. 

"You were rather fed-up, I suppose?"

"That's just the word. "

"Sorry it bored you. "

"It didn't. We didn't give it the chance to. "

Robinson laughed appreciatively. 

"What's the joke, Robinson?" asked Adair. 

"There's no joke, " said Robinson, with some haste. "I was onlythinking of something. "

"I'll give you something else to think about soon. "

Stone intervened. 

"It's no good making a row about it, Adair. You must see that youcan't do anything. Of course, you can kick us out of the team, if youlike, but we don't care if you do. Jackson will get us a game anyWednesday or Saturday for the village he plays for. So we're allright. And the school team aren't such a lot of flyers that you canafford to go chucking people out of it whenever you want to. See whatI mean?"

"You and Jackson seem to have fixed it all up between you. "

"What are you going to do? Kick us out?"

"No. "

"Good. I thought you'd see it was no good making a beastly row. We'llplay for the school all right. There's no earthly need for us to turnout for fielding-practice before breakfast. "

"You don't think there is? You may be right. All the same, you'regoing to to-morrow morning. "

"What!"

"Six sharp. Don't be late. "

"Don't be an ass, Adair. We've told you we aren't going to. "

"That's only your opinion. I think you are. I'll give you till fivepast six, as you seem to like lying in bed. "

"You can turn out if you feel like it. You won't find me there. "

"That'll be a disappointment. Nor Robinson?"

"No, " said the junior partner in the firm; but he said it without anydeep conviction. The atmosphere was growing a great deal too tense forhis comfort. 

"You've quite made up your minds?"

"Yes, " said Stone. 

"Right, " said Adair quietly, and knocked him down. 

He was up again in a moment. Adair had pushed the table back, and wasstanding in the middle of the open space. 

"You cad, " said Stone. "I wasn't ready. "

"Well, you are now. Shall we go on?"

Stone dashed in without a word, and for a few moments the two mighthave seemed evenly matched to a not too intelligent spectator. Butscience tells, even in a confined space. Adair was smaller and lighterthan Stone, but he was cooler and quicker, and he knew more about thegame. His blow was always home a fraction of a second sooner than hisopponent's. At the end of a minute Stone was on the floor again. 

He got up slowly and stood leaning with one hand on the table. 

"Suppose we say ten past six?" said Adair. "I'm not particular to aminute or two. "

Stone made no reply. 

"Will ten past six suit you for fielding-practice to-morrow?" saidAdair. 

"All right, " said Stone. 

"Thanks. How about you, Robinson?"

Robinson had been a petrified spectator of the Captain-Kettle-likemanoeuvres of the cricket captain, and it did not take him long tomake up his mind. He was not altogether a coward. In differentcircumstances he might have put up a respectable show. But it takes amore than ordinarily courageous person to embark on a fight which heknows must end in his destruction. Robinson knew that he was nothinglike a match even for Stone, and Adair had disposed of Stone in alittle over one minute. It seemed to Robinson that neither pleasurenor profit was likely to come from an encounter with Adair. 

"All right, " he said hastily, "I'll turn up. "

"Good, " said Adair. "I wonder if either of you chaps could tell mewhich is Jackson's study. "

Stone was dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief, a task whichprecluded anything in the shape of conversation; so Robinson repliedthat Mike's study was the first you came to on the right of thecorridor at the top of the stairs. 

"Thanks, " said Adair. "You don't happen to know if he's in, Isuppose?"

"He went up with Smith a quarter of an hour ago. I don't know if he'sstill there. "

"I'll go and see, " said Adair. "I should like a word with him if heisn't busy. "

CHAPTER LIV

ADAIR HAS A WORD WITH MIKE

Mike, all unconscious of the stirring proceedings which had been goingon below stairs, was peacefully reading a letter he had received thatmorning from Strachan at Wrykyn, in which the successor to the cricketcaptaincy which should have been Mike's had a good deal to say in alugubrious strain. In Mike's absence things had been going badly withWrykyn. A broken arm, contracted in the course of some rashexperiments with a day-boy's motor-bicycle, had deprived the team ofthe services of Dunstable, the only man who had shown any signs ofbeing able to bowl a side out. Since this calamity, wrote Strachan, everything had gone wrong. The M. C. C. , led by Mike's brother Reggie, the least of the three first-class-cricketing Jacksons, had smashedthem by a hundred and fifty runs. Geddington had wiped them off theface of the earth. The Incogs, with a team recruited exclusively fromthe rabbit-hutch--not a well-known man on the side except Stacey, a veteran who had been playing for the club since Fuller Pilch'stime--had got home by two wickets. In fact, it was Strachan's opinionthat the Wrykyn team that summer was about the most hopeless gang ofdead-beats that had ever made an exhibition of itself on the schoolgrounds. The Ripton match, fortunately, was off, owing to an outbreakof mumps at that shrine of learning and athletics--the second outbreakof the malady in two terms. Which, said Strachan, was hard lines onRipton, but a bit of jolly good luck for Wrykyn, as it had saved themfrom what would probably have been a record hammering, Ripton havingeight of their last year's team left, including Dixon, the fastbowler, against whom Mike alone of the Wrykyn team had been able tomake runs in the previous season. Altogether, Wrykyn had struck a badpatch. 

Mike mourned over his suffering school. If only he could have beenthere to help. It might have made all the difference. In schoolcricket one good batsman, to go in first and knock the bowlers offtheir length, may take a weak team triumphantly through a season. Inschool cricket the importance of a good start for the first wicket isincalculable. 

As he put Strachan's letter away in his pocket, all his old bitternessagainst Sedleigh, which had been ebbing during the past few days, returned with a rush. He was conscious once more of that feeling ofpersonal injury which had made him hate his new school on the firstday of term. 

And it was at this point, when his resentment was at its height, thatAdair, the concrete representative of everything Sedleighan, enteredthe room. 

There are moments in life's placid course when there has got to be thebiggest kind of row. This was one of them. 

 * * * * *

Psmith, who was leaning against the mantelpiece, reading the serialstory in a daily paper which he had abstracted from the senior day-room, made the intruder free of the study with a dignified wave of the hand, and went on reading. Mike remained in the deck-chair in which he wassitting, and contented himself with glaring at the newcomer. 

Psmith was the first to speak. 

"If you ask my candid opinion, " he said, looking up from his paper, "Ishould say that young Lord Antony Trefusis was in the soup already. Iseem to see the _consommé_ splashing about his ankles. He's had anote telling him to be under the oak-tree in the Park at midnight. He's just off there at the end of this instalment. I bet Long Jack, the poacher, is waiting there with a sandbag. Care to see the paper, Comrade Adair? Or don't you take any interest in contemporaryliterature?"

"Thanks, " said Adair. "I just wanted to speak to Jackson for aminute. "

"Fate, " said Psmith, "has led your footsteps to the right place. Thatis Comrade Jackson, the Pride of the School, sitting before you. "

"What do you want?" said Mike. 

He suspected that Adair had come to ask him once again to play for theschool. The fact that the M. C. C. Match was on the following day madethis a probable solution of the reason for his visit. He could thinkof no other errand that was likely to have set the head of Downing'spaying afternoon calls. 

"I'll tell you in a minute. It won't take long. "

"That, " said Psmith approvingly, "is right. Speed is the key-note ofthe present age. Promptitude. Despatch. This is no time for loitering. We must be strenuous. We must hustle. We must Do It Now. We----"

"Buck up, " said Mike. 

"Certainly, " said Adair. "I've just been talking to Stone andRobinson. "

"An excellent way of passing an idle half-hour, " said Psmith. 

"We weren't exactly idle, " said Adair grimly. "It didn't last long, but it was pretty lively while it did. Stone chucked it after thefirst round. "

Mike got up out of his chair. He could not quite follow what all thiswas about, but there was no mistaking the truculence of Adair'smanner. For some reason, which might possibly be made dear later, Adair was looking for trouble, and Mike in his present mood felt thatit would be a privilege to see that he got it. 

Psmith was regarding Adair through his eyeglass with pain andsurprise. 

"Surely, " he said, "you do not mean us to understand that you havebeen _brawling_ with Comrade Stone! This is bad hearing. Ithought that you and he were like brothers. Such a bad example forComrade Robinson, too. Leave us, Adair. We would brood. Oh, go thee, knave, I'll none of thee. Shakespeare. "

Psmith turned away, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, gazedat himself mournfully in the looking-glass. 

"I'm not the man I was, " he sighed, after a prolonged inspection. "There are lines on my face, dark circles beneath my eyes. The fiercerush of life at Sedleigh is wasting me away. "

"Stone and I had a discussion about early-morning fielding-practice, "said Adair, turning to Mike. 

Mike said nothing. 

"I thought his fielding wanted working up a bit, so I told him to turnout at six to-morrow morning. He said he wouldn't, so we argued itout. He's going to all right. So is Robinson. "

Mike remained silent. 

"So are you, " added Adair. 

"I get thinner and thinner, " said Psmith from the mantelpiece. 

Mike looked at Adair, and Adair looked at Mike, after the manner oftwo dogs before they fly at one another. There was an electric silencein the study. Psmith peered with increased earnestness into the glass. 

"Oh?" said Mike at last. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't think. I know. "

"Any special reason for my turning out?"

"Yes. "

"What's that?"

"You're going to play for the school against the M. C. C. To-morrow, andI want you to get some practice. "

"I wonder how you got that idea!"

"Curious I should have done, isn't it?"

"Very. You aren't building on it much, are you?" said Mike politely. 

"I am, rather, " replied Adair with equal courtesy. 

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. "

"I don't think so. "

"My eyes, " said Psmith regretfully, "are a bit close together. However, " he added philosophically, "it's too late to alter that now. "

Mike drew a step closer to Adair. 

"What makes you think I shall play against the M. C. C. ?" he askedcuriously. 

"I'm going to make you. "

Mike took another step forward. Adair moved to meet him. 

"Would you care to try now?" said Mike. 

For just one second the two drew themselves together preparatory tobeginning the serious business of the interview, and in that secondPsmith, turning from the glass, stepped between them. 

"Get out of the light, Smith, " said Mike. 

Psmith waved him back with a deprecating gesture. 

"My dear young friends, " he said placidly, "if you _will_ letyour angry passions rise, against the direct advice of Doctor Watts, I suppose you must, But when you propose to claw each other in mystudy, in the midst of a hundred fragile and priceless ornaments, Ilodge a protest. If you really feel that you want to scrap, forgoodness sake do it where there's some room. I don't want all thestudy furniture smashed. I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows, only a few yards down the road, where you can scrap all night if youwant to. How would it be to move on there? Any objections? None? Thenshift ho! and let's get it over. "

CHAPTER LV

CLEARING THE AIR

Psmith was one of those people who lend a dignity to everything theytouch. Under his auspices the most unpromising ventures became somehowenveloped in an atmosphere of measured stateliness. On the presentoccasion, what would have been, without his guiding hand, a mereunscientific scramble, took on something of the impressive formalityof the National Sporting Club. 

"The rounds, " he said, producing a watch, as they passed through agate into a field a couple of hundred yards from the house gate, "willbe of three minutes' duration, with a minute rest in between. A manwho is down will have ten seconds in which to rise. Are you ready, Comrades Adair and Jackson? Very well, then. Time. "

After which, it was a pity that the actual fight did not quite live upto its referee's introduction. Dramatically, there should have beencautious sparring for openings and a number of tensely contestedrounds, as if it had been the final of a boxing competition. Butschool fights, when they do occur--which is only once in a decadenowadays, unless you count junior school scuffles--are the outcome ofweeks of suppressed bad blood, and are consequently brief and furious. In a boxing competition, however much one may want to win, one doesnot dislike one's opponent. Up to the moment when "time" was called, one was probably warmly attached to him, and at the end of the lastround one expects to resume that attitude of mind. In a fight eachparty, as a rule, hates the other. 

So it happened that there was nothing formal or cautious about thepresent battle. All Adair wanted was to get at Mike, and all Mikewanted was to get at Adair. Directly Psmith called "time, " they rushedtogether as if they meant to end the thing in half a minute. 

It was this that saved Mike. In an ordinary contest with the gloves, with his opponent cool and boxing in his true form, he could not havelasted three rounds against Adair. The latter was a clever boxer, while Mike had never had a lesson in his life. If Adair had kept awayand used his head, nothing could have prevented him winning. 

As it was, however, he threw away his advantages, much as Tom Browndid at the beginning of his fight with Slogger Williams, and theresult was the same as on that historic occasion. Mike had the greaterstrength, and, thirty seconds from the start, knocked his man cleanoff his feet with an unscientific but powerful right-hander. 

This finished Adair's chances. He rose full of fight, but with all thescience knocked out of him. He went in at Mike with both hands. TheIrish blood in him, which for the ordinary events of life made himmerely energetic and dashing, now rendered him reckless. He abandonedall attempt at guarding. It was the Frontal Attack in its most futileform, and as unsuccessful as a frontal attack is apt to be. There wasa swift exchange of blows, in the course of which Mike's left elbow, coming into contact with his opponent's right fist, got a shock whichkept it tingling for the rest of the day; and then Adair went down ina heap. 

He got up slowly and with difficulty. For a moment he stood blinkingvaguely. Then he lurched forward at Mike. 

In the excitement of a fight--which is, after all, about the mostexciting thing that ever happens to one in the course of one's life--itis difficult for the fighters to see what the spectators see. Wherethe spectators see an assault on an already beaten man, the fighterhimself only sees a legitimate piece of self-defence against anopponent whose chances are equal to his own. Psmith saw, as anybodylooking on would have seen, that Adair was done. Mike's blow had takenhim within a fraction of an inch of the point of the jaw, and he wasall but knocked out. Mike could not see this. All he understood wasthat his man was on his feet again and coming at him, so he hit outwith all his strength; and this time Adair went down and stayed down. 

"Brief, " said Psmith, coming forward, "but exciting. We may take that, I think, to be the conclusion of the entertainment. I will now have adash at picking up the slain. I shouldn't stop, if I were you. He'llbe sitting up and taking notice soon, and if he sees you he may wantto go on with the combat, which would do him no earthly good. If it'sgoing to be continued in our next, there had better be a bit of aninterval for alterations and repairs first. "

"Is he hurt much, do you think?" asked Mike. He had seen knock-outsbefore in the ring, but this was the first time he had ever effectedone on his own account, and Adair looked unpleasantly corpse-like. 

"_He's_ all right, " said Psmith. "In a minute or two he'll beskipping about like a little lambkin. I'll look after him. You go awayand pick flowers. "

Mike put on his coat and walked back to the house. He was conscious ofa perplexing whirl of new and strange emotions, chief among which wasa curious feeling that he rather liked Adair. He found himselfthinking that Adair was a good chap, that there was something to besaid for his point of view, and that it was a pity he had knocked himabout so much. At the same time, he felt an undeniable thrill of prideat having beaten him. The feat presented that interesting person, MikeJackson, to him in a fresh and pleasing light, as one who had had atough job to face and had carried it through. Jackson, the cricketer, he knew, but Jackson, the deliverer of knock-out blows, was strange tohim, and he found this new acquaintance a man to be respected. 

The fight, in fact, had the result which most fights have, if they arefought fairly and until one side has had enough. It revolutionisedMike's view of things. It shook him up, and drained the bad blood outof him. Where, before, he had seemed to himself to be acting withmassive dignity, he now saw that he had simply been sulking like somewretched kid. There had appeared to him something rather fine in hispolicy of refusing to identify himself in any way with Sedleigh, atouch of the stone-walls-do-not-a-prison-make sort of thing. He nowsaw that his attitude was to be summed up in the words, "Sha'n'tplay. "

It came upon Mike with painful clearness that he had been making anass of himself. 

He had come to this conclusion, after much earnest thought, whenPsmith entered the study. 

"How's Adair?" asked Mike. 

"Sitting up and taking nourishment once more. We have been chatting. He's not a bad cove. "

"He's all right, " said Mike. 

There was a pause. Psmith straightened his tie. 

"Look here, " he said, "I seldom interfere in terrestrial strife, butit seems to me that there's an opening here for a capable peace-maker, not afraid of work, and willing to give his services in exchange for acomfortable home. Comrade Adair's rather a stoutish fellow in his way. I'm not much on the 'Play up for the old school, Jones, ' game, butevery one to his taste. I shouldn't have thought anybody would getoverwhelmingly attached to this abode of wrath, but Comrade Adairseems to have done it. He's all for giving Sedleigh a much-neededboost-up. It's not a bad idea in its way. I don't see why oneshouldn't humour him. Apparently he's been sweating since earlychildhood to buck the school up. And as he's leaving at the end of theterm, it mightn't be a scaly scheme to give him a bit of a send-off, if possible, by making the cricket season a bit of a banger. As astart, why not drop him a line to say that you'll play against theM. C. C. To-morrow?"

Mike did not reply at once. He was feeling better disposed towardsAdair and Sedleigh than he had felt, but he was not sure that he wasquite prepared to go as far as a complete climb-down. 

"It wouldn't be a bad idea, " continued Psmith. "There's nothing likegiving a man a bit in every now and then. It broadens the soul andimproves the action of the skin. What seems to have fed up ComradeAdair, to a certain extent, is that Stone apparently led him tounderstand that you had offered to give him and Robinson places inyour village team. You didn't, of course?"

"Of course not, " said Mike indignantly. 

"I told him he didn't know the old _noblesse oblige_ spirit ofthe Jacksons. I said that you would scorn to tarnish the Jacksonescutcheon by not playing the game. My eloquence convinced him. However, to return to the point under discussion, why not?"

"I don't--What I mean to say--" began Mike. 

"If your trouble is, " said Psmith, "that you fear that you may be inunworthy company----"

"Don't be an ass. "

"----Dismiss it. _I_ am playing. "

Mike stared. 

"You're what? You?"

"I, " said Psmith, breathing on a coat-button, and polishing it withhis handkerchief. 

"Can you play cricket?"

"You have discovered, " said Psmith, "my secret sorrow. "

"You're rotting. "

"You wrong me, Comrade Jackson. "

"Then why haven't you played?"

"Why haven't you?"

"Why didn't you come and play for Lower Borlock, I mean?"

"The last time I played in a village cricket match I was caught atpoint by a man in braces. It would have been madness to risk anothersuch shock to my system. My nerves are so exquisitely balanced that athing of that sort takes years off my life. "

"No, but look here, Smith, bar rotting. Are you really any good atcricket?"

"Competent judges at Eton gave me to understand so. I was told thatthis year I should be a certainty for Lord's. But when the cricketseason came, where was I? Gone. Gone like some beautiful flower thatwithers in the night. "

"But you told me you didn't like cricket. You said you only likedwatching it. "

"Quite right. I do. But at schools where cricket is compulsory youhave to overcome your private prejudices. And in time the thingbecomes a habit. Imagine my feelings when I found that I wasdegenerating, little by little, into a slow left-hand bowler with aswerve. I fought against it, but it was useless, and after a while Igave up the struggle, and drifted with the stream. Last year, in ahouse match"--Psmith's voice took on a deeper tone of melancholy--"Itook seven for thirteen in the second innings on a hard wicket. I didthink, when I came here, that I had found a haven of rest, but it wasnot to be. I turn out to-morrow. What Comrade Outwood will say, whenhe finds that his keenest archaeological disciple has deserted, I hateto think. However----"

Mike felt as if a young and powerful earthquake had passed. The wholeface of his world had undergone a quick change. Here was he, therecalcitrant, wavering on the point of playing for the school, andhere was Psmith, the last person whom he would have expected to be aplayer, stating calmly that he had been in the running for a place inthe Eton eleven. 

Then in a flash Mike understood. He was not by nature intuitive, buthe read Psmith's mind now. Since the term began, he and Psmith hadbeen acting on precisely similar motives. Just as he had beendisappointed of the captaincy of cricket at Wrykyn, so had Psmith beendisappointed of his place in the Eton team at Lord's. And they hadboth worked it off, each in his own way--Mike sullenly, Psmithwhimsically, according to their respective natures--on Sedleigh. 

If Psmith, therefore, did not consider it too much of a climb-down torenounce his resolution not to play for Sedleigh, there was nothing tostop Mike doing so, as--at the bottom of his heart--he wanted to do. 

"By Jove, " he said, "if you're playing, I'll play. I'll write a noteto Adair now. But, I say--" he stopped--"I'm hanged if I'm going toturn out and field before breakfast to-morrow. "

"That's all right. You won't have to. Adair won't be there himself. He's not playing against the M. C. C. He's sprained his wrist. "

CHAPTER LVI

IN WHICH PEACE IS DECLARED

"Sprained his wrist?" said Mike. "How did he do that?"

"During the brawl. Apparently one of his efforts got home on yourelbow instead of your expressive countenance, and whether it was thatyour elbow was particularly tough or his wrist particularly fragile, Idon't know. Anyhow, it went. It's nothing bad, but it'll keep him outof the game to-morrow. "

"I say, what beastly rough luck! I'd no idea. I'll go round. "

"Not a bad scheme. Close the door gently after you, and if you seeanybody downstairs who looks as if he were likely to be going over tothe shop, ask him to get me a small pot of some rare old jam and tellthe man to chalk it up to me. The jam Comrade Outwood supplies to usat tea is all right as a practical joke or as a food for those anxiousto commit suicide, but useless to anybody who values life. "

On arriving at Mr. Downing's and going to Adair's study, Mike foundthat his late antagonist was out. He left a note informing him of hiswillingness to play in the morrow's match. The lock-up bell rang as hewent out of the house. 

A spot of rain fell on his hand. A moment later there was a continuouspatter, as the storm, which had been gathering all day, broke inearnest. Mike turned up his coat-collar, and ran back to Outwood's. "At this rate, " he said to himself, "there won't be a match at allto-morrow. "

 * * * * *

When the weather decides, after behaving well for some weeks, to showwhat it can do in another direction, it does the thing thoroughly. When Mike woke the next morning the world was grey and dripping. Leaden-coloured clouds drifted over the sky, till there was not atrace of blue to be seen, and then the rain began again, in thegentle, determined way rain has when it means to make a day of it. 

It was one of those bad days when one sits in the pavilion, damp anddepressed, while figures in mackintoshes, with discoloured buckskinboots, crawl miserably about the field in couples. 

Mike, shuffling across to school in a Burberry, met Adair at Downing'sgate. 

These moments are always difficult. Mike stopped--he could hardly walkon as if nothing had happened--and looked down at his feet. 

"Coming across?" he said awkwardly. 

"Right ho!" said Adair. 

They walked on in silence. 

"It's only about ten to, isn't it?" said Mike. 

Adair fished out his watch, and examined it with an elaborate careborn of nervousness. 

"About nine to. "

"Good. We've got plenty of time. "

"Yes. "

"I hate having to hurry over to school. "

"So do I. "

"I often do cut it rather fine, though. "

"Yes. So do I. "

"Beastly nuisance when one does. "

"Beastly. "

"It's only about a couple of minutes from the houses to the school, Ishould think, shouldn't you?"

"Not much more. Might be three. "

"Yes. Three if one didn't hurry. "

"Oh, yes, if one didn't hurry. "

Another silence. 

"Beastly day, " said Adair. 

"Rotten. "

Silence again. 

"I say, " said Mike, scowling at his toes, "awfully sorry about yourwrist. "

"Oh, that's all right. It was my fault. "

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh, no, rather not, thanks. "

"I'd no idea you'd crocked yourself. "

"Oh, no, that's all right. It was only right at the end. You'd havesmashed me anyhow. "

"Oh, rot. "

"I bet you anything you like you would. "

"I bet you I shouldn't.... Jolly hard luck, just before the match. "

"Oh, no.... I say, thanks awfully for saying you'd play. "

"Oh, rot.... Do you think we shall get a game?"

Adair inspected the sky carefully. 

"I don't know. It looks pretty bad, doesn't it?"

"Rotten. I say, how long will your wrist keep you out of cricket?"

"Be all right in a week. Less, probably. "

"Good. "

"Now that you and Smith are going to play, we ought to have a jollygood season. "

"Rummy, Smith turning out to be a cricketer. "

"Yes. I should think he'd be a hot bowler, with his height. "

"He must be jolly good if he was only just out of the Eton team lastyear. "

"Yes. "

"What's the time?" asked Mike. 

Adair produced his watch once more. 

"Five to. "

"We've heaps of time. "

"Yes, heaps. "

"Let's stroll on a bit down the road, shall we?"

"Right ho!"

Mike cleared his throat. 

"I say. "

"Hullo?"

"I've been talking to Smith. He was telling me that you thought I'dpromised to give Stone and Robinson places in the----"

"Oh, no, that's all right. It was only for a bit. Smith told me youcouldn't have done, and I saw that I was an ass to think you couldhave. It was Stone seeming so dead certain that he could play forLower Borlock if I chucked him from the school team that gave me theidea. "

"He never even asked me to get him a place. "

"No, I know. "

"Of course, I wouldn't have done it, even if he had. "

"Of course not. "

"I didn't want to play myself, but I wasn't going to do a rotten tricklike getting other fellows away from the team. "

"No, I know. "

"It was rotten enough, really, not playing myself. "

"Oh, no. Beastly rough luck having to leave Wrykyn just when you weregoing to be captain, and come to a small school like this. "

The excitement of the past few days must have had a stimulating effecton Mike's mind--shaken it up, as it were: for now, for the second timein two days, he displayed quite a creditable amount of intuition. Hemight have been misled by Adair's apparently deprecatory attitudetowards Sedleigh, and blundered into a denunciation of the place. Adair had said "a small school like this" in the sort of voice whichmight have led his hearer to think that he was expected to say, "Yes, rotten little hole, isn't it?" or words to that effect. Mike, fortunately, perceived that the words were used purely frompoliteness, on the Chinese principle. When a Chinaman wishes to pay acompliment, he does so by belittling himself and his belongings. 

He eluded the pitfall. 

"What rot!" he said. "Sedleigh's one of the most sporting schools I'veever come across. Everybody's as keen as blazes. So they ought to be, after the way you've sweated. "

Adair shuffled awkwardly. 

"I've always been fairly keen on the place, " he said. "But I don'tsuppose I've done anything much. "

"You've loosened one of my front teeth, " said Mike, with a grin, "ifthat's any comfort to you. "

"I couldn't eat anything except porridge this morning. My jaw stillaches. "

For the first time during the conversation their eyes met, and thehumorous side of the thing struck them simultaneously. They began tolaugh. 

"What fools we must have looked!" said Adair. 

"_You_ were all right. I must have looked rotten. I've never hadthe gloves on in my life. I'm jolly glad no one saw us except Smith, who doesn't count. Hullo, there's the bell. We'd better be moving on. What about this match? Not much chance of it from the look of the skyat present. "

"It might clear before eleven. You'd better get changed, anyhow, atthe interval, and hang about in case. "

"All right. It's better than doing Thucydides with Downing. We've gotmath, till the interval, so I don't see anything of him all day; whichwon't hurt me. "

"He isn't a bad sort of chap, when you get to know him, " said Adair. 

"I can't have done, then. I don't know which I'd least soon be, Downing or a black-beetle, except that if one was Downing one couldtread on the black-beetle. Dash this rain. I got about half a pintdown my neck just then. We sha'n't get a game to-day, of anything likeit. As you're crocked, I'm not sure that I care much. You've beensweating for years to get the match on, and it would be rather rotplaying it without you. "

"I don't know that so much. I wish we could play, because I'm certain, with you and Smith, we'd walk into them. They probably aren't sendingdown much of a team, and really, now that you and Smith are turningout, we've got a jolly hot lot. There's quite decent batting all theway through, and the bowling isn't so bad. If only we could have giventhis M. C. C. Lot a really good hammering, it might have been easier toget some good fixtures for next season. You see, it's all right for aschool like Wrykyn, but with a small place like this you simply can'tget the best teams to give you a match till you've done something toshow that you aren't absolute rotters at the game. As for the schools, they're worse. They'd simply laugh at you. You were cricket secretaryat Wrykyn last year. What would you have done if you'd had a challengefrom Sedleigh? You'd either have laughed till you were sick, or elsehad a fit at the mere idea of the thing. "

Mike stopped. 

"By jove, you've struck about the brightest scheme on record. I neverthought of it before. Let's get a match on with Wrykyn. "

"What! They wouldn't play us. "

"Yes, they would. At least, I'm pretty sure they would. I had a letterfrom Strachan, the captain, yesterday, saying that the Ripton matchhad had to be scratched owing to illness. So they've got a vacantdate. Shall I try them? I'll write to Strachan to-night, if you like. And they aren't strong this year. We'll smash them. What do you say?"

Adair was as one who has seen a vision. 

"By Jove, " he said at last, "if we only could!"

CHAPTER LVII

MR. DOWNING MOVES

The rain continued without a break all the morning. The two teams, after hanging about dismally, and whiling the time away withstump-cricket in the changing-rooms, lunched in the pavilion atone o'clock. After which the M. C. C. Captain, approaching Adair, moved that this merry meeting be considered off and himself andhis men permitted to catch the next train back to town. To whichAdair, seeing that it was out of the question that there should beany cricket that afternoon, regretfully agreed, and the firstSedleigh _v_. M. C. C. Match was accordingly scratched. 

Mike and Psmith, wandering back to the house, were met by a dampjunior from Downing's, with a message that Mr. Downing wished to seeMike as soon as he was changed. 

"What's he want me for?" inquired Mike. 

The messenger did not know. Mr. Downing, it seemed, had not confidedin him. All he knew was that the housemaster was in the house, andwould be glad if Mike would step across. 

"A nuisance, " said Psmith, "this incessant demand for you. That's theworst of being popular. If he wants you to stop to tea, edge away. Ameal on rather a sumptuous scale will be prepared in the study againstyour return. "

Mike changed quickly, and went off, leaving Psmith, who was fond ofsimple pleasures in his spare time, earnestly occupied with a puzzlewhich had been scattered through the land by a weekly paper. The prizefor a solution was one thousand pounds, and Psmith had alreadyinformed Mike with some minuteness of his plans for the disposition ofthis sum. Meanwhile, he worked at it both in and out of school, generally with abusive comments on its inventor. 

He was still fiddling away at it when Mike returned. 

Mike, though Psmith was at first too absorbed to notice it, wasagitated. 

"I don't wish to be in any way harsh, " said Psmith, without lookingup, "but the man who invented this thing was a blighter of the worsttype. You come and have a shot. For the moment I am baffled. Thewhisper flies round the clubs, 'Psmith is baffled. '"

"The man's an absolute drivelling ass, " said Mike warmly. 

"Me, do you mean?"

"What on earth would be the point of my doing it?"

"You'd gather in a thousand of the best. Give you a nice start inlife. "

"I'm not talking about your rotten puzzle. "

"What are you talking about?"

"That ass Downing. I believe he's off his nut. "

"Then your chat with Comrade Downing was not of the old-College-chums-meeting-unexpectedly-after-years'-separation type? What has he beendoing to you?"

"He's off his nut. "

"I know. But what did he do? How did the brainstorm burst? Did he jumpat you from behind a door and bite a piece out of your leg, or did hesay he was a tea-pot?"

Mike sat down. 

"You remember that painting Sammy business?"

"As if it were yesterday, " said Psmith. "Which it was, pretty nearly. "

"He thinks I did it. "

"Why? Have you ever shown any talent in the painting line?"

"The silly ass wanted me to confess that I'd done it. He as good asasked me to. Jawed a lot of rot about my finding it to my advantagelater on if I behaved sensibly. "

"Then what are you worrying about? Don't you know that when a masterwants you to do the confessing-act, it simply means that he hasn'tenough evidence to start in on you with? You're all right. The thing'sa stand-off. "

"Evidence!" said Mike, "My dear man, he's got enough evidence to sinka ship. He's absolutely sweating evidence at every pore. As far as Ican see, he's been crawling about, doing the Sherlock Holmes businessfor all he's worth ever since the thing happened, and now he's deadcertain that I painted Sammy. "

"_Did_ you, by the way?" asked Psmith. 

"No, " said Mike shortly, "I didn't. But after listening to Downing Ialmost began to wonder if I hadn't. The man's got stacks of evidenceto prove that I did. "

"Such as what?"

"It's mostly about my boots. But, dash it, you know all about that. Why, you were with him when he came and looked for them. "

"It is true, " said Psmith, "that Comrade Downing and I spent a verypleasant half-hour together inspecting boots, but how does he drag youinto it?"

"He swears one of the boots was splashed with paint. "

"Yes. He babbled to some extent on that point when I was entertaininghim. But what makes him think that the boot, if any, was yours?"

"He's certain that somebody in this house got one of his bootssplashed, and is hiding it somewhere. And I'm the only chap in thehouse who hasn't got a pair of boots to show, so he thinks it's me. Idon't know where the dickens my other boot has gone. Edmund swears hehasn't seen it, and it's nowhere about. Of course I've got two pairs, but one's being soled. So I had to go over to school yesterday inpumps. That's how he spotted me. "

Psmith sighed. 

"Comrade Jackson, " he said mournfully, "all this very sad affair showsthe folly of acting from the best motives. In my simple zeal, meaningto save you unpleasantness, I have landed you, with a dull, sickeningthud, right in the cart. Are you particular about dirtying your hands?If you aren't, just reach up that chimney a bit?"

Mike stared, "What the dickens are you talking about?"

"Go on. Get it over. Be a man, and reach up the chimney. "

"I don't know what the game is, " said Mike, kneeling beside the fenderand groping, "but--_Hullo_!"

"Ah ha!" said Psmith moodily. 

Mike dropped the soot-covered object in the fender, and glared at it. 

[Illustration: MIKE DROPPED THE SOOT-COVERED OBJECT IN THE FENDER. ]

"It's my boot!" he said at last. 

"It _is_, " said Psmith, "your boot. And what is that red stainacross the toe? Is it blood? No, 'tis not blood. It is red paint. "

Mike seemed unable to remove his eyes from the boot. 

"How on earth did--By Jove! I remember now. I kicked up againstsomething in the dark when I was putting my bicycle back that night. It must have been the paint-pot. "

"Then you were out that night?"

"Rather. That's what makes it so jolly awkward. It's too long to tellyou now----"

"Your stories are never too long for me, " said Psmith. "Say on!"

"Well, it was like this. " And Mike related the events which had led upto his midnight excursion. Psmith listened attentively. 

"This, " he said, when Mike had finished, "confirms my frequently statedopinion that Comrade Jellicoe is one of Nature's blitherers. So that'swhy he touched us for our hard-earned, was it?"

"Yes. Of course there was no need for him to have the money at all. "

"And the result is that you are in something of a tight place. You're_absolutely_ certain you didn't paint that dog? Didn't do it, byany chance, in a moment of absent-mindedness, and forgot all about it?No? No, I suppose not. I wonder who did!"

"It's beastly awkward. You see, Downing chased me that night. That waswhy I rang the alarm bell. So, you see, he's certain to think that thechap he chased, which was me, and the chap who painted Sammy, are thesame. I shall get landed both ways. "

Psmith pondered. 

"It _is_ a tightish place, " he admitted. 

"I wonder if we could get this boot clean, " said Mike, inspecting itwith disfavour. 

"Not for a pretty considerable time. "

"I suppose not. I say, I _am_ in the cart. If I can't producethis boot, they're bound to guess why. "

"What exactly, " asked Psmith, "was the position of affairs between youand Comrade Downing when you left him? Had you definitely partedbrass-rags? Or did you simply sort of drift apart with mutualcourtesies?"

"Oh, he said I was ill-advised to continue that attitude, or some rot, and I said I didn't care, I hadn't painted his bally dog, and he saidvery well, then, he must take steps, and--well, that was about all. "

"Sufficient, too, " said Psmith, "quite sufficient. I take it, then, that he is now on the war-path, collecting a gang, so to speak. "

"I suppose he's gone to the Old Man about it. "

"Probably. A very worrying time our headmaster is having, taking itall round, in connection with this painful affair. What do you thinkhis move will be?"

"I suppose he'll send for me, and try to get something out of me. "

"_He'll_ want you to confess, too. Masters are all whales onconfession. The worst of it is, you can't prove an alibi, becauseat about the time the foul act was perpetrated, you were playingRound-and-round-the-mulberry-bush with Comrade Downing. This needsthought. You had better put the case in my hands, and go out andwatch the dandelions growing. I will think over the matter. "

"Well, I hope you'll be able to think of something. I can't. "

"Possibly. You never know. "

There was a tap at the door. 

"See how we have trained them, " said Psmith. "They now knock beforeentering. There was a time when they would have tried to smash in apanel. Come in. "

A small boy, carrying a straw hat adorned with the school-houseribbon, answered the invitation. 

"Oh, I say, Jackson, " he said, "the headmaster sent me over to tellyou he wants to see you. "

"I told you so, " said Mike to Psmith. 

"Don't go, " suggested Psmith. "Tell him to write. "

Mike got up. 

"All this is very trying, " said Psmith. "I'm seeing nothing of youto-day. " He turned to the small boy. "Tell Willie, " he added, "thatMr. Jackson will be with him in a moment. "

The emissary departed. 

"_You're_ all right, " said Psmith encouragingly. "Just you keepon saying you're all right. Stout denial is the thing. Don't go in forany airy explanations. Simply stick to stout denial. You can't beatit. "

With which expert advice, he allowed Mike to go on his way. 

He had not been gone two minutes, when Psmith, who had leaned back inhis chair, wrapped in thought, heaved himself up again. He stood for amoment straightening his tie at the looking-glass; then he picked uphis hat and moved slowly out of the door and down the passage. Thence, at the same dignified rate of progress, out of the house and in atDowning's front gate. 

The postman was at the door when he got there, apparently absorbed inconversation with the parlour-maid. Psmith stood by politely till thepostman, who had just been told it was like his impudence, caughtsight of him, and, having handed over the letters in an ultra-formaland professional manner, passed away. 

"Is Mr. Downing at home?" inquired Psmith. 

He was, it seemed. Psmith was shown into the dining-room on the leftof the hall, and requested to wait. He was examining a portrait of Mr. Downing which hung on the wall, when the housemaster came in. 

"An excellent likeness, sir, " said Psmith, with a gesture of the handtowards the painting. 

"Well, Smith, " said Mr. Downing shortly, "what do you wish to see meabout?"

"It was in connection with the regrettable painting of your dog, sir. "

"Ha!" said Mr. Downing. 

"I did it, sir, " said Psmith, stopping and flicking a piece of fluffoff his knee. 

CHAPTER LVIII

THE ARTIST CLAIMS HIS WORK

The line of action which Psmith had called Stout Denial is anexcellent line to adopt, especially if you really are innocent, but itdoes not lead to anything in the shape of a bright and snappy dialoguebetween accuser and accused. Both Mike and the headmaster wereoppressed by a feeling that the situation was difficult. Theatmosphere was heavy, and conversation showed a tendency to flag. Theheadmaster had opened brightly enough, with a summary of the evidencewhich Mr. Downing had laid before him, but after that a massivesilence had been the order of the day. There is nothing in this worldquite so stolid and uncommunicative as a boy who has made up his mindto be stolid and uncommunicative; and the headmaster, as he sat andlooked at Mike, who sat and looked past him at the bookshelves, feltawkward. It was a scene which needed either a dramatic interruption ora neat exit speech. As it happened, what it got was the dramaticinterruption. 

The headmaster was just saying, "I do not think you fully realise, Jackson, the extent to which appearances--" --which was practicallygoing back to the beginning and starting again--when there was a knockat the door. A voice without said, "Mr. Downing to see you, sir, " andthe chief witness for the prosecution burst in. 

"I would not have interrupted you, " said Mr. Downing, "but----"

"Not at all, Mr. Downing. Is there anything I can----?"

"I have discovered--I have been informed--In short, it was notJackson, who committed the--who painted my dog. "

Mike and the headmaster both looked at the speaker. Mike with afeeling of relief--for Stout Denial, unsupported by any weightyevidence, is a wearing game to play--the headmaster with astonishment. 

"Not Jackson?" said the headmaster. 

"No. It was a boy in the same house. Smith. "

Psmith! Mike was more than surprised. He could not believe it. Thereis nothing which affords so clear an index to a boy's character as thetype of rag which he considers humorous. Between what is a rag andwhat is merely a rotten trick there is a very definite line drawn. Masters, as a rule, do not realise this, but boys nearly always do. Mike could not imagine Psmith doing a rotten thing like covering ahousemaster's dog with red paint, any more than he could imagine doingit himself. They had both been amused at the sight of Sammy after theoperation, but anybody, except possibly the owner of the dog, wouldhave thought it funny at first. After the first surprise, theirfeeling had been that it was a scuggish thing to have done and beastlyrough luck on the poor brute. It was a kid's trick. As for Psmithhaving done it, Mike simply did not believe it. 

"Smith!" said the headmaster. "What makes you think that?"

"Simply this, " said Mr. Downing, with calm triumph, "that the boyhimself came to me a few moments ago and confessed. "

Mike was conscious of a feeling of acute depression. It did not makehim in the least degree jubilant, or even thankful, to know that hehimself was cleared of the charge. All he could think of was thatPsmith was done for. This was bound to mean the sack. If Psmith hadpainted Sammy, it meant that Psmith had broken out of his house atnight: and it was not likely that the rules about nocturnal wanderingwere less strict at Sedleigh than at any other school in the kingdom. Mike felt, if possible, worse than he had felt when Wyatt had beencaught on a similar occasion. It seemed as if Fate had a specialgrudge against his best friends. He did not make friends very quicklyor easily, though he had always had scores of acquaintances--and withWyatt and Psmith he had found himself at home from the first moment hehad met them. 

He sat there, with a curious feeling of having swallowed a heavyweight, hardly listening to what Mr. Downing was saying. Mr. Downingwas talking rapidly to the headmaster, who was nodding from time totime. 

Mike took advantage of a pause to get up. "May I go, sir?" he said. 

"Certainly, Jackson, certainly, " said the Head. "Oh, and er--, if youare going back to your house, tell Smith that I should like to seehim. "

"Yes, sir. "

He had reached the door, when again there was a knock. 

"Come in, " said the headmaster. 

It was Adair. 

"Yes, Adair?"

Adair was breathing rather heavily, as if he had been running. 

"It was about Sammy--Sampson, sir, " he said, looking at Mr. Downing. 

"Ah, we know--. Well, Adair, what did you wish to say. "

"It wasn't Jackson who did it, sir. "

"No, no, Adair. So Mr. Downing----"

"It was Dunster, sir. "

Terrific sensation! The headmaster gave a sort of strangled yelp ofastonishment. Mr. Downing leaped in his chair. Mike's eyes opened totheir fullest extent. 

"Adair!"

There was almost a wail in the headmaster's voice. The situation hadsuddenly become too much for him. His brain was swimming. That Mike, despite the evidence against him, should be innocent, was curious, perhaps, but not particularly startling. But that Adair should informhim, two minutes after Mr. Downing's announcement of Psmith'sconfession, that Psmith, too, was guiltless, and that the realcriminal was Dunster--it was this that made him feel that somebody, inthe words of an American author, had played a mean trick on him, andsubstituted for his brain a side-order of cauliflower. Why Dunster, ofall people? Dunster, who, he remembered dizzily, had left the schoolat Christmas. And why, if Dunster had really painted the dog, hadPsmith asserted that he himself was the culprit? Why--why anything? Heconcentrated his mind on Adair as the only person who could save himfrom impending brain-fever. 

"Adair!"

"Yes, sir?"

"What--_what_ do you mean?"

"It _was_ Dunster, sir. I got a letter from him only five minutesago, in which he said that he had painted Sammy--Sampson, the dog, sir, for a rag--for a joke, and that, as he didn't want any one hereto get into a row--be punished for it, I'd better tell Mr. Downing atonce. I tried to find Mr. Downing, but he wasn't in the house. Then Imet Smith outside the house, and he told me that Mr. Downing had goneover to see you, sir. "

"Smith told you?" said Mr. Downing. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Did you say anything to him about your having received this letterfrom Dunster?"

"I gave him the letter to read, sir. "

"And what was his attitude when he had read it?"

"He laughed, sir. "

"_Laughed!_" Mr. Downing's voice was thunderous. 

"Yes, sir. He rolled about. "

Mr. Downing snorted. 

"But Adair, " said the headmaster, "I do not understand how this thingcould have been done by Dunster. He has left the school. "

"He was down here for the Old Sedleighans' match, sir. He stopped thenight in the village. "

"And that was the night the--it happened?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I see. Well, I am glad to find that the blame cannot be attached toany boy in the school. I am sorry that it is even an Old Boy. It was afoolish, discreditable thing to have done, but it is not as bad as ifany boy still at the school had broken out of his house at night to doit. "

"The sergeant, " said Mr. Downing, "told me that the boy he saw wasattempting to enter Mr. Outwood's house. "

"Another freak of Dunster's, I suppose, " said the headmaster. "I shallwrite to him. "

"If it was really Dunster who painted my dog, " said Mr. Downing, "Icannot understand the part played by Smith in this affair. If he didnot do it, what possible motive could he have had for coming to me ofhis own accord and deliberately confessing?"

"To be sure, " said the headmaster, pressing a bell. "It is certainly athing that calls for explanation. Barlow, " he said, as the butlerappeared, "kindly go across to Mr. Outwood's house and inform Smiththat I should like to see him. "

"If you please, sir, Mr. Smith is waiting in the hall. "

"In the hall!"

"Yes, sir. He arrived soon after Mr. Adair, sir, saying that he wouldwait, as you would probably wish to see him shortly. "

"H'm. Ask him to step up, Barlow. "

"Yes, sir. "

There followed one of the tensest "stage waits" of Mike's experience. It was not long, but, while it lasted, the silence was quite solid. Nobody seemed to have anything to say, and there was not even a clockin the room to break the stillness with its ticking. A very faintdrip-drip of rain could be heard outside the window. 

Presently there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs. The door wasopened. 

"Mr. Smith, sir. "

The old Etonian entered as would the guest of the evening who is a fewmoments late for dinner. He was cheerful, but slightly deprecating. Hegave the impression of one who, though sure of his welcome, feels thatsome slight apology is expected from him. He advanced into the roomwith a gentle half-smile which suggested good-will to all men. 

"It is still raining, " he observed. "You wished to see me, sir?"

"Sit down, Smith. "

"Thank you, sir. "

He dropped into a deep arm-chair (which both Adair and Mike hadavoided in favour of less luxurious seats) with the confidentialcosiness of a fashionable physician calling on a patient, between whomand himself time has broken down the barriers of restraint andformality. 

Mr. Downing burst out, like a reservoir that has broken its banks. 

"Smith. "

Psmith turned his gaze politely in the housemaster's direction. 

"Smith, you came to me a quarter of an hour ago and told me that itwas you who had painted my dog Sampson. "

"Yes, sir. "

"It was absolutely untrue?"

"I am afraid so, sir. "

"But, Smith--" began the headmaster. 

Psmith bent forward encouragingly. 

"----This is a most extraordinary affair. Have you no explanation tooffer? What induced you to do such a thing?"

Psmith sighed softly. 

"The craze for notoriety, sir, " he replied sadly. "The curse of thepresent age. "

"What!" cried the headmaster. 

"It is remarkable, " proceeded Psmith placidly, with the impersonaltouch of one lecturing on generalities, "how frequently, when a murderhas been committed, one finds men confessing that they have done itwhen it is out of the question that they should have committed it. Itis one of the most interesting problems with which anthropologists areconfronted. Human nature----"

The headmaster interrupted. 

"Smith, " he said, "I should like to see you alone for a moment. Mr. Downing might I trouble--? Adair, Jackson. "

He made a motion towards the door. 

When he and Psmith were alone, there was silence. Psmith leaned backcomfortably in his chair. The headmaster tapped nervously with hisfoot on the floor. 

"Er--Smith. "

"Sir?"

The headmaster seemed to have some difficulty in proceeding. He pausedagain. Then he went on. 

"Er--Smith, I do not for a moment wish to pain you, but haveyou--er, do you remember ever having had, as a child, let us say, any--er--severe illness? Any--er--_mental_ illness?"

"No, sir. "

"There is no--forgive me if I am touching on a sad subject--thereis no--none of your near relatives have ever suffered in the wayI--er--have described?"

"There isn't a lunatic on the list, sir, " said Psmith cheerfully. 

"Of course, Smith, of course, " said the headmaster hurriedly, "I didnot mean to suggest--quite so, quite so.... You think, then, that youconfessed to an act which you had not committed purely from somesudden impulse which you cannot explain?"

"Strictly between ourselves, sir----"

Privately, the headmaster found Psmith's man-to-man attitude somewhatdisconcerting, but he said nothing. 

"Well, Smith?"

"I should not like it to go any further, sir. "

"I will certainly respect any confidence----"

"I don't want anybody to know, sir. This is strictly betweenourselves. "

"I think you are sometimes apt to forget, Smith, the proper relationsexisting between boy and--Well, never mind that for the present. Wecan return to it later. For the moment, let me hear what you wish tosay. I shall, of course, tell nobody, if you do not wish it. "

"Well, it was like this, sir, " said Psmith. "Jackson happened to tellme that you and Mr. Downing seemed to think he had painted Mr. Downing's dog, and there seemed some danger of his being expelled, soI thought it wouldn't be an unsound scheme if I were to go and say Ihad done it. That was the whole thing. Of course, Dunster writingcreated a certain amount of confusion. "

There was a pause. 

"It was a very wrong thing to do, Smith, " said the headmaster, atlast, "but.... You are a curious boy, Smith. Good-night. "

He held out his hand. 

"Good-night, sir, " said Psmith. 

"Not a bad old sort, " said Psmith meditatively to himself, as hewalked downstairs. "By no means a bad old sort. I must drop in fromtime to time and cultivate him. "

 * * * * *

Mike and Adair were waiting for him outside the front door. 

"Well?" said Mike. 

"You _are_ the limit, " said Adair. "What's he done?"

"Nothing. We had a very pleasant chat, and then I tore myself away. "

"Do you mean to say he's not going to do a thing?"

"Not a thing. "

"Well, you're a marvel, " said Adair. 

Psmith thanked him courteously. They walked on towards the houses. 

"By the way, Adair, " said Mike, as the latter started to turn in atDowning's, "I'll write to Strachan to-night about that match. "

"What's that?" asked Psmith. 

"Jackson's going to try and get Wrykyn to give us a game, " saidAdair. "They've got a vacant date. I hope the dickens they'll do it. "

"Oh, I should think they're certain to, " said Mike. "Good-night. "

"And give Comrade Downing, when you see him, " said Psmith, "my verybest love. It is men like him who make this Merrie England of ourswhat it is. "

 * * * * *

"I say, Psmith, " said Mike suddenly, "what really made you tellDowning you'd done it?"

"The craving for----"

"Oh, chuck it. You aren't talking to the Old Man now. I believe it wassimply to get me out of a jolly tight corner. "

Psmith's expression was one of pain. 

"My dear Comrade Jackson, " said he, "you wrong me. You make me writhe. I'm surprised at you. I never thought to hear those words from MichaelJackson. "

"Well, I believe you did, all the same, " said Mike obstinately. "Andit was jolly good of you, too. "

Psmith moaned. 

CHAPTER LIX

SEDLEIGH _v_. WRYKYN

The Wrykyn match was three-parts over, and things were going badly forSedleigh. In a way one might have said that the game was over, andthat Sedleigh had lost; for it was a one day match, and Wrykyn, whohad led on the first innings, had only to play out time to make thegame theirs. 

Sedleigh were paying the penalty for allowing themselves to beinfluenced by nerves in the early part of the day. Nerves lose moreschool matches than good play ever won. There is a certain type ofschool batsman who is a gift to any bowler when he once lets hisimagination run away with him. Sedleigh, with the exception of Adair, Psmith, and Mike, had entered upon this match in a state of the mostazure funk. Ever since Mike had received Strachan's answer and Adairhad announced on the notice-board that on Saturday, July thetwentieth, Sedleigh would play Wrykyn, the team had been all on thejump. It was useless for Adair to tell them, as he did repeatedly, onMike's authority, that Wrykyn were weak this season, and that on theirpresent form Sedleigh ought to win easily. The team listened, but werenot comforted. Wrykyn might be below their usual strength, but thenWrykyn cricket, as a rule, reached such a high standard that thisprobably meant little. However weak Wrykyn might be--for them--therewas a very firm impression among the members of the Sedleigh firsteleven that the other school was quite strong enough to knock thecover off _them_. Experience counts enormously in school matches. Sedleigh had never been proved. The teams they played were the sort ofsides which the Wrykyn second eleven would play. Whereas Wrykyn, fromtime immemorial, had been beating Ripton teams and Free Forestersteams and M. C. C. Teams packed with county men and sending men toOxford and Cambridge who got their blues as freshmen. 

Sedleigh had gone on to the field that morning a depressed side. 

It was unfortunate that Adair had won the toss. He had had no choicebut to take first innings. The weather had been bad for the last week, and the wicket was slow and treacherous. It was likely to get worseduring the day, so Adair had chosen to bat first. 

Taking into consideration the state of nerves the team was in, this initself was a calamity. A school eleven are always at their worst andnerviest before lunch. Even on their own ground they find thesurroundings lonely and unfamiliar. The subtlety of the bowlersbecomes magnified. Unless the first pair make a really good start, acollapse almost invariably ensues. 

To-day the start had been gruesome beyond words. Mike, the bulwark ofthe side, the man who had been brought up on Wrykyn bowling, and fromwhom, whatever might happen to the others, at least a fifty wasexpected--Mike, going in first with Barnes and taking first over, hadplayed inside one from Bruce, the Wrykyn slow bowler, and had beencaught at short slip off his second ball. 

That put the finishing-touch on the panic. Stone, Robinson, and theothers, all quite decent punishing batsmen when their nerves allowedthem to play their own game, crawled to the wickets, declined to hitout at anything, and were clean bowled, several of them, playing backto half-volleys. Adair did not suffer from panic, but his batting wasnot equal to his bowling, and he had fallen after hitting one four. Seven wickets were down for thirty when Psmith went in. 

Psmith had always disclaimed any pretensions to batting skill, but hewas undoubtedly the right man for a crisis like this. He had anenormous reach, and he used it. Three consecutive balls from Bruce heturned into full-tosses and swept to the leg-boundary, and, assistedby Barnes, who had been sitting on the splice in his usual manner, heraised the total to seventy-one before being yorked, with his score atthirty-five. Ten minutes later the innings was over, with Barnes notout sixteen, for seventy-nine. 

Wrykyn had then gone in, lost Strachan for twenty before lunch, andfinally completed their innings at a quarter to four for a hundred andthirty-one. 

This was better than Sedleigh had expected. At least eight of the teamhad looked forward dismally to an afternoon's leather-hunting. ButAdair and Psmith, helped by the wicket, had never been easy, especially Psmith, who had taken six wickets, his slows playing havocwith the tail. 

It would be too much to say that Sedleigh had any hope of pulling thegame out of the fire; but it was a comfort, they felt, at any rate, having another knock. As is usual at this stage of a match, theirnervousness had vanished, and they felt capable of better things thanin the first innings. 

It was on Mike's suggestion that Psmith and himself went in first. Mike knew the limitations of the Wrykyn bowling, and he was convincedthat, if they could knock Bruce off, it might be possible to rattle upa score sufficient to give them the game, always provided that Wrykyncollapsed in the second innings. And it seemed to Mike that the wicketwould be so bad then that they easily might. 

So he and Psmith had gone in at four o'clock to hit. And they had hit. The deficit had been wiped off, all but a dozen runs, when Psmith wasbowled, and by that time Mike was set and in his best vein. He treatedall the bowlers alike. And when Stone came in, restored to his properframe of mind, and lashed out stoutly, and after him Robinson and therest, it looked as if Sedleigh had a chance again. The score was ahundred and twenty when Mike, who had just reached his fifty, skiedone to Strachan at cover. The time was twenty-five past five. 

As Mike reached the pavilion, Adair declared the innings closed. 

Wrykyn started batting at twenty-five minutes to six, with sixty-nineto make if they wished to make them, and an hour and ten minutesduring which to keep up their wickets if they preferred to take thingseasy and go for a win on the first innings. 

At first it looked as if they meant to knock off the runs, forStrachan forced the game from the first ball, which was Psmith's, andwhich he hit into the pavilion. But, at fifteen, Adair bowled him. Andwhen, two runs later, Psmith got the next man stumped, and finished uphis over with a c-and-b, Wrykyn decided that it was not good enough. Seventeen for three, with an hour all but five minutes to go, wasgetting too dangerous. So Drummond and Rigby, the next pair, proceededto play with caution, and the collapse ceased. 

This was the state of the game at the point at which this chapteropened. Seventeen for three had become twenty-four for three, and thehands of the clock stood at ten minutes past six. Changes of bowlinghad been tried, but there seemed no chance of getting past thebatsmen's defence. They were playing all the good balls, and refusedto hit at the bad. 

A quarter past six struck, and then Psmith made a suggestion whichaltered the game completely. 

"Why don't you have a shot this end?" he said to Adair, as they werecrossing over. "There's a spot on the off which might help you a lot. You can break like blazes if only you land on it. It doesn't help myleg-breaks a bit, because they won't hit at them. "

Barnes was on the point of beginning to bowl, when Adair took the ballfrom him. The captain of Outwood's retired to short leg with an airthat suggested that he was glad to be relieved of his prominent post. 

The next moment Drummond's off-stump was lying at an angle offorty-five. Adair was absolutely accurate as a bowler, and he haddropped his first ball right on the worn patch. 

Two minutes later Drummond's successor was retiring to the pavilion, while the wicket-keeper straightened the stumps again. 

There is nothing like a couple of unexpected wickets for altering theatmosphere of a game. Five minutes before, Sedleigh had been lethargicand without hope. Now there was a stir and buzz all round the ground. There were twenty-five minutes to go, and five wickets were down. Sedleigh was on top again. 

The next man seemed to take an age coming out. As a matter of fact, hewalked more rapidly than a batsman usually walks to the crease. 

Adair's third ball dropped just short of the spot. The batsman, hitting out, was a shade too soon. The ball hummed through the air acouple of feet from the ground in the direction of mid-off, and Mike, diving to the right, got to it as he was falling, and chucked it up. 

After that the thing was a walk-over. Psmith clean bowled a man in hisnext over; and the tail, demoralised by the sudden change in the game, collapsed uncompromisingly. Sedleigh won by thirty-five runs witheight minutes in hand. 

 * * * * *

Psmith and Mike sat in their study after lock-up, discussing things ingeneral and the game in particular. 

"I feel like a beastly renegade, playing against Wrykyn, " said Mike. "Still, I'm glad we won. Adair's a jolly good sort, and it'll make himhappy for weeks. "

"When I last saw Comrade Adair, " said Psmith, "he was going about in asort of trance, beaming vaguely and wanting to stand people things atthe shop. "

"He bowled awfully well. "

"Yes, " said Psmith. "I say, I don't wish to cast a gloom over thisjoyful occasion in any way, but you say Wrykyn are going to giveSedleigh a fixture again next year?"

"Well?"

"Well, have you thought of the massacre which will ensue? You willhave left, Adair will have left. Incidentally, I shall have left. Wrykyn will swamp them. "

"I suppose they will. Still, the great thing, you see, is to get thething started. That's what Adair was so keen on. Now Sedleigh hasbeaten Wrykyn, he's satisfied. They can get on fixtures with decentclubs, and work up to playing the big schools. You've got to startsomehow. So it's all right, you see. "

"And, besides, " said Psmith, reflectively, "in an emergency they canalways get Comrade Downing to bowl for them, what? Let us now sallyout and see if we can't promote a rag of some sort in this abode ofwrath. Comrade Outwood has gone over to dinner at the School House, and it would be a pity to waste a somewhat golden opportunity. Shallwe stagger?"

They staggered.