through in less than two hours, but with Pringle and his opponent
desire outran performance. When the highest break on either side is
six, and the average break two, matters progress with more stateliness
than speed. At last, when the hands of the clock both pointed to the
figure eleven, Pringle, whose score had been at ninety-eight since
half-past ten, found himself within two inches of his opponent's ball,
which was tottering on the very edge of the pocket. He administered the
_coup de grace_ with the air of a John Roberts, and retired
triumphant; while the Charchester representatives pointed out that as
their score was at seventy-four, they had really won a moral victory by
four points. To which specious and unsportsmanlike piece of sophistry
Pringle turned a deaf ear.
It was now too late for any serious literary efforts. No bard can do
without his sleep. Even Homer used to nod at times. So Pringle
contented himself with reading through the poem, which consisted of
some thirty lines, and copying the same down on a sheet of notepaper
for future reference. After which he went to bed.
In order to arrive at Beckford in time for morning school, he had to
start from the house at eight o'clock punctually. This left little time
for poetical lights. The consequence was that when Lorimer, on the
following afternoon, demanded the poem as per contract, all that
Pringle had to show was the copy which he had made of the poem in the
book. There was a moment's suspense while Conscience and Sheer
Wickedness fought the matter out inside him, and then Conscience, which
had started on the encounter without enthusiasm, being obviously flabby
and out of condition, threw up the sponge.
'Here you are,' said Pringle, 'it's only a rough copy, but here it
_is_.'
Lorimer perused it hastily.
'But, I say,' he observed in surprised and awestruck tones, 'this is
rather good.'
It seemed to strike him as quite a novel idea. 'Yes, not bad, is it?'
'But it'll get the prize.'
'Oh, we shall have to prevent that somehow.'
He did not mention how, and Lorimer did not ask.
'Well, anyhow,' said Lorimer, 'thanks awfully. I hope you've not fagged
about it too much.'
'Oh no,' said Pringle airily, 'rather not. It's been no trouble at
all.'
He thus, it will be noticed, concluded a painful and immoral scene by
speaking perfect truth. A most gratifying reflection.
[12]
'WE, THE UNDERSIGNED--'
Norris kept his word with regard to the Bishop's exclusion from the
Eleven. The team which had beaten the O.B.s had not had the benefit of
his assistance, Lorimer appearing in his stead. Lorimer was a fast
right-hand bowler, deadly in House matches or on a very bad wicket. He
was the mainstay of the Second Eleven attack, and in an ordinary year
would have been certain of his First Eleven cap. This season, however,
with Gosling, Baynes, and the Bishop, the School had been unusually
strong, and Lorimer had had to wait.
The non-appearance of his name on the notice-board came as no surprise
to Gethryn. He had had the advantage of listening to Norris's views on
the subject. But when Marriott grasped the facts of the case, he went
to Norris and raved. Norris, as is right and proper in the captain of a
School team when the wisdom of his actions is called into question,
treated him with no respect whatever.
'It's no good talking,' he said, when Marriott had finished a brisk
opening speech, 'I know perfectly well what I'm doing.'
'Then there's no excuse for you at all,' said Marriott. 'If you were
mad or delirious I could understand it.'
'Come and have an ice,' said Norris.
'Ice!' snorted Marriott. 'What's the good of standing there babbling
about ices! Do you know we haven't beaten the O.B.s for four years?'
'We shall beat them this year.'
'Not without Gethryn.'
'We certainly shan't beat them with Gethryn, because he's not going to
play. A chap who chooses the day of the M.C.C. match to go off for the
afternoon, and then refuses to explain, can consider himself jolly well
chucked until further notice. Feel ready for that ice yet?'
'Don't be an ass.'
'Well, if ever you do get any ice, take my tip and tie it carefully
round your head in a handkerchief. Then perhaps you'll be able to see
why Gethryn isn't playing against the O.B.s on Saturday.'
And Marriott went off raging, and did not recover until late in the
afternoon, when he made eighty-three in an hour for Leicester's House
in a scratch game.
There were only three of the eleven Houses whose occupants seriously
expected to see the House cricket cup on the mantelpiece of their
dining-room at the end of the season. These were the School House,
Jephson's, and Leicester's. In view of Pringle's sensational feats
throughout the term, the knowing ones thought that the cup would go to
the School House, with Leicester's runners-up. The various members of
the First Eleven were pretty evenly distributed throughout the three
Houses. Leicester's had Gethryn, Reece, and Marriott. Jephson's relied
on Norris, Bruce, and Baker. The School House trump card was Pringle,
with Lorimer and Baynes to do the bowling, and Hill of the First Eleven
and Kynaston and Langdale of the second to back him up in the batting
department. Both the other First Eleven men were day boys.
The presence of Gosling in any of the House elevens, however weak on
paper, would have lent additional interest to the fight for the cup;
for in House matches, where every team has more or less of a tail, one
really good fast bowler can make a surprising amount of difference to a
side.
There was a great deal of interest in the School about the House cup.
The keenest of all games at big schools are generally the House
matches. When Beckford met Charchester or any of the four schools which
it played at cricket and football, keenness reached its highest pitch.
But next to these came the House matches.
Now that he no longer played for the Eleven, the Bishop was able to
give his whole mind to training the House team in the way it should go.
Exclusion from the First Eleven meant also that he could no longer,
unless possessed of an amount of _sang-froid_ so colossal as
almost to amount to genius, put in an appearance at the First Eleven
net. Under these circumstances Leicester's net summoned him. Like Mr
Phil May's lady when she was ejected (with perfect justice) by a
barman, he went somewhere where he would be respected. To the House,
then, he devoted himself, and scratch games and before-breakfast
field-outs became the order of the day.
House fielding before breakfast is one of the things which cannot be
classed under the head of the Lighter Side of Cricket. You get up in
the small hours, dragged from a comfortable bed by some sportsman who,
you feel, carries enthusiasm to a point where it ceases to be a virtue
and becomes a nuisance. You get into flannels, and, still half asleep,
stagger off to the field, where a hired ruffian hits you up catches
which bite like serpents and sting like adders. From time to time he
adds insult to injury by shouting 'get to 'em!', 'get to 'em!'--a
remark which finds but one parallel in the language, the 'keep moving'
of the football captain. Altogether there are many more pleasant
occupations than early morning field-outs, and it requires a
considerable amount of keenness to carry the victim through them
without hopelessly souring his nature and causing him to foster
uncharitable thoughts towards his House captain.
J. Monk of Leicester's found this increased activity decidedly
uncongenial. He had no real patriotism in him. He played cricket well,
but he played entirely for himself.
If, for instance, he happened to make fifty in a match--and it happened
fairly frequently--he vastly preferred that the rest of the side should
make ten between them than that there should be any more half-centuries
on the score sheet, even at the expense of losing the match. It was not
likely, therefore, that he would take kindly to this mortification of
the flesh, the sole object of which was to make everybody as
conspicuous as everybody else. Besides, in the matter of fielding he
considered that he had nothing to learn, which, as Euclid would say,
was absurd. Fielding is one of the things which is never perfect.
Monk, moreover, had another reason for disliking the field-outs.
Gethryn, as captain of the House team, was naturally master of the
ceremonies, and Monk objected to Gethryn. For this dislike he had solid
reasons. About a fortnight after the commencement of term, the Bishop,
going downstairs from his study one afternoon, was aware of what
appeared to be a species of free fight going on in the doorway of the
senior day-room. The senior day-room was where the rowdy element of the
House collected, the individuals who were too old to be fags, and too
low down in the School to own studies.
Under ordinary circumstances the Bishop would probably have passed on
without investigating the matter. A head of a house hates above all
things to get a name for not minding his own business in unimportant
matters. Such a reputation tells against him when he has to put his
foot down over big things. To have invaded the senior day-room and
stopped a conventional senior day-room 'rag' would have been
interfering with the most cherished rights of the citizens, the freedom
which is the birthright of every Englishman, so to speak.
But as he passed the door which had just shut with a bang behind the
free fighters, he heard Monk's voice inside, and immediately afterwards
the voice of Danvers, and he stopped. In the first place, he reasoned
within himself, if Monk and Danvers were doing anything, it was
probably something wrong, and ought to be stopped. Gethryn always had
the feeling that it was his duty to go and see what Monk and Danvers
were doing, and tell them they mustn't. He had a profound belief in
their irreclaimable villainy. In the second place, having studies of
their own, they had no business to be in the senior day-room at all. It
was contrary to the etiquette of the House for a study man to enter the
senior day-room, and as a rule the senior day-room resented it. As to
all appearances they were not resenting it now, the obvious conclusion
was that something was going on which ought to cease.
The Bishop opened the door. Etiquette did not compel the head of the
House to knock, the rule being that you knocked only at the doors of
those senior to you in the House. He was consequently enabled to
witness a tableau which, if warning had been received of his coming,
would possibly have broken up before he entered. In the centre of the
group was Wilson, leaning over the study table, not so much as if he
liked so leaning as because he was held in that position by Danvers. In
the background stood Monk, armed with a walking-stick. Round the walls
were various ornaments of the senior day-room in attitudes of expectant
attention, being evidently content to play the part of 'friends and
retainers', leaving the leading parts in the hands of Monk and his
colleague.
'Hullo,' said the Bishop, 'what's going on?'
'It's all right, old chap,' said Monk, grinning genially, 'we're only
having an execution.'
'What's the row?' said the Bishop. 'What's Wilson been doing?'
'Nothing,' broke in that youth, who had wriggled free from Danvers's
clutches. 'I haven't done a thing, Gethryn. These beasts lugged me out
of the junior day-room without saying what for or anything.'
The Bishop began to look dangerous. This had all the outward aspect of
a case of bullying. Under Reynolds's leadership Leicester's had gone in
rather extensively for bullying, and the Bishop had waited hungrily for
a chance of catching somebody actively engaged in the sport, so that he
might drop heavily on that person and make life unpleasant for him.
'Well?' he said, turning to Monk, 'let's have it. What was it all
about, and what have you got to do with it?'
Monk began to shuffle.
'Oh, it was nothing much,' he said.
'Then what are you doing with the stick?' pursued the Bishop
relentlessly.
'Young Wilson cheeked Perkins,' said Monk.
Murmurs of approval from the senior day-room. Perkins was one of the
ornaments referred to above.
'How?' asked Gethryn.
Wilson dashed into the conversation again.
'Perkins told me to go and get him some grub from the shop. I was doing
some work, so I couldn't. Besides, I'm not his fag. If Perkins wants to
go for me, why doesn't he do it himself, and not get about a hundred
fellows to help him?'
'Exactly,' said the Bishop. 'A very sensible suggestion. Perkins, fall
upon Wilson and slay him. I'll see fair play. Go ahead.'
'Er--no,' said Perkins uneasily. He was a small, weedy-looking youth,
not built for fighting except by proxy, and he remembered the episode
of Wilson and Skinner.
'Then the thing's finished,' said Gethryn. 'Wilson walks over. We
needn't detain you, Wilson.'
Wilson departed with all the honours of war, and the Bishop turned to
Monk.
'Now perhaps you'll tell me,' he said, 'what the deuce you and Danvers
are doing here?'
'Well, hang it all, old chap--'
The Bishop begged that Monk would not call him 'old chap'.
'I'll call you "sir", if you like,' said Monk.
A gleam of hope appeared in the Bishop's eye. Monk was going to give
him the opportunity he had long sighed for. In cold blood he could
attack no one, not even Monk, but if he was going to be rude, that
altered matters.
'What business have you in the day-room?' he said. 'You've got studies
of your own.'
'If it comes to that,' said Monk, 'so have you. We've got as much
business here as you. What the deuce are you doing here?'
Taken by itself, taken neat, as it were, this repartee might have been
insufficient to act as a _casus belli_, but by a merciful
dispensation of Providence the senior day-room elected to laugh at the
remark, and to laugh loudly. Monk also laughed. Not, however, for long.
The next moment the Bishop had darted in, knocked his feet from under
him, and dragged him to the door. Captain Kettle himself could not have
done it more neatly.
'Now,' said the Bishop, 'we can discuss the point.'
Monk got up, looking greener than usual, and began to dust his clothes.
'Don't talk rot,' he said, 'I can't fight a prefect.'
This, of course, the Bishop had known all along. What he had intended
to do if Monk had kept up his end he had not decided when he embarked
upon the engagement. The head of a House cannot fight by-battles with
his inferiors without the loss of a good deal of his painfully acquired
dignity. But Gethryn knew Monk, and he had felt justified in risking
it. He improved the shining hour with an excursus on the subject of
bullying, dispensed a few general threats, and left the room.
Monk had--perhaps not unnaturally--not forgotten the incident, and now
that public opinion ran strongly against Gethryn on account of his
M.C.C. match manoeuvres, he acted. A mass meeting of the Mob was called
in his study, and it was unanimously voted that field-outs in the
morning were undesirable, and that it would be judicious if the team
were to strike. Now, as the Mob included in their numbers eight of the
House Eleven, their opinions on the subject carried weight.
'Look here,' said Waterford, struck with a brilliant idea, 'I tell you
what we'll do. Let's sign a round-robin refusing to play in the House
matches unless Gethryn resigns the captaincy and the field-outs stop.'
'We may as well sign in alphabetical order,' said Monk prudently.
'It'll make it safer.'
The idea took the Mob's fancy. The round-robin was drawn up and signed.
'Now, if we could only get Reece,' suggested Danvers. 'It's no good
asking Marriott, but Reece might sign.'
'Let's have a shot at any rate,' said Monk.
And a deputation, consisting of Danvers, Waterford, and Monk, duly
waited upon Reece in his study, and broached the project to him.
[13]
LEICESTER'S HOUSE TEAM GOES INTO A SECOND EDITION
Reece was working when the deputation entered. He looked up
enquiringly, but if he was pleased to see his visitors he managed to
conceal the fact.
'Oh, I say, Reece,' began Monk, who had constituted himself spokesman
to the expedition, 'are you busy?'
'Yes,' said Reece simply, going on with his writing.
This might have discouraged some people, but Nature had equipped Monk
with a tough skin, which hints never pierced. He dropped into a chair,
crossed his legs, and coughed. Danvers and Waterford leaned in
picturesque attitudes against the door and mantelpiece. There was a
silence for a minute, during which Reece continued to write unmoved.
'Take a seat, Monk,' he said at last, without looking up.
'Oh, er, thanks, I have,' said Monk. 'I say, Reece, we wanted to speak
to you.'
'Go ahead then,' said Reece. 'I can listen and write at the same time.
I'm doing this prose against time.'
'It's about Gethryn.'
'What's Gethryn been doing?'
'Oh, I don't know. Nothing special. It's about his being captain of the
House team. The chaps seem to think he ought to resign.'
'Which chaps?' enquired Reece, laying down his pen and turning round in
his chair.
'The rest of the team, you know.'
'Why don't they think he ought to be captain? The head of the House is
always captain of the House team unless he's too bad to be in it at
all. Don't the chaps think Gethryn's good at cricket?'
'Oh, he's good enough,' said Monk. 'It's more about this M.C.C. match
business, you know. His cutting off like that in the middle of the
match. The chaps think the House ought to take some notice of it.
Express its disapproval, and that sort of thing.'
'And what do the chaps think of doing about it?'
Monk inserted a hand in his breast-pocket, and drew forth the
round-robin. He straightened it out, and passed it over to Reece.
'We've drawn up this notice,' he said, 'and we came to see if you'd
sign it. Nearly all the other chaps in the team have.'
Reece perused the document gravely. Then he handed it back to its
owner.
'What rot,' said he.
'I don't think so at all,' said Monk.
'Nor do I,' broke in Danvers, speaking for the first time. 'What else
can we do? We can't let a chap like Gethryn stick to the captaincy.'
'Why not?'
'A cad like that!'
'That's a matter of opinion. I don't suppose everyone thinks him a cad.
I don't, personally.'
'Well, anyway,' asked Waterford, 'are you going to sign?'
'My good man, of course I'm not. Do you mean to say you seriously
intend to hand in that piffle to Gethryn?'
'Rather,' said Monk.
'Then you'll be making fools of yourselves. I'll tell you exactly
what'll happen, if you care to know. Gethryn will read this rot, and
simply cut everybody whose name appears on the list out of the House
team. I don't know if you're aware of it, but there are several other
fellows besides you in the House. And if you come to think of it, you
aren't so awfully good. You three are in the Second. The other five
haven't got colours at all.'
'Anyhow, we're all in the House team,' said Monk.
'Don't let that worry you,' said Reece, 'you won't be long, if you show
Gethryn that interesting document. Anything else I can do for you?'
'No, thanks,' said Monk. And the deputation retired.
When they had gone, Reece made his way to the Bishop's study. It was
not likely that the deputation would deliver their ultimatum until late
at night, when the study would be empty. From what Reece knew of Monk,
he judged that it would be pleasanter to him to leave the document
where the Bishop could find it in the morning, rather than run the
risks that might attend a personal interview. There was time,
therefore, to let Gethryn know what was going to happen, so that he
might not be surprised into doing anything rash, such as resigning the
captaincy, for example. Not that Reece thought it likely that he would,
but it was better to take no risks.
Both Marriott and Gethryn were in the study when he arrived.
'Hullo, Reece,' said Marriott, 'come in and take several seats. Have
a biscuit? Have two. Have a good many.'
Reece helped himself, and gave them a brief description of the late
interview.
'I'm not surprised,' said Gethryn, 'I thought Monk would be getting at
me somehow soon. I shall _have_ to slay that chap someday. What
ought I to do, do you think?'
'My dear chap,' said Marriott, 'there's only one thing you can do. Cut
the lot of them out of the team, and fill up with substitutes.'
Reece nodded approval.
'Of course. That's what you must do. As a matter of fact, I told them
you would. I've given you a reputation. You must live up to it.'
'Besides,' continued Marriott, 'after all it isn't such a crusher, when
you come to think of it. Only four of them are really certainties for
their places, Monk, Danvers, Waterford, and Saunders. The rest are
simply tail.'
Reece nodded again. 'Great minds think alike. Exactly what I told them,
only they wouldn't listen.'
'Well, whom do you suggest instead of them? Some of the kids are jolly
keen and all that, but they wouldn't be much good against Baynes and
Lorimer, for instance.'
'If I were you,' said Marriott, 'I shouldn't think about their batting
at all. I should go simply for fielding. With a good fielding side we
ought to have quite a decent chance. There's no earthly reason why you
and Reece shouldn't put on enough for the first wicket to win all the
matches. It's been done before. Don't you remember the School House
getting the cup four years ago when Twiss was captain? They had nobody
who was any earthly good except Twiss and Birch, and those two used to
make about a hundred and fifty between them in every match. Besides,
some of the kids can bat rather well. Wilson for one. He can bowl,
too.'
'Yes,' said the Bishop, 'all right. Stick down Wilson. Who else?
Gregson isn't bad. He can field in the slips, which is more than a good
many chaps can.'
'Gregson's good,' said Reece, 'put him down. That makes five. You might
have young Lee in too. I've seen him play like a book at his form net
once or twice.'
'Lee--six. Five more wanted. Where's a House list? Here we are. Now.
Adams, Bond, Brown, Burgess. Burgess has his points. Shall I stick him
down?'
'Not presume to dictate,' said Marriott, 'but Adams is streets better
than Burgess as a field, and just as good a bat.'
'Why, when have you seen him?'
'In a scratch game between his form and another. He was carting all
over the shop. Made thirty something.'
'We'll have both of them in, then. Plenty of room. This is the team so
far. Wilson, Gregson, Lee, Adams, and Burgess, with Marriott, Reece,
and Gethryn. Jolly hot stuff it is, too, by Jove. We'll simply walk
that tankard. Now, for the last places. I vote we each select a man,
and nobody's allowed to appeal against the other's decision. I lead off
with Crowinshaw. Good name, Crowinshaw. Look well on a score sheet.'
'Heave us the list,' said Marriott. 'Thanks. My dear sir, there's only
one man in the running at all, which his name's Chamberlain. Shove down
Joseph, and don't let me hear anyone breathe a word against him. Come
on, Reece, let's have your man. I bet Reece selects some weird rotter.'
Reece pondered.
'Carstairs,' he said.
'Oh, my very dear sir! Carstairs!'
'All criticism barred,' said the Bishop.
'Sorry. By the way, what House are we drawn against in the first
round?'
'Webster's.'
'Ripping. We can smash Webster's. They've got nobody. It'll be rather a
good thing having an easy time in our first game. We shall be able to
get some idea about the team's play. I shouldn't think we could
possibly get beaten by Webster's.'
There was a knock at the door. Wilson came in with a request that he
might fetch a book that he had left in the study.
'Oh, Wilson, just the man I wanted to see,' said the Bishop. 'Wilson,
you're playing against Webster's next week.'
'By Jove,' said Wilson, 'am I really?'
He had spent days in working out on little slips of paper during school
his exact chances of getting a place in the House team. Recently,
however, he had almost ceased to hope. He had reckoned on at least
eight of the senior study being chosen before him.
'Yes,' said the Bishop, 'you must buck up. Practise fielding every
minute of your spare time. Anybody'll hit you up catches if you ask
them.'
'Right,' said Wilson, 'I will.'
'All right, then. Go, and tell Lee that I want to see him.'
'Lee,' said the Bishop, when that worthy appeared, 'I wanted to see
you, to tell you you're playing for the House against Webster's.
Thought you might like to know.'
'By Jove,' said Lee, 'am I really?'
'Yes. Buck up with your fielding.'
'Right,' said Lee.
'That's all. If you're going downstairs, you might tell Adams to come
up.'
For a quarter of an hour the Bishop interviewed the junior members of
his team, and impressed on each of them the absolute necessity of
bucking up with his fielding. And each of them protested that the
matter should receive his best consideration.
'Well, they're keen enough anyway,' said Marriott, as the door closed
behind Carstairs, the last of the new recruits, 'and that's the great
thing. Hullo, who's that? I thought you had worked through the lot.
Come in!'
A small form appeared in the doorway, carrying in its right hand a
neatly-folded note.
'Monk told me to give you this, Gethryn.'