BIFFEN'S PROGRESS
That day, after morning school, Biffen's held a meeting, and thereat Acton
was proposed captain by Worcester and seconded by Raven; and Biffen's
confirmed Worcester's qualified opinion of their sense by electing him
_nem. con_.
From that day Acton threw his heart and soul into the regeneration of
Biffen's. There did not pass an afternoon but that he turned out for
footer, and coached, encouraged, bullied, stormed, praised each individual
member of the team with the strictest impartiality and Spartan justice.
The smallest fault was dragged out into the light of day, and commented on
with choice fulness, and any clever concerted piece of work got its due
reward. Acton would stand no half-hearted play; he wanted the last ounce
out of his men. The fellows stared a bit at first at his deadly
earnestness, so unlike Dick's disgusted resignation at their shortcomings;
but they found the change refreshing on the whole, for they could stand a
lot of bullying from a fellow like Acton, who never seemed to make a
mistake, or to have an off-day, and who could give stones and a beating to
the best man among them. They respected his skill, and buckled to the work
in hand. In about a fortnight there was a suggestion of style about the
moving of some of the fellows up the field. Worcester backed up Acton with
whole-hearted enthusiasm, and Raven was lost in wonder at the forward
movement. This backing Acton found rather useful, for Dick and Raven were
as popular as any in St. Amory's.
Some of the fellows were inclined to turn restive after about a fortnight,
when the novelty of earnestness in football had worn off, but Acton's
demands were as inexorable as ever. Matters came to a head (probably, as I
expect, to the new captain's inward satisfaction) when his girding upset
Chalmers--about the best forward of Biffen's regenerated lot. There was to
be a match with some of the Fifth for the Saturday, and Acton had arranged
a preliminary canter the day before to test his attack. Chalmers was the
winger, but on the day he was tremendously selfish, and stuck to the ball
until he was robbed or knocked off it. Now, Acton loathed the "alone I did
it" type of forward, and asked Chalmers pretty acidly what his inside man
was for. This riled Chalmers considerably, for he had a large private
opinion about his own play, and he said pretty hotly, "Mind your own
business, Acton."
Acton said very coolly, "I am going to do so. Please remember, Chalmers,
this is not a one-horse show."
"Seems distinctly like it, judging by the fellow who's been doing all the
talking for the last age."
"Play the game, and don't be an ass."
"I object to being called an ass," said Chalmers, in a white rage.
"Well, mule, then," said Acton, cheerfully. "Anything to oblige you,
Chalmers, bar your waltzing down the touch-line to perdition. You're not a
Bassett nor a Bell yet, you know."
Chalmers would dearly have liked to have struck Acton, but Worcester
looked so utterly disgusted at the whole business, that I fancy it was
Dick's eye that suggested to Chalmers his getting into his coat and
sweater. He did so, and stalked angrily off the field.
Now, Chalmers really liked the game, and did not fancy being crossed out
of the eleven, which Acton would almost certainly proceed to do; so that
night after tea, he went to Worcester's study, and boarded Dick.
"Apologize to Acton," said Dick.
"But he called me an ass!"
"You were one," said Dick, dryly. "Acton's putting in a lot of work over
the slackest house that ever disgraced the old school, and this is how
he's treated. Ass is a mild term."
Chalmers went to Raven.
"Apologize," said Raven.
"He called me a mule," urged Chalmers, despairingly.
"So you were. I quite expected to see the kicking begin, really. Acton's
sweating no end to screw us up to concert-pitch, and flat mutiny is his
reward. Apologize, and help us win the Fifth to-morrow."
So Chalmers moved reluctantly across to Acton's and made his apology.
"Don't mention it," said Acton, cheerfully. "Sorry I upset you, Chalmers,
but you elected me captain, and I do want a little success in the houses,
and how can we get it if the fellows don't combine? Say no more about it;
I was rather afraid you weren't going to come, which is the unadorned
truth."
This last delicate touch, which showed Chalmers that, without the apology,
his captain had meant to cut him adrift, _sans_ hesitation, and yet
contained a pretty little compliment to his footer, embarrassed Chalmers
more than a little; but Acton offered his forward tea and muffins, and
five minutes afterwards Chalmers was finding out what a nice fellow Acton
really could be. The next day Chalmers smoothed his ruffled feelings by
piling on three goals against the Fifth, who sneaked off the Acres five
goals to the bad. This was the first time for ages that Biffen's had
tasted blood, and the news of the victory staggered others besides the
victims. There was quite a flutter among the house captains, and Acton, by
the way, had no more mutinies.
"Without haste, without rest," Biffen's captain started his second project
for the elevation of his house. He had noticed what none of the other
fellows would condescend to see, that two of the despised niggers of
Biffen's were rather neat on the bars. He spent a quarter of an hour one
evening quietly watching the two in the gym, and he went away thoughtful.
Singh Ram and Mehtah thereupon each received a polite note, and "could
they call about seven in Acton's study?" They came, and Acton talked to
them briefly but to the point. When they sought their quarters again they
were beaming, and "Singed" Ram carried a fat book of German physical
exercises under his arm.
"Am I not coming out strong?" said Acton, laughing to himself, "when I set
the very niggers a-struggling for the greater glory of Biffen's--or is it
Acton's? Then, there's that exhibition, which we must try to get for this
double-superlative house. Raven must beat that Sixth prig Hodgson, the
very bright particular star of Corker's. Would two hours' classics, on
alternate nights, meet his case? He shall have 'em, bless him! He shall
know what crops Horace grew on his little farm, and all the other rot
which gains Perry Exhibitions. Hodgson may strong coffee and wet towel
_per noctem_; but, with John Acton as coach, Raven shall upset the
apple-cart of Theodore Hodgson. There's Todd in for the Perry, too, I
hear. Hodgson may be worth powder and shot, but I'm hanged if Raven need
fear Cotton's jackal! If only half of my plans come off, still that will
put Philip Bourne in a tighter corner than he's ever been in before.
Therefore--_en avant!_"