The Grandcourt match was the only match of the season which Templeton
played away from home. All its other matches, the house match, and even
the match against the town, were played in the Fields, in the presence
of the whole school. But once every other year, Templeton went forth to
war in drags and omnibuses against its hereditary rival, and mighty was
the excitement with which the expedition and its equipment were regarded
by every boy who had the glory of his school at heart.
Seventy boys, and seventy only, were permitted to form the invading
army, the selection of whom was a matter of intrigue and emulation for
weeks beforehand. But for a few broad rules, which eliminated at least
half the school, the task might have been still more difficult than it
was. For instance, all juniors, to the eternal wrath and indignation of
the Den, were excluded. Further, all boys who during the term had
suffered punishment, either monitorial or magisterial, all boys who had
not shown up at the proper number of practices in the Fields, all boys
who had lost a given number of "call-overs" forfeited the chance of
getting their names on the "Grandcourt List," as it was called.
Of the reduced company that remained, each member of the eleven had the
right of nominating six, the remaining four being chosen by the
patriarchal method of lot.
Altogether, it was admitted that the system of selection was on the
whole impartial, although, as a matter of course, it involved bitter
disappointments to many an enthusiastic and deserving cricketer.
Our heroes, being juniors, were of course out of it, and they warmly
adopted the indignation of the Den against the gross tyranny of
excluding the rising generation from taking part in the great school
event.
But Dick was not a youth whose inmost soul could be satisfied with mere
indignation. If a thing struck him as unjust, the desire to rid himself
of the injustice took possession of him at the same time.
"Georgie," said he to Heathcote, the day before the match, "it's all
rot! We _must_ go, I tell you."
"How can we? We should get bowled out, to a certainty, before we
started."
"But, Georgie, it's no end of a day, fellows say; you get put up like
lords at Grandcourt, and the spread afterwards is something
scrumptious."
"Yes, but what chance should we stand of that when every one will know
we're mitching?"
"Oh, they wouldn't say anything if once we got there. I tell you, old
man, I'd risk a good bit to do it. Think of the crow we'd have at the
next Den."
"How should we get over, though?"
"Oh, I know some of the Fourth. They might smuggle us into their trap,
or we could hang on somehow. Bless you! the fellows will be too festive
to notice us. What do you say?"
"All right; I'm on to try it," said Heathcote, not feeling very
sanguine.
"Right you are. Keep it quiet, I say, and come down to 'Tub' early to-
morrow."
Which being arranged, the two dissemblers went down and addressed a
monster meeting of the Den, denouncing everybody and vowing vengeance on
the oppressor.
At "Tub time" next morning, Dick met his friend with a radiant face.
"It's all right," said he; "I've been over to the Mews and had a look at
the traps, and one of them's got a bar underneath we can easily hang on
to."
"Rather a grind hanging on to a bar for two hours!" suggested Heathcote.
"Bless you! that won't hurt. Besides, we might get a lift further on;
in fact, one of the coachmen said for five bob he'd stow us away in the
boot."
"That would be less dusty," said Heathcote; "but--"
"Look here," said Dick eagerly, as he and his friend stood side by side
on the spring-board ready for a plunge, "what howling asses we are! Of
course all the fellows will go on the top of the omnibuses, so if we cut
round to the stables directly after breakfast, we can stow ourselves
away inside one, under the seat, and then we shall have it all to
ourselves."
"All right," said Heathcote, looking at last as if he saw his way to the
venture.
And the two friends forthwith dived, and turned the plan over beneath
the waves.
When, punctually at ten o'clock, the six coaches paraded in the great
Quadrangle, no one noticed the absence of Dick and his henchman in the
crowd that assembled to watch the departure of the lucky seventy. Nor
when coach one had started with the Eleven, and coaches two, three, and
four had carried off the rest of the Sixth and Fifth, did any one
suspect that coach five had taken up two of its passengers already.
The Upper and Middle Fourth, who boarded this vehicle, had little idea,
as they pitched their coats and wraps inside and mounted themselves to
the top, that, like the birds who buried the babes in the wood beneath
the leaves, they were hiding the light of day from two innocents who lay
one under either seat, with their noses to the fresh air and their
hearts very decidedly in their mouths.
"Chock full up here," cried a voice from the top, which Dick, even in
his retirement, recognised as belonging to Duffield, the post fag, who,
by virtue of his office, was just out of the Den; "you kids will have to
go inside."
"Oh, I say, you might let us up," replied one of the "kids" in question,
in tones of expostulation; "we won't take up much room. It's so jolly
stuffy inside."
"So it is," inwardly ejaculated the two stowaways.
"Just the place for you. You can play oughts-and-crosses and enjoy
yourselves. There's not standing room up here," cried Duffield.
"Can't we stand on the step?"
"No; Hooker's bagged the bottom step, and I've bagged the one half up
this side as soon as we start."
The lurkers gasped. They had not reckoned on the steps being occupied
and their snug retreat raked by the eyes of the bumptious Hooker.
"Can we stand on them till you're ready, I say?" once more asked the
persevering Fourth-formers.
"Why can't you go inside? I say, though," added the post fag, "there's
room for two on the next coach. Hop up, or you'll be out of it!"
To the relief of our heroes, the youngsters yapped off on the new scent;
and they presently had the satisfaction of hearing their voices raised
in a halloo of triumph from the box of coach six.
"All right!" cried a master, as the last man squeezed up to his perch.
Then arose great cheers and counter-cheers, not unmixed with yells, as
the cavalcade drove off in style, followed by Templeton in full cry as
far as the great gate, where they parted company, amid shouts that
brought all the town to its windows.
Once clear of the school, our heroes breathed more freely in more senses
than one. As long as Hooker kept guard of the lower step, and
Duffield's legs swayed about on the other, they were unable to do more
than quietly push back the coats and put their heads out. But both
these amateur conductors were too much occupied in hailing passers-by
and protecting their caps from the assaults of their own friends above
to bestow much attention to the inside of a coat-strewn, stuffy vehicle;
and in time our heroes found they might venture to whisper across the
floor and attempt in a quiet way to make themselves more comfortable;
"Beastly dusty," said Heathcote; "it gets in my mouth."
"Wouldn't mind that," said Dick, "if I didn't get pins-and-needles in my
arms. I've a good mind to turn over."
Here they were sent back like rabbits to their holes by the scare of a
free fight taking place on the lower step between Hooker and a town
youth, whom he had aggrieved by discharging a broadside of peas on a
tender portion of his visage.
The fight was a sharp one, for the burly town youth was a "tartar," and
had more than one grudge to settle with the Templeton boys. He managed
to get a footing on the step, and hooking one elbow securely over the
door, worked his other arm with great effect on the unfortunate Hooker.
The whole fray was so suddenly got up that those on the roof knew
nothing about it, and Duffield was so occupied with kicking at the
intruder with his one spare leg that he quite forgot to raise a war cry.
The town boy proved equal to his two antagonists. Duffield was early
rendered _hors de combat_ by his spare foot being captured and tucked
under the arm by which the enemy hung on to the door. And Hooker
himself was gradually getting ousted from his perch, and might have been
finally dropped on to the road, had not an unexpected diversion in his
favour rescued him.
This was made by no one less than Dick, who, having taken in with a
quick eye the position of affairs, saw that Templeton demanded his
services, cost him what they might. He, therefore, summoned Heathcote
to back him up, and taking an overcoat from the pile, cast it adroitly
over the head of the town boy just as he had edged Hooker on to the very
margin of the step. This, of course, settled the business. Duffield
got back his foot, and Hooker got his arm once more over the door. The
former raised a cry of "Cad hanging on!" The latter shouted, "Whip
behind!" The occupants of coach six yelled, "Chuck him over!" And
putting one thing with another, the town boy decided that he would be
more comfortable on the pavement than where he was. So he dropped off,
leaving his hat behind him, which trophy was immediately seized and
passed aloft, amid universal triumph, and displayed proudly on the top
of a bat, on coach five, until the cavalcade was clear of the town.
"Who scragged that fellow?" asked Hooker, as soon as the campaign was
over, looking up and down.
"I don't know," said Duffield. "Is there any one inside?"
Dick, who had been gradually trying to edge back to his retreat, deemed
it prudent to make a clean breast of it at once, while the two "step"
men owed him their thanks.
"I say, Hooker," said he, putting up his head behind the pile of wraps
in a manner that made the gentleman addressed almost fall off with
fright, "don't say anything--I scragged him. Heathcote and I wanted so
awfully to see the match. Keep it dark, I say."
Hooker put his head into the window, and whistled.
"You'll get in a frightful row," said he, consolingly; "never mind, I'll
say nothing. Cover up, and don't let the chaps see you."
They took his advice as cheerfully as they could, and even endured
pleasantly the occasional pea-shooter practice with which, by way of
enlivening their solitude, he was good enough to favour them.
They had an anxious drive on the whole. For besides Hooker's pea-
shooter and the dismal prophecies he kept calling in to them of the
terrible fate that awaited them on their return to Templeton, they found
the dust and heat very trying. All that, however, was as nothing to the
panic produced by a sudden rumour of a shower, and the possible descent
of the whole of coach five into the interior. Happily for them Jupiter
Pluvius changed his mind at the last moment, and sheered off. But the
two minutes they spent in expecting him were calculated considerably to
curtail the natural life of both.
It was hard lines, too, to hear all the festivities going on above and
be able to take no part in them. They dared not even sit up for fear of
becoming visible to the occupants of the box-seat of coach six, who had
a full view of their interior. So they lay low for two mortal hours,
and by the time Grandcourt was reached discovered that their dusty heads
and limbs ached not a little.
"You'd better come out and cheek it," said Hooker, as the coach pulled
up; "you're bound to get into a row, so you may as well enjoy
yourselves."
Dick's intention had been to get taken on under the seat to the stables,
and there make his escape. But after all there was not much less risk
that way than in following Hooker's advice. So they tumbled out with
the crowd, and kept near Hooker, on whose support they felt entitled to
rely, after the service rendered to him in the battle of the lower step.
Every one was so excited about the match, and so anxious to show off
well to the Grandcourt boys, that no one took any notice of the two
small interlopers, which was a matter of great thankfulness to our
heroes.
Their spirits gradually rose as they found themselves sitting
comfortably among a knot of Templetonians, in the glorious Grandcourt
meadow, with a superb view of the match. They lost all their reserve,
and joined wildly in the cheers for the old school, heedless of every
consideration of prudence and self-preservation.
And they certainly had some excuse for their enthusiasm. For Templeton
walked away from her enemy from the very first, in a style which amazed
even her most ardent admirers.
In their first innings they put together 215 as smartly and merrily as
if they were playing against an eleven of the Den. One after another
the Grandcourt bowlers collapsed. No sort of ball seemed to find its
way past the Templeton bats, and no sort of fielding seemed to hem in
their mighty hits.
Pontifex--"dear old Ponty," as everybody called him to-day--who had been
breaking his friends' hearts by his indolence and indifference all the
term, stood up now, and punished the Grandcourt bowling, till the enemy
almost yelled with dismay. The steady Mansfield was never steadier, nor
Cartwright more dashing, nor Pledge more artful. Even Birket, who to-
day fleshed his maiden bat on the Grandcourt meadow, knocked up his two
and threes, with one cut for four into the tent, till it seemed to
Templeton that cricket was in the air, and that even Hooker and Duffield
could have pulled the match off single-handed.
But the batting was nothing to the play when Templeton was out and took
the offensive. Pledge was more than dangerous, he was deadly, and
knocked the balls about in a manner quite "skeery." Heathcote was
perfectly sure he could have made as good a stand as the Grandcourt
captain, and began to lay down the law to his hearers as to how this man
should have taken one ball and that man "drawn" another, till he became
quite amusing, and was recognised for the first time by several of his
schoolfellows.
However, the general interest in the match was still too keen to give
him the notoriety his indiscretion deserved; and lulled by his apparent
immunity and the luxury of his present circumstances, he, like Dick,
quite forgot he had no right to be where he was, and even expostulated
with Duffield for squashing him and interfering with his view.
Grandcourt went out for a miserable 80; of which 30 had been put on by
one man. Of course they had to follow on, and as the time was short, it
was agreed to curtail the usual interval, and finish up the match
straight away.
So Grandcourt went in again, and although it fared somewhat better, was
still unable to stem the tide of defeat. With 135 to get in order to
avoid a single innings defeat, it was only natural they did not settle
down to their task very cheerfully or hopefully. Pledge still sent down
a ruthless fire from one end; and seemed even to improve with exercise.
Nor was he badly backed up at the other end by Cresswell; while
Mansfield, at the wicket, and Ponty, at point, seemed, as it were, to
help themselves to the ball off the end of the bat, whenever they liked.
By painful, plodding hard work, Grandcourt put up their hundred, and it
spoke well for the chivalry of the victorious seventy, that they cheered
the three figures as loudly as any one.
It was uphill work trying to hold out for the remaining 35 runs. But
the losers were Englishmen, and long odds brought out their good
qualities. With solemn, almost ferocious, faces, the two last men in
clung to their bats, and blocked, blocked, blocked, stealing now a bye,
pilfering now a run out of the slips, and once or twice getting on the
right side of a lob with a swipe that drew the hearts of Templeton into
their mouths.
A score of runs did those two add on to their hundred, and the seventy
groaned as the chances of a single innings victory dwindled run by run.
"Most frightful soak if they do us," said Dick, addressing the audience
generally. "Why don't they try Mansfield?"
"Shut up. Lie down under the seat, and don't talk to me," said Hooker,
flushed with excitement.
"Pledge has bowled four maidens running," said Heathcote, determined
that no one should blame the bowler _he_ had assisted to train.
"What's the use of bowling maidens? Why don't he bowl the boys, and
have done with it?" said Duffield.
Dick looked at Heathcote; Heathcote looked at Dick; Duffield hummed a
ditty. How could he do such a thing at such a time, and in such a
place? Oh, had he been only in the Mountjoy waggonette on a lonely
road, what a business meeting they could have held! As it was, there
was only time to crush the debtor's hat down over his eyes, and dig him
on each side in the ribs, when a general stir betokened some important
movement on the field of battle.
"By George! they're going to change bowlers," said Hooker. "Quite time,
too."
"No, they're not," replied Dick, "they're going to change ends. Awful
low trick to put Cresswell with the light in his eyes."
"Pledge has had it in his all the last hour," said Heathcote.
"Shut up, you kids, and don't make such a row. You can talk when we're
in at supper," said a Fifth-form fellow.
The allusion was a depressing one. More than once it had crossed our
heroes' minds that supper was coming on; but the chances of their
"cheeking in" (as they called it) to that part of the day's
entertainment were, to say the least, narrow.
At any rate, the allusion made them sad, and they relapsed into silence
as the bowlers changed ends, and Pledge prepared to attack from his new
base.
There was a sudden uncomfortable silence all round the meadow.
Grandcourt felt that if they could weather the storm a few overs longer
they might yet avert the disgrace of a single innings defeat. Templeton
felt, with decided qualms, that unless the change told quickly, it had
better not have been made at all. The eleven stepped in a bit, and
watched the ball with anxious faces. Ponty, alone, with one hand in his
pocket, yawned, and looked somewhere else. "What's the odds to Ponty?"
thought the seventy, marvelling how any one could look so unconcerned at
such a crisis.
Pledge bowled one of his finest, awkwardest, most disconcerting slows.
The cautious batsman was proof against its syren-like allurements, and
stepped back to block what any one else would have stepped forward to
slog. The ball broke up sharp against his bat, and Grandcourt began to
breathe again as they saw its progress arrested.
But at that particular moment it appeared to enter dear old Ponty's head
to take his hand out of his pocket and stroll forward a pace or two from
his place at point in the direction of the wicket. And somehow or
another it seemed to him that while he was there he might as well pick
up the ball, as it dropped off the end of the bat on its way to the
ground.
Which he did. And as every one looked on, and wondered what little game
he was up to, it occurred to the umpire that it was a catch, and that
the match was at an end.
Whereupon, the truth flashed round the field like an electric shock, and
the crowds broke into the meadow in wild excitement, while the seventy,
crimson with cheers, formed column and went for their men.
Poor Ponty had a hard time of it getting back to the tent, and half
repented of his feat. But it did him and Templeton good, when they came
upon the headquarters of Grandcourt, to hear the hearty cheers with
which the vanquished hailed their victors.
Chivalry is infectious. For the next quarter of an hour the meadow was
given up to cheers by Templeton for Grandcourt, and cheers by Grandcourt
for Templeton, in which the gallant seventy-two, despite their numerical
inferiority, held their own with admirable pluck.
Then, a mighty bell tolled out across the meads, and conqueror and
conquered, united in the brotherhood of appetite and good fellowship,
turned in to supper, carrying their cheers with them.
Now was the hour of our heroes' perplexity. For, be it said to their
credit as gentlemen, that however easily they may have got over their
scruples as to breaking Templeton rules, riding in Templeton coaches,
and enjoying themselves in the Grandcourt meadows, they had some
hesitation about making free with the Grandcourt supper without a rather
more precise invitation than they were already possessed of.
So they lagged a little behind the seventy, put their Templeton badges
conspicuously forward, and tried to look as if supper had never entered
into their calculations.
"Aren't you two fellows coming to supper?" said a Grandcourt senior,
overtaking them as they dawdled along.
"Thanks, awfully," said they; "perhaps there won't be room."
"Rather!" said the hospitable enemy, "you two won't crowd us out."
"We'll sit close, you know," said Dick.
"Better not sit too close to begin with," said the Grandcourt boy,
laughing, "or it'll be real jam before supper's over. Cut on and join
your fellows, and squeeze into the first seat you can find."
The first seat our heroes found was one between Ponty and the Grandcourt
head master, which, on consideration, they decided not to be
appropriate. They therefore made hard for the other end of the room,
and wedged themselves in among a lot of jolly Grandcourt juniors, who
hailed them with vociferous cheers, and commenced to load them with a
liberal share of all the good things the hospitable table groaned under.
Happy for Dick and Heathcote had they taken advice and begun the orgy at
half distance! But they survived the "jam;" and what with chicken pie,
and beef and ham, and gooseberry pie and shandy-gaff, to say nothing of
jokes and laughter, and vows of eternal friendship with every Grandcourt
fellow within hail, they never (to quote the experience of the little
foxes in the nursery rhyme) "they never eat a better meal in all their
life."
They could have gone on all night. But alas! envious time, that turns
day to night, and hangs its pall between our eyes and the light of our
eyes, put an end to the banquet. The coaches clattered up to the
Grandcourt gate; the seventy, with their wraps and coats, were escorted,
by their hosts in a body, to the chariots; horns sounded; cheers
answered cheers; caps waved; whips cracked, and in five minutes the
Grandcourt gate was as silent as if it guarded, not a fortress of hearty
schoolboys, but a deserted, time-ruined monastery.