Two from Eleven leaves Nine
Nominations for the School Captaincy had to be sent in a fortnight
before the actual election took place. Great fun had always been
extracted from the annual event, particularly in the Junior School.
Consequently there was blank consternation, particularly in Holbeck's
House, when the school librarian gave it out that only one nomination
paper had been sent in.
"There must be some mistake--a ghastly bloomer," said Broome, of
Holbeck's House. "Papers mislaid, no doubt. Why, I signed Harwood's
nomination paper myself."
"So did I," said Lake.
"And I," agreed Atack.
"Come, Mr. Librarian, stop rotting," Broome said. "Practical joking in
a matter of this kind shows bad taste."
"Have a square look at me, chaps," said the librarian. "Do I look like
a jester in cap and bells?"
"More like an ink-bottle with a quill stuck out of it," said Lake.
"Exactly. Then don't accuse me of mucking up my job. Richard Forge
alone has been nominated for the Captaincy, and will therefore be
elected unopposed."
"What's that?" queried Robin Arkness, always to the fore when anything
was afoot. "Dick Forge Captain of Foxenby again? Luke Harwood not
nominated? Jolly good job for Harwood, then. He'd have got the
slugging of a lifetime if he'd stood."
"Hop it, cheeky, or you'll get my boot-toe," was Lake's threat.
"Jealous!" Robin taunted him. Then off flew the leader of the Merry
Men to acquaint his comrades of the glorious tidings that Forge was
captain for another year--an occurrence which they celebrated by
carrying paper banners round the school-yard and heartily boo-ing any
boy of Holbeck's House whom they suspected of being Luke Harwood's
partizan.
"Rather a staggerer, Luke not letting himself be nominated," said Roger
to Dick. "He didn't stand an earthly, of course, but still----"
"Think I can explain his shyness on this occasion," Dick answered.
Whereupon he confided to his chum what had taken place between him and
Luke in the deserted football-field.
"All going to prove how accurate was your opinion of his character, and
how far astray was mine," Dick concluded. "But we'll be decent to a
fallen enemy, Roger, old boy."
"Of course," Roger agreed. "No kicking a man when he's down. I heard
a rumour that he'd decided to leave Foxenby this Easter. _Sic transit
gloria_!"
It was the morning of the replayed cup-tie at Walsbridge, so they had
every good reason for dismissing Luke Harwood from their minds. Luke,
indeed, did not buy a railway-ticket for Walsbridge, nor were any of
his cronies on the platform. Another notable absentee was Fluffy Jim,
whose parents had taken him to the Stores that day to fit his awkward
limbs, if possible, into clothes that Mr. Wykeham's reward had ensured
for him.
"So we start under better conditions to-day," laughed Roger. "No
blue-and-white Guy Fawkes this time to kick away your goal."
"If the Octopus lets me get near enough to score one," Dick reminded
him.
"Keep your big toe out of the way of his seven-league boots, anyhow,"
was Roger's timely warning.
Reaching Walsbridge by rail from Moston was rather a depressing
experience. It entailed a long wait at a draughty junction, where
refreshment was difficult to obtain. Footballers who train at the
seaside develop healthy appetites, and the grub provided on this
occasion didn't satisfy some members of the team, who fared forth to
forage for more.
"Don't dawdle, Clowes--come back quickly, Broome," Dick counselled
them. "No rotting about to-day, remember!"
"We could eat the town up and then be back half-an-hour before this
clockwork hearse of a train started," Broome said.
"Better be on the hungry side than gorge," said Dick, anxiously.
"Stick to beef-sandwiches--no pickles or fried potatoes, mind!"
Not caring to seem fussy about diet, but fearing the effect of too much
indifferent food, Dick watched the pair leave with some concern. Then
he and Roger strolled about the platform, deriving amusement from the
vocal rivalry of the Merry Men and the Squirms, who tried which could
first shiver the glass roof of the junction with their shrill football
slogans.
"We're handicapped by this changing business, Roger," Dick said. "St.
Cuthbert's get a through train to Walsbridge, and can start after
luncheon, warm and well-fed. It's quite on the cards that those
ravenous beggars, Broome and Clowes, will come back bilious from greasy
grub."
"If they come back at all," commented Roger, glancing grimly at the
clock.
"My hat, it's five minutes off train-time!" Dick exclaimed. "Confound
the slackers, they're cutting it fine. Here, Arkness, slip into the
street and see if you can spot Broome and Clowes. Signal them up,
smart!"
Such an errand could have been trusted to no one quicker than Robin.
He vanished like a streak, only to return three minutes later with a
furiously-shaking head.
"No sign of 'em, Forge," he panted.
A pretty pickle, truly! Supporters aboard the train, guard fidgeting
with his green flag, and two of the team's most important members
missing. Was the replay, then, to be as persistently dogged by
misfortune as the first final had been?
"Guard, can't you hold her up a bit?" Dick pleaded. "Give us a minute
or two longer. We're two men short."
"Sorry, lad, but Ah might near as weel chuck myself under t'train.
This company's pride is punctuality. They'd sack me if I spoilt
t'record. Ready, there? Right away!"
He bundled Dick and Roger into the saloon carriage reserved for the
team, and waved the train into motion. Gradually it gathered speed,
and then a frantic shout arose from the watching Foxonians as Broome
and Clowes came rushing at top speed past the booking-office.
"Hi, they're here--stop the train!"
Trains have been stopped, I believe, on less particular lines when
important passengers have been a few seconds late. And who more
important, the Foxes doubtless thought, than two of the men who were to
fight St. Cuthbert's for the County Schools' Cup? But their hopeful
cries changed into dismayed indignation as they realized that the old
file of a guard had no intention of pulling up for Broome and
Clowes--"No, not if they was royal princes," he vowed. Had he even
extended a helping hand, the nimble Broome could have just boarded the
guard's van. But the old man remained stubborn, and the team started
on the last lap of its journey to Walsbridge minus two of its best men.
"Take a motor-car," Robin Arkness called back, "and charge it to me."
"Silly ass!" Osbody said. "There isn't anything better than a
clothes-horse to ride in this benighted hole. We've lost the match!"
"Skittles!" cried Robin. "You Holbeck chaps make me sick. Just
because two out of three of your rotten representatives think feeding
their ugly faces more urgent than football, you fancy it's 'tails down'
with Foxenby. Forge'll find substitutes for both, that's a cert. He's
never been stuck fast yet."
But Robin's confidence would have been shaken could he have peered into
the saloon and seen the worried look on the captain's face.
It might be true, as Robin declared, that Dick had never been stuck
fast before, but on this occasion he did indeed feel that he was up
against one of the toughest football problems of his life. For the
reserve centre-half was Luke Harwood, and the reserve inside-left was
Greenfoot, both members of the little gambling-gang whom Dick himself
had warned off the Walsbridge field.
"Well," said Ennis, "Harwood's been aching for a chance all the season,
and is not such a wash-out at centre-half. His opportunity's come at
last."
"Jiggered if I fancy Greenfoot as a cup-tie forward," said Lyon.
"He'll be a new broom, but not such a sweeping one as Broome."
"Where are those two, by the way?" asked Lake. "Can't remember to have
seen 'em at the station."
"Come to mention it, neither can I," rejoined Ennis, and most of the
other members said the same.
Dick knew it was time to take the bull by the horns, and he did so with
characteristic candour.
"Neither Harwood nor Greenfoot can play this afternoon," he said, "for
the simple reason that they haven't come."
"Not come!" exclaimed Lyon. "But what in thunder's the good of a
trained reserve if it's left playing marbles in the school-yard?"
"Really, Forge, this is a staggerer!" Lake put in. "Surely you should
have seen to it that those two came along to-day."
"There were reasons why they shouldn't," said Dick curtly. "I take
full responsibility. It was I who told them to stay behind. Don't ask
me why, for I prefer not to tell."
They stared at him strangely. Only Roger understood, and he itched to
give the team the good and proper reason for the absence of Harwood's
gang. If the team knew that the missing reserves were infected by the
gambling-taint they would, Roger was certain, emphatically approve the
captain's action in leaving them behind. Without this knowledge, they
could be pardoned for thinking the captain's action high-handed.
Nobody spoke for a time. Some turned angrily red, others looked sulky,
all seemed more or less resentful. But Dick did not spare himself. As
usual, he went the whole hog by saying:
"They're absent, chaps, and even if they'd been here they wouldn't have
played. I shouldn't have let them."
"Oh, but I say, Forge, you're not the whole committee," exclaimed Lake.
There being a slight murmur of approval at this, Roger deemed it his
duty to break a lance in defence of his chum.
"You fellows are forgetting," he said, "that, by the rules of Foxenby,
the football captain is in entire command on the day of the match. If
reserves are needed, he chooses them himself to suit the occasion."
"Clever," sneered Lake. "You'll be called to the Bar if you're not
careful, Cayton."
But none could deny that Roger's reading of the rules was correct. If
the captain chose to discuss matters with the rest of the team, it was
purely an act of grace on his part. He could, if he wished, mentally
complete his team without consulting anybody. Being neither an
autocrat nor a fool, he preferred to seek their advice before coming to
a decision.
"We've some spare shirts and knickers in the bag," he said. "Can
anybody suggest a decent centre-half?"
Three names were mentioned, and thrice Dick shook his head.
"You can't fit a round peg in a square hole," he remarked. "I must
have somebody who's played centre-half before."
"Ditto at inside-left, I suppose?" asked Lyon.
"Precisely, Lyon."
"Then I'm jiggered if you'll find anybody," said Lyon, in despair. "We
shall have to field nine men and chance it."
Dick looked calmly round at the ring of dissatisfied faces. "Any other
fellow got a proposal to make?" he inquired.
There were several negatives, some surly, some peevish.
"Very well," said Dick. "I must settle this little dilemma in my own
way. The centre-half of the second eleven is young Osbody. The
second-string inside-left is Robin Arkness. Both are sturdy kids, and
will fill out the costumes fairly well. So to-day they play."
The speech of a Hyde Park "tub-thumper" could scarcely have met with
more open ridicule than this. There was laughter of a sarcastic
description; some even professed to believe that the captain was
joking. Even Roger caught his breath a little in surprise. Osbody and
Arkness were such striplings, after all. The wily Cuthbertian cracks
would surely toy with them.
Unmoved by criticism, even smiling a little, Dick took from his pocket
the list of the team and calmly wrote in the names of the unpopular
substitutes he had chosen. Replacing the list, he turned to gaze out
of the window at the landscape, whistling softly to himself.