"WHERE'S MY PRACTICE-BAT?"
The Doctor was quite facetious one morning, for, in addressing the
masters, his words being meant for the whole school, he said jocularly
that if Severn and Singh had formed any intention of devoting their
pocket-allowance to ordering a castle from London they were too late.
He looked very hard at Morris as he spoke, and waited for him to reply.
"A castle, sir?" said the master. "I don't quite apprehend your
meaning."
"Oh, it was only this, Mr Morris. My mind does not serve me as to what
these things are called in India; but I think, and I dare say Mr
Rampson will set me right if I am wrong, that in the old classic days in
the Punic or Carthaginian wars what were termed castles were fitted on
to the backs of elephants, from which archers, slingers, and
javelin-throwers dealt out destruction among their foes."
"Yes, sir. Quite correct, sir," said Rampson, "for Pliny states--"
"Oh, I don't think we will disturb Pliny to-day, Mr Rampson," said the
Doctor, smiling, "unless your pupils particularly wish it," and he
glanced round the school.
"No, sir!"
"No, sir!"
"No, sir!" came in chorus.
"Very well, gentlemen; then Pliny shall be left at rest. It occurred to
me that if there was to be much more of the pursuit of elephant-riding
as displayed by Messrs. Severn and Singh, a castle, such, I presume, as
is kept in record by a celebrated hostelry somewhere in the south of
London, where, upon one occasion, I stepped into one of those popular
modes of conveyance called omnibuses, would be much more suitable for a
mode of progression than the animal's neck. A very slight study of the
human anatomy would satisfy the most exacting that nature never intended
youths of fifteen or sixteen to strain their muscles after the fashion
of acrobats, so as to enable them to bestride an elephant's spine."
There was a low titter at this, and every eye was turned upon Glyn and
Singh, the latter turning very red.
"By the way, Mr Singh," continued the Doctor, "you have a colloquial
term for the form of castle used in India, have you not?"
The word colloquial seemed to puzzle Singh, who remained silent, and
Glyn spoke up.
"Howdah, sir!" he shouted.
"How dare you, sir!" cried the Doctor, with mock indignation; and then
he looked smilingly round for appreciation of his pun, which was not
seen till Morris expounded it.
Then there was a roar. While he waited patiently enough, the Doctor
took off his gold-rimmed spectacles, drew a neatly folded white
handkerchief from his pocket, shook it out, breathed upon the glasses,
and polished them, kept on holding them to the light to make sure that
there was not the symptom of a blur, and as soon as the laughter had
died out he exclaimed, "Because--"
There was a dead silence, the boys large and small glancing at one
another in a questioning way as if asking whether this was the beginning
of another mild joke or a bit of facetiae that ought to be laughed at as
it stood.
"Because--" said the Doctor again, more loudly than before, and he
seemed, as he glanced round, to direct his words at every boy in turn.
"Because, gentlemen--" This time the Doctor looked hard at the masters,
and then continued loudly, "it seems as if I am to be allowed to possess
my boarders in peace, the quickset hedge is not to be torn-up any more,
the split oak palings on the farther side are to remain untouched. To
be brief, I am informed upon the best authority that the visit of
Ramball's menagerie is at an end. So now, Mr Singh, you may close up
your repertoire of Hindustani words, and condescend to plain English
with an occasional garnish from the classic writers of old. We will now
resume our studies."
All traces of excitement seemed to give way now to the humdrum routine
of school-life. This, however, was diversified with plenty of cricket,
Slegge posing in every match as the chief batsman and captain of the
eleven.
But he had to work hard to keep up his position in his own particular
speciality, which was that of slogging batsman, for he was a bad bowler,
too cowardly to keep a wicket, and too big, heavy, and lazy to field.
At the same time he was too jealous and vain to let others step in and
help themselves to some of his laurels, notably the two young Indians,
as he called them, for none of the older lads, his fellow-pupils for
years past, ever dreamed of disputing his position. But both Glyn and
Singh, untroubled by a thought of giving way to the older boy, proved
themselves a splendid addition to the eleven that was picked from time
to time to combat the town players or some other school.
To Slegge's annoyance, he very soon found that if the prestige of the
school was to be kept up Glyn and Singh must be in the eleven, for the
former in a very short time was acknowledged to be the sharpest bowler
in the school, while, from long practice together, Singh was an
admirable wicket-keeper--one who laughed at gloves and pads, was utterly
without fear, and had, as Wrench said--he being a great admirer of a
game in which he never had a chance to play--"a nye like a nork."
"But they can't beat me at batting," Slegge said to himself grimly, and
he worked at his practice like a slave. But as a slave he made others
slave--to wit, all the small unfortunates who took his fancy.
"You needn't grumble, you lazy little beggars," he used to say. "Nasty,
ungrateful little beasts! See what bowlers I'm making of you, and what
fielders!"
And in his manufacture of cricketers he would have out five or six at a
time, with three or four cricket-balls, to keep on bowling to him while
he went on slogging and hitting the balls in all directions, utterly
reckless of the poor little fellows' exhaustion and of the risks they
ran, as he drove or cut the balls right at them or far away over the
field.
The natural result was that in regular play Slegge's score always
mounted up when he was not opposed to Glyn and Singh, when there was
generally what the delighted younger boys denominated a "swodge of
rows;" while Slegge himself, always ready to pick a quarrel, never now
attempted to settle it with fists, but he fought pretty hard with his
tongue, and always declared that there was "a beastly conspiracy."
Possibly there was; but it was only between the two friends, who strove
their best to put him out, the one by a clean ball which sent stumps and
bails flying, the other by laying his wicket low with a sharp movement
when Slegge's long legs had, in his excitement carried him off his
ground.
One morning there was a little meeting held under the elms by twelve of
the very junior juniors, for they had found out a malicious act on the
part of their tyrant, or rather he had openly boasted of it himself, and
not only showed the little fellows visually what he had done to his
practice-bat, as he called it, but also awakened them thoroughly to his
play.
"'Tisn't fair," said one of them. "I vote we lay it all before Burney
and Severn and Hot Pickles."
"No," said another, "it isn't fair. He couldn't do it off Glyn Severn's
bowling; not that we chaps bowl badly. Severn calls some of us toppers,
and last week and several times since he put me up to giving the balls a
twist. You know; you saw--those long-pitched balls that drop in as
quiet as a mouse, and look as if they are going wide, but curl in round
the end of a fellow's bat, just tap a stump, and down go the bails
before he knows where he is."
"Yes; but I don't see much good in that," said another. "You didn't
take much out of it yesterday when you put old Shanks's wicket down, and
he gave you a lick on the head for it."
"I don't care if he'd given me a dozen," said the little fellow with a
grin. "I took old Bully Bounce's wicket. Oh, didn't it make him wild!"
"Yes; but it isn't fair, as I said before," cried the first speaker.
"He could do what he liked with our bowling before, but now we have got
to run nearly off our legs to fetch up fivers. I say it isn't fair. He
must have got half-a-pound of lead let into the end of his bat. Took it
down to the carpenter's, he did, and made old Gluepot bore three holes
in the bottom with a centre-bit, pour in a lot of melted lead, and then
plug the bottom up again with wood."
"Here, I know," said one; "let's watch for our chance, and get Wrench--
he'll keep it a secret; he hates Longshanks--let's ask him to make a
fire under the wash-house copper, and one of us could do it I'll
volunteer. I'll smuggle out Slegge's bat, and it wouldn't take long.
Just hold it on the fire where it's hottest, and the lead would all melt
and run out."
"And what about the end of the bat?" said another.
"Well, it would be all light again, just the same as it was before."
"Light?" cried the objector. "Why, it would be all black. The wood
would all burn away before the fire got to the lead."
"Would it?" said the inventor of the scheme thoughtfully. "Well, I
suppose it would. But we must do something."
This was agreed to _nem con_, and, after a long meeting for boys, their
faces indicated a satisfactory termination of their debate.
That something had been done was proved two days later, for the
intervening day had been wet; and as usual, on the second day, when it
was time to turn out in the grounds, Slegge ordered up his little band
of slaves and marched them to the cricket-shed for the necessary
implements. Half-a-dozen balls were got out of one locker, the stumps
and bails from another, and from his own particular lock-up, flap-topped
receptacle, Slegge proceeded to take out the special bat with which he
practised hitting--two more, his club-bat and his match-bat, lying there
in their cases of green flannel.
Taking his key, one of a bunch, from his pocket, Slegge proceeded to
unlock the flap-topped cupboard; but somehow the key would not go in,
and he withdrew it, and under the impression that he had made a wrong
selection he passed another along the ring and tried that. This was
worse, and he tried a third, before withdrawing it, blowing into the
pipe, and making it whistle, and then tapping it and bringing forth a
few grains of sand.
"Here, what game's this?" shouted the big fellow in what his enemies
called a bubble-and-squeak voice, due to the fact that in the change
that was taking place his tones were an awkward mingling of treble and
bass; and as he spoke he seized the boy nearest to him by the ear.
"Oh, please don't, sir! Please don't! Please don't! I haven't done
nothing!"
"Done nothing, you little vermin!" shouted Slegge. "Who said you had?
But you've done something. Now, don't deny it, for I'll half-skin you.
You can't deceive me. You have been blowing this lock full of sand and
gravel with a pea-shooter."
"I haven't, sir; I haven't indeed!" cried the boy.
"Then tell me who has?" cried Slegge; and, seizing the boy's fingers, he
held his hand, palm downwards, on the top of the locker, and then began
to torture him by sawing the knuckles of his own doubled fist across the
back.
The boy squealed and yelped, but bore the inquisition-like torture
bravely enough.
Nothing was got out of him, however; and, getting between the boys and
the door of the shed, Slegge tortured one after the other, but could not
find a traitor to impeach the rest. And at last, in a fit of rage, he
stepped back and with a furious kick sent the lid of the locker flying
upwards; while, tearful though some of the eyes of the lookers-on were,
they were full of a strange kind of exultation as they glanced at one
another and waited for the _denouement_ that was to come.
As Slegge saw the result of his kick to the heavy lid, he stepped
quickly forward and thrust in his right hand to withdraw the bat; but he
uttered a yell, for the great cover rebounded and came down with a bang,
sending one of the little fellows skimming out of the shed to get round
to the back so that his laughter should not be seen.
"That's one for you, Burton, when I get hold of you again," cried
Slegge. "I shan't forget it. And--here, what's the meaning of this?
Where's my practice-bat?"
There was a dead silence in the shady, wooden room, and three or four of
the boys stood looking as if they were going to have apoplectic fits,
for their eyes started and their teeth were clenched together, and they
seemed as if they were trying to swallow something.
But there was no danger. It was only bottled-up mirth that they were
striving hard to suppress.
"Ugh-h-h-ugh!" snarled Slegge, making a rush at the boys, who scattered
at once, dashed out of the door before any of them were seized, and ran
as if for their lives, to begin shrieking with laughter as soon as they
were out of reach.
In his rage at what he looked upon as a theft, Slegge chased first one
and then another; but he was too big, heavy, and clumsy to catch the
delighted imps, who, as active as monkeys, dodged him at every turn,
till at last he stood panting.
"All right," he said. "I am not going to make myself hot with running
after you; but the Doctor's going to know that he has got thieves in the
school. I am not going to be robbed for nothing, and if my practice-bat
is not back in its place before night I shall go and tell Bewley that
he's got blackguards and fellows who use false keys in his school. So
you'd better look sharp and bring that bat back. And here, mind this;
the carpenter will charge six or seven shillings for putting on a new
lock here, so you have got to find sixpence apiece before Saturday night
and hand it over to me."
But in spite of threats the bat was not brought back nor its purloiner
or annexer betrayed. The bat was gone, and its owner's practice was
modified, for he did not care to improve the driving power of his
first-class bats by having them bored and weighted with lead.