SCHOOL CRICKET—LEMON-KALI—THE BOYS' BRIDGE—AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY.
Rupert and I were now the best of good friends again. I cared more for
his favour than for the goodwill of any one else, and kept as much
with him as I could.
I played cricket with him in the school matches. At least I did not
bat or bowl, but I and some of the junior fellows "fielded out," and
when Rupert was waiting for the ball, I would have given my life to
catch quickly and throw deftly. I used to think no one ever looked so
handsome as he did in his orange-coloured shirt, white flannel
trousers, and the cap which Henrietta made him. He and I had spent all
our savings on that new shirt, for Mother would not get him a new one.
She did not like cricket, or anything at which people could hurt
themselves. But Johnson Major had got a new sky-blue shirt and cap,
and we did not like Rupert to be outdone by him, for Johnson's father
is only a canal-carrier.
But the shirt emptied our pockets, and made the old cap look worse
than ever. Then Henrietta, without saying a word to us, bought some
orange flannel, and picked the old cap to pieces, and cut out a new
one by it, and made it all herself, with a button, and a stiff peak
and everything, and it really did perfectly, and looked very well in
the sunshine over Rupert's brown face and glossy black hair.
There always was sunshine when we played cricket. The hotter it was
the better we liked it. We had a bottle of lemon-kali powder on the
ground, and I used to have to make a fizzing-cup in a tin mug for the
other boys. I got the water from the canal.
Lemon-kali is delicious on a very hot day—so refreshing! But I
sometimes fancied I felt a little sick _afterwards_, if I had had a
great deal. And Bustard (who was always called Bustard-Plaster,
because he was the doctor's son) said it was the dragons out of the
canal water lashing their tails inside us. He had seen them under his
father's microscope.
The field where we played was on the banks of the canal, the opposite
side to the town. I believe it was school property. At any rate we had
the right of playing there.
We had to go nearly a quarter of a mile out of the way before there
was a bridge, and it was very vexatious to toil a quarter of a mile
down on one side and a quarter of a mile up on the other to get at a
meadow which lay directly opposite to the school. Weston wrote a
letter about it to the weekly paper asking the town to build us a
bridge. He wrote splendid letters, and this was one of his very best.
He said that if the town council laughed at the notion of building a
bridge for boys, they must remember that the Boys of to-day were the
Men of to-morrow (which we all thought a grand sentence, though
MacDonald, a very accurate-minded fellow, said it would really be some
years before most of us were grown up). Then Weston called us the
Rising Generation, and showed that, in all probability, the Prime
Minister, Lord Chancellor, and Primate of the years to come now played
"all unconscious of their future fame" in the classic fields that lay
beyond the water, and promised that in the hours of our coming
greatness we would look back with gratitude to the munificence of our
native city. He put lots of Latin in, and ended with some Latin verses
of his own, in which he made the Goddess of the Stream plead for us as
her sons. By the stream he meant the canal, for we had no river, which
of course Weston couldn't help.
How we watched for the next week's paper! But it wasn't in. They never
did put his things in, which mortified him sadly. His greatest
ambition was to get something of his own invention printed. Johnson
said he believed it was because Weston always put something personal
in the things he wrote. He was very sarcastic, and couldn't help
making fun of people.
It was all the kinder of Weston to do his best about the bridge,
because he was not much of a cricketer himself. He said he was too
short-sighted, and that it suited him better to poke in the hedges for
beetles. He had a splendid collection of insects. Bustard used to say
that he poked with his nose, as if he were an insect himself, and it
was a proboscis but he said too that his father said it was a pleasure
to see Weston make a section of anything, and prepare objects for the
microscope. His fingers were as clever as his tongue.
It was not long after Rupert got his new shirt and cap that a very sad
thing happened.
We were playing cricket one day as usual. It was very hot, and I was
mixing some lemon-kali at the canal, and holding up the mug to tempt
Weston over, who was on the other side with his proboscis among the
water-plants collecting larvae. Rupert was batting, and a new fellow,
who bowled much more swiftly than we were accustomed to, had the ball.
I was straining my ears to catch what Weston was shouting to me
between his hands, when I saw him start and point to the cricketers,
and turning round I saw Rupert lying on the ground.
The ball had hit him on the knee and knocked him down. He struggled
up, and tried to stand; but whilst he was saying it was nothing, and
scolding the other fellows for not going on, he fell down again
fainting from pain.
"The leg's broken, depend upon it," said Bustard-Plaster; "shall I run
for my father?"
I thanked him earnestly, for I did not like to leave Rupert myself.
But Johnson Major, who was kicking off his cricketing-shoes, said,
"It'll take an hour to get round. I'll go. Get him some water, and
keep his cap on. The sun is blazing." And before we could speak he was
in the canal and swimming across.
I went back to the bank for my mug, in which the lemon-kali was
fizzing itself out, and with this I got some water for Rupert, and at
last he opened his eyes. As I was getting the water I saw Weston,
unmooring a boat which was fastened a little farther up. He was
evidently coming to help us to get Rupert across the canal.
Bustard's words rang in my ears. Perhaps Rupert's leg was broken.
Bustard was a doctor's son, and ought to know. And I have often
thought it must be a very difficult thing _to_ know, for people's legs
don't break right off when they break. My first feeling had been utter
bewilderment and misery, but I collected my senses with the
reflection that if I lost my presence of mind in the first real
emergency that happened to me, my attendance at Rupert's lectures had
been a mockery, and I must be the first fool and coward of my family.
And if I failed in the emergency of a broken leg, how could I ever
hope to conduct myself with credit over a case of drowning? I did feel
thankful that Rupert's welfare did not depend on our pulling his arms
up and down in a particular way; but as Weston was just coming ashore,
I took out my pocket-handkerchief, and kneeling down by Rupert said,
with as good an air as I could assume, "We must tie the broken leg to
the other at the—"
"_Don't touch it_, you young fool!" shrieked Rupert. And though
directly afterwards he begged my pardon for speaking sharply, he would
not hear of my touching his leg. So they got him into the boat the
best way they could, and Weston sat by him to hold him up, and the boy
who had been bowling pulled them across. I wasn't big enough to do
either, so I had to run round by the bridge.
I fancy it must be easier to act with presence of mind if the
emergency has happened to somebody who has not been used to order you
about as much as Rupert was used to order me.