WHY BIFFEN'S LOST
After the Lord's match there were two burning subjects of conversation:
Who should be captain in my place? and which house should be the cock
house at cricket? Every house captain looked with dread upon the house
of Corker, great alike at cricket and footer, and it was agreed that
very probably Phil Bourne would once more lead his men on to victory.
Biffen's house did not stand much chance, for there was no superlative
Acton at cricket; but it was, indeed, mainly through his efforts that
Biffen's was as good as it was. You may remember that Acton had taken
under his patronage those dark-skinned dervishes, Singh Ram and Runjit
Mehtah. They were unquestionably the best pair of fellows in the school
in strictly gymnastic work; and when summer came they showed that they
would, sooner or later, do something startling with the bat. The
Biffenite captain, Dick Worcester, did not altogether relish their
proficiency. "It's just my luck to have my eleven filled up with
niggers," he observed to Acton in half-humourous disgust; but Biffenites
pinned their faith on Worcester, the dervishes, and Acton, and, to the
huge delight of Grim, Rogers, Wilson, Thurston, and other enthusiastic
junior Biffenites, the resurrected house survived the first two rounds.
The third round they were to meet Taylor's lot, a good house, and the
hopes of Grim and Co. were tinged with considerable doubt.
On the particular afternoon when this important match was to be played,
Todd had strolled off to the Lodestone stream, laden with all the
necessary tackle for the slaying of a few innocent perch. The year's
final lists of the forms were due also in the evening on the various
notice-boards.
Gus had redeemed his promise made at the beginning of the term, and had
worked hard for a prominent position on the list, and his attempt to
capture the history medal had been, he thought, fairly satisfactory. He
would soon know his fate, however, in both directions. Meanwhile, to
allay his anxiety as to the results, he had unpatriotically given the
cricket-fields a wide berth, and thus deprived Taylor's of the privilege
of his cheer in the house match. He and Cotton had an invitation to dine
with Taylor that evening, so, after telling Jim his programme for the
afternoon, he had trudged down the lane which Jack Bourne knew so well.
The afternoon was hot: the one-o'clock sun made Gus think that perhaps
there was more cruelty than usual in luring the fishes out of the cool
waters of the Lodestone; but, nevertheless, he philosophically baited
his hook, and cast forth. The sport was not exciting, and by-and-by Gus
found himself wondering, not why the fish were so shy, but whence came
the faint, delicate perfume of cigars, which undoubtedly reached his
nostrils? The Lodestone Farm was a quarter of a mile away, and obviously
the scent could not travel thus far, and since Gus was alone on the
banks of the stream, running sluggishly towards the moat, the constant
whiffs of cigars reaching him seemed somewhat mysterious. Gus looked
again carefully, but could see no one, and yet there was undoubtedly
some one smoking very near him.
"Well, it _is_ odd," said Gus, for the nth time sniffing the "tainted
breeze." Curiosity piqued the fisher to trace the mystery. He
reconnoitred carefully, and presently fancied he could hear the faint
murmur of voices. This proceeded from the boat-house, wherein Hill
moored the moat punt. "I'll just make a reconnaissance in force," said
Gus, putting down his rod. Arrived at the punt-house, Gus peeped in
through the slightly open door, and discovered no less important
personages than Runjit Mehtah and "Burnt Lamb." The two dervishes were
lolling luxuriantly on the punt cushions, each smoking a fine fat cigar,
and the combined efforts of the two gave quite an Oriental air of
magnificence to the ramshackle boat-house.
"Hallo!" said Gus. "What the deuce are you doing?"
The cigars nearly fell from the mouth of each of the smokers as Gus
appeared on the scene, but when the smokers made out Todd's face
through the haze, Mehtah said, with much relief--
"Oh, talking."
"That isn't quite a true bill," said Gus. "Your Flora Fina de Cabbagios
keep the fish from biting."
"Have one," said Burnt Lamb, hospitably offering Todd a cigar.
"No thanks. Is this punt-house your usual lounge?"
"Sometimes," said Mehtah. "We can't do without our smoke, and we can't
do it, you know, at the school."
"No, that you jolly well can't, my dusky Othello. But aren't you two
booked for the Houser's this afternoon? I thought you were the backbone
of Biffen's."
"The match is not for an hour yet," said Lamb.
"Oh yes," said Mehtah, "we're going to sit on your house this afternoon,
Todd."
At this most interesting point of the conversation the door of the
punt-house was violently slammed to, and Gus was propelled forward clean
into the punt and received hurriedly into the unexpectant arms of Burnt
Lamb. Before any of the three could understand what had happened there
was a hurried fumbling with the staple and pin of the punt-house door
from the outside, and then an equally hurried retreat of footsteps.
"Well, I'm hanged!" said Gus, after he had picked himself up and tried
the door. "We're locked in."
Young Rogers and Wilson, who had done this fell deed, hoped there was
no doubt about the locking. This couple of ornaments had immediately
after dinner snatched their caps and ran on past the Lodestone Farm for
a particular purpose. They had found a yellowhammer's nest a day or so
before, containing one solitary egg, and their hurried run was for the
purpose of seeing if there was any increase, and if so--well, the usual
result. They were anxious to get back to the cricket-field in time to
shout and generally give their house a leg-up when the Houser with
Taylor's commenced, and their friend Grim had strict orders to bag them
each seats, front row, in the pavilion. They had been busy blowing eggs
for pretty well twenty minutes, and, as they were lazily returning
schoolwards, they caught sight of Gus watching his float.
"There's Gus Todd trying to hook tiddlers," said Rogers.
"Shy a stone," suggested Wilson, "and wake 'em up."
"Rot! There's no cover."
"It's only Todd," said Wilson. "What's the odds?"
"Yes, but not quite the old ass. Better get home."
Keeping well out of sight, the two cronies had watched with curiosity
Todd's manoeuvres as he tried to run the cigar-smokers to earth. When
Gus entered the punt-house, a bright idea struck Wilson.
"Say, Rogers, remember Toddy locking us in the laboratory last term? Two
hundred Virgil."
"Ah!" said Rogers, catching the meaning of Wilson's remark instanter;
"if we only could cork him up there for the afternoon! That would pay
him out for Merishall's call-over lines."
"We'll chance it," said Wilson. "If we can't do it, well, we didn't know
Gussy was in--eh?"
"Rather! That is the exact fable we'll serve out to Todd, if necessary."
Breaking cover, the young Biffenites had secured the door of the
punt-house without any difficulty, and then had run for dear life.
"Golly!" said Rogers, pulling up when well out of sight of the
boat-house; "we did that rather neat, eh? Hanged if Toddy wasn't smoking
like a chimney. Did you twig his weed?"
"Regular stench," said Wilson. "Toddy will have to swim out through the
front way, or howl for help. The punt is sure to be locked."
"He'll have to take a header off the punt into the moat, and that isn't
crystal, exactly."
"Six yards of mud is about the figure," said Wilson, almost
hysterically.
"I say, old man, if we'd only been able to bottle up Jim Cotton along
with his chum! What price Biffen's for the Houser, then?"
"_If_" said Wilson, wistfully. "Wouldn't the dervishes walk into
Taylor's bowling, if Bully wasn't there to sling them in?"
"Never mind," said Rogers, hardly daring to contemplate the ravishing
prospect of Taylor's house without Cotton, "the dervishes are sure to
come out strong this afternoon. Let 'em once get their eye in, and
either of 'em is good enough for a hundred."
The two young Biffenites found the faithful Grim holding the fort in the
front bench of the pavilion against the ardent assaults of some
Taylorian juniors, who could not see what Grim wanted with three seats.
The fellows of the two houses were rapidly lining up for the match, and
Dick Worcester had sent to Biffen's making affectionate inquiries for
the dervishes. By-and-by, word was brought to Worcester that the two
were not to be found in the neighbourhood; and a further hurried search
by anxious Biffenites, headed by Rogers and Wilson, had a like result.
"Isn't it awful, Grimmy?" said Rogers. "Where can the idiots be?"
Worcester and Acton had a consultation. "If they don't turn up in time
we'll have to make a start without 'em."
"If we have to go in we may give 'em up. We can't bat substitutes."
"No fear!" said Dick. "Cotton isn't likely to hear of that, and,
besides, it's just like the rotten thing you might expect from those
niggers."
Acton smiled. "All right, old chap. Put in Grim and Rogers in their
place. The little beggars will be as keen as mustard."
So Grim and Rogers had the honour of representing their house, since the
dervishes did not turn up. Rogers, when he shut the door on Todd, did
not guess that he had shut up Biffen's crack bats too. That Biffen's
lost the match, and made no sort of show against Cotton's bowling, may
also, perhaps, be attributed to the inadvertent imprisonment of Mehtah
and "Lamb."
The imprisoned trio had not had a very lively time that afternoon in the
punt-house. The door remained obstinately shut, and neither Todd nor his
two companions relished a swim in the moat as the price of freedom. The
dervishes took matters very calmly; the desire to play for Biffen's was
not strong enough to counterbalance the natural shrinking from a header
into the duckweed and a run home in wet clothes. Singh Ram had a final
try at the door, and then murmured--so Gus said--"Kismet," and relit his
half-smoked cigar. Todd, indeed, shouted lustily; but when he realized
that by contributing to the escape of the dervishes he might contribute
to the downfall of his own house, he stopped himself in the middle of an
unearthly howl. For three hours Gus remained a half-voluntary prisoner;
but, when he judged it safe, he created such a pandemonium that young
Hill hurried out of the farm stable, thinking there must be some weird
tragedy taking place at the punt-house. He had hurried across and let
the trio out.
The dervishes got a mixed reception from Biffen's crowd. Worcester was
almost eloquent in his language, and Acton was calmly indifferent.
"But I tell you, Worcester, some beast locked us in the punt-house."
"I wish they'd kept you there," said Dick, unmollified.
Whilst Worcester was swallowing his tea, Rogers and Wilson craved
audience. Their faces were as long as fiddles.
"Oh, Worcester!" began Rogers, tremulously, "we've come to tell you that
it was we who lost Biffen's the houser."
"Why, Wilson didn't play, and you caught Cotton," said Dick, astonished.
"But we locked the dervishes in the punt-house--we thought there was
only Todd inside."
"Oh, you did, you little beggars, did you?" said Worcester, considering
the doleful and grief-stricken Biffenites. "Well, here's a shilling for
each of you if you keep it dark. I'm deucedly glad the dervishes didn't
play. I'd rather lose a dozen housers than feel the niggers were
indispensable. Now, cut; and next time you bottle 'em up, see they don't
get out."
"Golly!" said Rogers, as the two left Worcester to his tea. "I suppose
the sun's affected Worcester's brain."
Whilst the dervishes were explaining matters to Worcester the other
prisoner was elbowing his way into the crowd around the Fifth Form
notice-board, whereon were pinned the final lists. Jim Cotton was
planted squarely before the board, eyeing the contents with huge
delight, and when he caught sight of the struggling Gus he haled him
vigorously forward.
"Here you are, Gus! By Jove, Toddy, you've done it this time, you old
Perry fizzler!"
Gus eyed the list with delighted eyes.
This is what he saw: "First--Todd, A.V.R.--history medal, and chemistry
prize."
Need I say anything more of either Todd or Cotton? Todd entered the
Sixth when the summer holidays were over, and Phil Bourne writes me
often and tells me what a big gun Todd is in the schools. Jim Cotton was
entered upon the roll-call of some celebrated "crammer" near the Crystal
Palace. If crammers' hearts _could_ be broken, Jim, I should say, will
accomplish the feat. But if ever James Cotton _does_ get into the Army
he will never disgrace his regiment.