THE LAST CAP
While Acton was thus making such strenuous exertions to lift Biffen's out
of the mire, Bourne was finding out the whole unpainted beauty of the
situation--as far as it concerned himself.
The experimental footer elevens were chosen in what, I believe, is the
usual manner. The old members of the school eleven formed a committee, and
chose fellows to play in the weekly matches, and if any one of them showed
special talent he was, of course, retained, and by-and-by the captain gave
him his school cap, and he was henceforth a full-blown member of the
eleven, with a seat on the committee like any of the old gang.
There were left of the last year's team five players--Bourne, Mivart,
Vercoe, Baines, and Roberts. The final promotion of fellows into the
eleven, however, rested with the captain alone, and when he considered any
fellow good enough he signified the same by presenting him with the blue
and silver cap of St. Amory.
The giving away of a cap had become quite a function. Whenever there was
the rumour that some one was to have a cap after a match, pretty well the
whole school swarmed round the pavilion, and when the new member came out
in all the glory of his new blue and silver he got the cheers which his
play or popularity deserved, and especially did the new member's house
distinguish themselves in the shouting.
Thus Bourne had six caps at his disposal, and since "Socker" had been
introduced, the last cap was always given so that when the school played
the last match--the Carthusians--the eleven would be complete.
Bourne saw at once the cloud which was rising on the horizon when, at the
first committee meeting to choose the eleven against "The Cognoscenti"
Mivart said, "Well, Bourne, we've got your partner for to-morrow ready
made. I think we may put that new chap Acton down right off."
"Rather," said Vercoe. "He can't be left out."
"Best back we've seen for an age-barring Phil, of course," said Baines.
"And the others we'll have to fight over, as usual. My choice is Hodgson
for centre."
"Too lazy, Roberts. Mine is Chalmers."
"Rot! He's a winger."
And so the selection of an eleven against the Cognoscenti went on in the
usual old-fashioned style.
Bourne dropped into my study afterwards and said, gloomily; "On the whole,
Carr, had I not better tell the fellows that they may elect Acton for our
school fixtures, but he cannot have his cap? That will take the bull by
the horns from the beginning."
"By no means. The other fellows have nothing whatever to do with giving
caps away; that is your business entirely. Besides, who knows? Acton may
not care to play when he knows he cannot get his cap."
"I'd be agreeably surprised if he didn't. But that won't be his little
game. Take my word for it, he'll turn out on every blessed occasion, play
like a master of the game, and give us no end of trouble."
"Perhaps he may. Anyhow, something may turn up between now and the last
match--we'll hope so, anyhow; and until the last cap is given away the
fellows generally won't spot your little game."
"'Tis only putting off the evil day, Carr," said Phil, discontentedly.
"A good day to put off."
Thus, when Hodgson was given the first cap, there was the general comment
that he was pretty sure to annex a cap sooner or later, and might as well
have it soon. Acton's turn--so said the school would come later, though
Biffen's house sneered. "Of course, Hodgson is in the Sixth. What else but
a Sixth Form fellow is wanted in a footer eleven?"
Sharpe's house secured the next two caps, and Biffen's groaned aloud.
"Whatever is old Phil about? One might think he was blind in his right eye
and straddled in his left. We'll send him a pair of gig lamps, and then
perhaps he may discover Acton--Acton, of Biffen's."
The weeks went by, and after a spirited display by Chalmers against the
Emeriti, he was given his cap, and for the first time since Biffen's was a
house they had a man in the eleven. But they gasped as Chalmers came out
of the pavilion with his blue and silver cap on his curls. "That ass
Bourne found the house at last, and then he goes and carefully spots the
wrong man. Whatever _is_ the matter with him? To pick Chalmers before
Acton! Rot!"
Over tea that night Biffen's bubbled and choked, and the other houses
began to take a lively interest in the next distribution, for this
constant passing of Acton was becoming exciting. But still--and I was glad
to see it--the school had faith in Phil; they counted on justice being
done, as it were, in the last laps. No one mentioned a word to him about
the intense curiosity and even anxiety that his odd bestowal of caps had
excited amongst them, for Phil has that way with him that can shut up a
fellow quicker than you can snap a knife if that fellow is travelling out
of bounds.
However, when Place, of Merishall's, came out of the pavilion a full-blown
member of the school eleven there was a scene. The whole body of fellows
now thought that the comedy was pretty nearly becoming a tragedy, and they
showed their feelings unmistakably. Place was cheered by Merishall's, but
not overwhelmingly, and from the other houses there was an ominous
silence. Place, as he trotted out, looked rather puzzled, and a bit
undecided how to take his odd reception, and glanced rather helplessly
round at the sea of faces all turned anxiously towards him. There would be
pretty nearly seven hundred fellows round the pavilion, for there was no
end of excitement.
"Keep up your pecker, Place! You're all right, anyhow!" shouted some one.
The other members came out one by one, and were cheered to the echo, and
at last Phil came out with Hodgson. He was rather pale, but had his back
very straight. There was a dead silence, and, for the first time since he
had been captain, Phil walked down the steps without a friendly cheer. I
think even now the old school behaved itself very well--the fellows were
not behind the scenes, and didn't see more than was before their eyes, but
there was not a single word thrown out at Phil. Acton came out with
Worcester, and the pity was that he didn't deserve the cheers he got.
[Illustration: PHIL WALKED DOWN THE STEPS WITHOUT A FRIENDLY CHEER.]
The week before the Carthusian match there was but one solitary player to
be promoted. The position was back, and every fellow in the place knew
that, bar Bourne himself, there wasn't another man that could hold a
candle to Acton there. The committee doggedly, and with meaning, elected
the only player there was to elect, and Acton signified that he was
willing to play. Bourne, as usual, was there, and no one felt more than he
the air of distrust and constraint which hung over the meeting. When Acton
was unanimously elected for back Phil stolidly wrote out the list of the
team and had it pinned up on the notice-board. He had carefully drawn the
line in red ink above the last name--Acton's--which showed that the
pride of Biffen's was not in the eleven yet.
Probably Acton on the next day played as well as even he had ever played
in his life, for he was almost impassable, and the crowd of fellows
cheered him till they were hoarse. The minute the whistle blew, like one
man the whole school swarmed round the pavilion. The question each asked
himself and his chum was, "Would Acton get the last cap?" And the answer
was, "Why, of course! Who else should have it?"
That afternoon to most of the fellows the eleven seemed an age getting
into their sweaters and coats. When Acton appeared first, and it was seen
that he was wearing the pink cap of Biffen's on his head there was more
than astonishment, there was consternation. Whatever did it mean? Acton
smiled good-naturedly at the school as they cheered him to the echo, and
hurried unconcernedly along. The others of the eleven came out dejectedly,
and filed up the hill in gloomy little groups. The whole school waited for
Phil, and when he came out, pale and worried, they received him in icy
silence. As he was coming down the steps one of Biffen's fags shouted
shrilly, "Three cheers for Acton!"
Phil stalked through the shouting school, and as I joined him and we
walked up together, he said, through his clenched teeth--
"I wish, old man, I had never seen that brute."
That evening Bourne wrote to Worcester offering him the remaining cap.
Worcester flew across to Acton's room, and said, "Bourne has offered me
the place--the last cap. He must be stark, staring mad!"
"Take it," said Acton, coolly.
"No fear," said Worcester. "We have a stupid kind of prejudice here for
having the best eleven we can get, and it isn't the best if you're out of
it. Bourne has always been a most impartial fellow up to this date, so
this little occurrence has thrown us off the rails. Before I go to
protest, though, have you any idea what is the matter?"
"He does not consider me fit for the eleven," said Acton with a light
laugh, but also with perfect truth.
"Rot!" said Dick, hurrying away.
He hunted up the other nine fellows, and said bluntly his business.
"I vote we all protest to Bourne. A round robin should meet the case."
"Good," said Mivart. "Draw one up, Dicky dear."
Dick in time produced the following:--
"We, the undersigned, think that the St. Amory eleven is incomplete
without John Acton, of Biffen's house, and, consequently, that he ought to
have the last cap; and we would beg the captain to offer it him unless
there be very good reasons for not doing so. We would suggest that if John
Acton isn't to have the cap he be told the reason. The undersigned do not
wish in the smallest degree to prejudice the right of the captain to
select members for the eleven, but think that in the present case the
withholding of a cap from John Acton inexplicable."
"You're a ready scribe, Dick," said Chalmers. "We may all sign that, eh?"
"Yes," said Worcester. "I first, because I am undeservedly offered the
cap, and the rest of you in order of membership."
No one saw any objection to signing Dick's memorandum, and forthwith, with
all legal formality, the round robin was signed by the ten, and sent to
Phil by Dick's fag with orders to wait for an answer.
It came within five minutes.
"DEAR WORCESTER,
I have no intention of offering John Acton a place in the St.
Amory's football eleven. There are good reasons for not doing
so, and I have already told Acton the reasons. Please let me
know whether you accept the vacant place I had the pleasure of
offering you.
Yours sincerely,
PHILIP BOURNE."
This was a thunderbolt among the fellows. Then Acton knew!
Worcester posted back to Acton, lost in amazement.
"Look at this, Acton!"
Acton carefully read Bourne's letter, and Dick, who was watching him
anxiously, saw him bite his lips with rage; for Phil's icy contempt stood
out in every word of the letter.
"He says you know why you are not in the eleven."
Acton knew that he would have to explain something, or else Bourne would
win the day yet. So he said--
"That is true. He told me so at the beginning of the season, but, of
course, I never bargained for his keeping his word; and when you hear the
reason he gave me--if this is his reason--you'll gasp."
"Well," said Dick, "although I've no right to ask you, I'd like to hear
the plain, unvarnished tale, for, speaking out, Phil Bourne has always
passed for a decent, level fellow. This business, somehow, doesn't seem
his form at all, and it is only fair to him to say it."
"Did you see the match we had with Shannon's scratch team when the term
began?"
"I did."
"Did you notice anything about my play?"
"You opened our eyes a bit, I remember."
"Did I play roughly?"
"No. Not quite that! You were not gentle; but you aren't that as a rule,
though your game is fair enough."
"Not for Bourne. He doesn't like my game. I'm too rough. It's bad form,
_pace_ Bourne, therefore I'm barred my place in the eleven."
"Is that the explanation?"
"Yes. Honour bright! Except"--Acton paused diplomatically for a
moment--"except, I don't think he likes me."
"Then Phil is a fool, and he'll find out pretty speedily that we can't
stand rot of this quality. I, of course, can't take the cap."
"My dear fellow, why in the world not? If you don't, some other house will
get it. Biffen's deserves two fellows in the eleven this year."
"They do, by Jove!"
"Then let us have the satisfaction of keeping out another Corker fellow."
Dick told the other fellows plainly and without any gilding, his
conversation with Acton, and they pressed him to go and see Phil
personally; so Dick marched heavily to Bourne's quarters.
"Sorry, Worcester, but I cannot explain anything. Not even to you. But I
do hope you'll come into the eleven."
Dick said shortly, "I think I shall, for Biffen's deserves the other cap,
though the right fellow isn't getting it. By the way, Bourne, you'll not
be very sweet to the school generally after this. They--the fellows--to a
man, are no end cut up over Acton's treatment."
"I supposed they would be. I knew it would be so."
"Look here, Phil. You always did the square thing. Let us have the reason
for this," said Dick, earnestly.
"Sorry, Worcester, I can't."
"Good night, then."
"Good night."
The rage and consternation of the Biffenites when they found that Bourne
was immovable in his decision can be imagined. Some were inclined to take
the matter up to Corker's throne, but they were a miserable minority.
"Let Corker have a finger in our own private affairs!" said Dick, with
intense disgust. "What next, gentlemen? We won't be able to blow our own
noses without his permission. Keep the masters out of this, whatever we
do. Can't we see the thing through ourselves? I vote we try, anyhow."
Some were inclined to blame Dick for accepting the cap; but pretty
generally it was agreed that, if Acton was not to have it, Dick was the
next best man, but at what a distance! The honour of having two men in the
eleven was no _solatium_ for the wounded pride of Biffen's, when they
considered their great injury. The reason, though, was, naturally, what
puzzled them--and, for the matter of that, the whole school. Did Bourne
expect his team to play footer as though it were a game of croquet? Were
drawing-room manners to be introduced on to the Acres' clay? Were the
famous eleven of St. Amory's to amble about, like a swarm of
bread-and-butter misses? One wit suggested wadded coats and respirators.
Acton rough, indeed! Phil Bourne must be an embodiment of his grandmother,
then! Most of the fags in Biffen's house sent Phil elaborate instructions
for "a nice drawing-room game to take the place of 'Socker'
football--nasty, rough 'Socker' footer--for one-and-six, and guaranteed
to do no injury to the most delicate constitution. A child can play it!"
These letters were anonymous, of course; but Biffen's house-paper was
freely used. "Anyhow," said Phil, with a gentle smile to me, "the spelling
is obviously Biffen's."
Acton went on his own way, serenely indifferent to his house, which would
have made a god of him on the smallest provocation. He cheerfully ignored
Bourne, and he had the art of never seeing Phil when they met, in school
or out, though, of course, Phil minded this not at all. When the
Carthusians were played, Acton spent the afternoon reading with Raven,
whose exam, was now very near; and, whilst the two were grinding out all
the absurd details of Horace and his patron, "and the poet's little farm,
and the other rot which gains Perry Exhibitions," the shouts and cheers
of the school down at the Acres came floating up the hill to their room.
The school lost their match with the Carthusians--the match which a good
St. Amorian would rather win than any two others--and it was plain that
Dick, though a useful fellow, could not bottle up the forwards in the
Actonian style. This defeat was the last straw to break the back of the
school's patience.
It was customary, after the Carthusian match, for the footer captain to
give his eleven a formal tea, Phil arranged the usual preliminaries, sick
at heart, and wearily certain as to the result. Three put in an
appearance--Vercoe, Baines, and Roberts--and in place of the burly forms
of the rest of the St. Amory's eleven, the sylph-like figures of their
fags flitted to Phil's hall of entertainment with curt little notes.
Worcester and the rest "regretted they were unable to avail themselves of
the captain's invitation."
The tea was not a success.
The school followed the plain lead of the eleven, and as Phil hurried
along to chapel the next day no one hooked in with him, as had been done
"the day before yesterday!" He was left severely alone.
In plain words, St Amory's School consigned Phil Bourne to Coventry.