The few weeks during which I had been laid up had witnessed some curious
changes in Low Heath--at least, they seemed curious to me, dropping, as
I did, suddenly into them.
First of all, we poor "Sharpers" were all burnt out. The faggery was no
more, nor was the hall, or the dormitory. We were being put up
temporarily in a town house just outside the school gates, a good deal
to the wrath of some of our number, who felt it was putting them down to
the level of the day boys. However, the sight of the scaffolding round
our old quarters, and the cheery clink of the trowel, reminded us that
out exile was not for long, and that in a brand-new faggery, on brand-
new chairs, and round a brand-new table, we should shortly resume our
pleasant discussions on the deepest questions with which the human mind
can occupy itself.
Somehow, apart from the fire, things weren't going exactly as I had left
them. Pridgin was reported to be working hard--a most alarming symptom.
It was commonly surmised that he could not stand playing second or
third fiddle to Crofter; and as Tempest was apparently content to be
second, Pridgin had come to the painful conclusion that the only
comfortable place for him in Sharpe's was Number One. It was extremely
inconvenient all round; for it made it necessary for Crofter to bestir
himself, while of course it seemed to threaten Tempest's chance of
recovering his place.
A few of the shrewdest held that Pridgin was merely forcing the pace in
order to punish Crofter for his usurpation. It may have been so; but,
whatever the motive, it quite upset the normal flow of things at
Sharpe's.
Another change was a marked reaction of public opinion in favour of
Tempest and against Crofter. This was probably due, in the first place,
to Tempest's exploit in rescuing me from the fire; and secondly, to
Crofter's caution in declining to enter for the Mile race at the coming
Sports. A few weeks had dispelled the little glamour which the latter
had derived from his apparently public-spirited conduct last term, and
the attitude of the Philosophers had effectually deprived him of any
opportunity of exercising his authority, and left him to the enjoyment
of an altogether barren honour.
One other change was that Tempest's necessity to live very economically
in order to repay his grandfather for advances made, had produced a
coolness between him and Wales, who had now retired from the
triumvirate, and attached himself to the cause of Crofter.
Lastly, Mr Jarman had suffered a shock, and taken on badly about his
accidental part in the recent fire. It had knocked all the vice out of
him, for the time being at any rate, and left him quite meek and limp.
Just now, however, the only topic about which any one cared was, as I
speedily discovered, the Sports.
Unusual keenness was being displayed everywhere. The seniors were
deeply concerned in the issue of the Mile. Would Redwood, who had
hitherto held his own easily, save his laurels this time? Would
Tempest, with his damaged hand, be able to run his hardest? Would any
dark horse, at the last moment, enter to divide the interest? And so
on.
Among the middle boys considerable excitement was afoot, especially in
Selkirk's house, where it was reported a boy of fifteen and a half was
going to beat the senior record in the Jump, and perhaps run the public
school record very close.
But the chief excitement was among us juniors. We had modestly set
before ourselves the task of winning every event under fifteen for
Sharpe's house, to say nothing of pulling the day boys over the chalk in
the Tug of War, and generally bringing the Philosophers well before the
public notice. The secret of our intention had been well-kept till
within a week of the day. We had been taunted with shirking our sports,
with being "mugs" and "crocks" and "cripples," with exercising the
better part of valour, with being afraid of being laughed at, and so
forth. But we heard all with a conscious wink, and went on with our
practice round the corner. Then, a week from the day, we literally
pelted the list with our names.
Langrish put down for the High Jump, Cricket Ball, Broad Jump, and
Hurdles. Warminster set down his name under Dicky Brown's for the
Hundred Yards, and next to Griswold's for the Hurdles. Coxhead entered
for the Cricket Ball against the crack thrower in Selkirk's, and
Rackstraw and Walsh, noble pair of "paupers," put in for the Quarter-
mile, which I was to have run against the fleet-footed Flitwick.
Altogether it was a big order, and made the other houses look a little
blue, as we hoped it would.
The great day came at last--a perfect Sports day, with a light breeze
blowing, the track like elastic, the takes-off clean and sharp, and the
field crammed with visitors and friends. I had my work cut out for me
that day. It would have been far less exertion to run the Quarter-mile.
I was to be coat-minder, time-keeper, rubber-down, straight-tipper,
clapper-on-the-back, and bottle-holder to the Conversation Club at
large, a sort of mixture of parent, footman, and retriever dog, which,
flattering as it undoubtedly was to my sense of my own importance,
promised no little anxiety and exercise before the day was done.
As I strolled down somewhat early, charged with the pleasing commission
of "bagging nine seats in the middle of the front row of the stand and
seeing no one collared them," I met Redwood, fresh as a daisy, just
returning from a final inspection of the ground.
"Hullo, youngster, you're not running, I hear. What a pity!"
"It doesn't matter," said I. "Do you mind my not backing you for the
Mile?"
He laughed, and said he should have thought poorly of me if I had not
backed my own man.
"Is his hand all right now?" he asked.
"He says so," said I. "It's worth six yards to you, though."
"You think so, do you?" said he. "By the way, will you do a job for me?
My two young sisters awfully want to be on the ground, and they've got
leave if some one will look after them. I can't. How would you like
to?"
Here was a thunderbolt! I had a fair day's work mapped out for myself
as it was. Now I was to be saddled with a pair of teasing young female
fidgets, and held responsible for their good behaviour and general
comfort! What did people take me for? Why, the Mile itself wouldn't
take it out of me half as much.
"All right," said I, "where are they?"
"I'm going home; I'll send them down sharp before the crowd comes.
Thanks awfully, youngster."
And off he went, leaving me pretty full up with the cares of this
deceitful world.
I proceeded to bag the nine best seats on the stand, which, as nobody
else had yet put in an appearance, was easy enough without the trying
necessity of sitting on them all at the same time. When the crowd
arrived, it would be time enough to consider how I should then have to
act.
I had not been long in possession when two dainty little figures in pink
bore down hand-in-hand upon me, presumably under the protection of a
nurse, who, however, was not in it when it came to racing.
"There's horrid Sarah," remarked Mamie, "who tried to drown me."
"Never mind," said Gladys, "he was nearly burned to death to punish him
for being wicked."
"I hate him because he never gives us sweeties," said Mamie.
"Never mind," said Gladys; "Bobby says it's not his fault that he's a
mule. I don't like mules though, do you?"
"I hate them," said the uncompromising Mamie.
"Please, Master Jones," said the nurse, "the mistress says will you see
the young ladies behave nicely and don't dirty their frocks? Be good
girls now," she added, by way of final admonition, as she departed.
I watched her go with the helpless despair of a man on a spar who
watches the lifeboat put off with its last load for the shore. The
young ladies, almost before nurse was gone, began to run along the rows
of chairs, falling down once in twelve, and rapidly toning down the
pretty pink of their frocks to a sombre brick hue. I was thankful when
the crowd began to drop in, and I was able, by threats of taking them
home before the races began, to reduce them at least to the nine seats
for which I was responsible. How I wished I had some sweets, in order
to reduce them to only three!
By good luck Dicky Brown hove in sight just as I was giving way to
despair.
"Dicky, old chap," said I, "if you love me, get sixpennyworth of bulls'-
eyes or something. I'd be grateful to you as long as I live."
Dicky looked at me anxiously--evidently concerned for my health. But a
jerk of my head in the direction of the two little vixens, who were just
then trying to pull a solemn-looking day boy off one of the chairs by
main force, satisfied him that the case was an urgent one, and, like a
brick, he flew off to the rescue.
The solemn day boy stood his persecution as long as he could, and then
rounded sharply on his persecutors.
"Bother you, go away!" he growled.
Whereupon in floods of tears, the Misses Redwood made for me, and
insisted on being taken up one on each knee and "cosseted" because of
what the big ugly boy had done.
I complied with the energy of despair, conscious that in so doing I was
allowing the reserved seats one by one to be usurped, and was at the
same time rendering myself a spectacle of contempt to at least eight
young persons, whom, in the gap left between the two wet faces which
clung to my either cheek, I could see advancing in a body, clad in
running drawers and blazers, in our direction.
It was vain for me to try to escape from my false position. The nearer
the Philosophers approached, the more maudlin and effusive these
unprincipled young females became, flinging their arms tragically round
my neck, and bedaubing my face with their dewy kisses.
"Sarah _can_ go it a bit when he likes," said Langrish, with a cheerful
guffaw, standing in a conspicuous place, and calling public attention to
me in a way which only added to my sorrows.
"Rather. I wondered why he went down so early," said Coxhead.
"Birds of a feather," said the sententious Trimble, "play the fool
together. I say, what about our seats, though?"
"They are bagged," said I, getting my face clear for a moment. "I
couldn't keep them."
"I dare say. You mean you were so busy spooning about with girls you
never thought of it. All right, Miss Molly," said Warminster.
"I think we could squash up a bit here," said I meekly.
"Looks as if _you_ could," said Langrish. "Squash away then." And, to
the wrath and indignation of the whole stand, the Philosophers crowded
in, in a solid phalanx, and proceeded to accommodate their eight persons
in the space usually allotted to two. It took some time for the other
seat-holders to appreciate the humour of the manoeuvre, and before then
the bell had rung for the first race, and Dicky had returned with the
brandy-balls, which he deftly smuggled into my hand as he trotted past.
It was now easy to "square" the Misses Redwood, who for a blessed half-
hour cried truce. It was in vain that I suggested that they had better
not plaster their faces and frocks more than could be helped with the
sticky substance of their succulent pabulum. They contemptuously
ignored my right to make any suggestion of the kind, and I finally
abandoned them to their fate.
The first few events were trial heats, in which we as a body were not
specially interested; but when the bell rang up for the Hundred Yards
under fifteen, the Sports had begun for us in earnest.
Leaving the two Daughters of Eve with the bag of brandy-balls between
them, I clambered out of my place to perform the last rites for
Warminster, who was to carry the colours of Sharpe's against Dicky Brown
of the day boys, Muskett of Selkirk's, and another outsider.
It went a little to my heart to be rubbing down somebody else's calves
but Dicky's on an occasion like this. But such is life. Patriotism
goes before friendship, and times do come when one must wish confusion
to one's dearest brother.
So I rubbed down one of Warminster's calves while Trimble rubbed the
other, and Langrish gave him a word of advice about his start, and
Coxhead arranged to call on him for his spurt twenty yards from the
finish. With the exception of the other evening when he arrived at my
mother's party I had never seen Warminster so meek and nervous. He
behaved exactly as if we were taking a last farewell, and would, I
think, have embraced us had we encouraged him to do so.
"Now then," said Langrish, "give us your blazer. Bend well over your
toes for the start, and do it all in a breath."
"Run straight on your track, and don't try to take the other chaps'
water," said Trimble.
"Don't look round at me when I yell, but bucket all you can," said
Coxhead.
"Don't pull up till after the pistol has gone," said I. Then we left
him to his work.
And well enough he did it. He and Dicky went off at the start as if
they'd been shot out of a double-barrelled gun, Dicky with his head
down, our man with his head up. That was what saved him; half-way over
Dicky had to get his chin up, and it lost him a sixteenth of a second,
and that meant six inches. Selkirk's man made an ugly rush thirty yards
from home, but he began it too soon. Warminster wisely waited till he
heard Coxhead's shrill "Gee-up" in his ear. Then he laid on and made
his six inches eight, and his eight ten, and landed so much in front of
Dicky amid cheers which, if the clouds had been a little lower, would
have assuredly brought on a shower.
One score to us! I was sorry for Dicky, but it couldn't be helped.
"It's your fault," said he, "the brandy-balls did it. I took one, you
know; never mind. I say, look at your kids!"
The "kids" in question had finished the brandy-balls, and, resenting my
desertion, had decided to follow me into the open. As I had reached it
by swarming over the front of the stand and dropping a foot or so on to
the earth, they naturally selected that route as most suitable for them.
They had half accomplished it, to the extent of getting over the edge
of the low parapet and beginning to lower themselves on the outside,
when Mamie's frock caught in a nail, which suspended her between heaven
and earth, while Gladys, in her uncertainty whether to scream or assist,
had toppled to the ground all of a heap, and solved the difficulty that
way. Their screeches almost put our loyal cheers to the blush, and when
I rushed up to extricate the one and pick up the other, I was in the
centre of a hullaballoo which almost threatened to wreck the Sports.
How they quieted down I know not. I believe it was my announced
determination to walk them straight home which did it. At any rate, it
was clear to me there was no more rubbing down of Sharpe's calves for me
that day. I must remain, like Casabianca, on deck, even though it cost
us all the events of the day.
It was a thankless task. First of all there was the usual ceremony of
"cosseting" and drying tears. Then with a pin I had to mend the rent in
Mamie's frock. Then I had to kiss both of Gladys's elbows to make them
well, and finally I had to stand a fusillade of chaff and jeers from the
Philosophers, which made life a heavier burden that it was already.
At last, to my joy, the bell rang up for the High Jump under fifteen,
and public attention was diverted from my lamentable case.
As everybody who knew anything had anticipated, Langrish won this,
metaphorically speaking, "on his head." He knocked out the second man
(a Selkirker) at 4 feet and half an inch, and went on gamely 2 inches
higher, clearing the bar as prettily and daintily as Wales himself might
have done in the open event. It was not at all certain he could not
have gone higher against an opponent; but having no such spur, he grew
careless, and after barely shaking down the bar twice at 4 feet 3
inches, kicked it off awkwardly the third time, and so retired an easy
victor, and quite overcome by the applause of the now crowded field.
Then came the event of the day--the Open Mile, for which Tempest and
Redwood were the only combatants. I felt myself growing as nervous as
if I were running myself.
For my instinct told me that the welfare of Sharpe's more or less hung
on the issue. Could Tempest but win, there would be no doubt that he
would return to the headship of the house with an eclat which even
Crofter would have to yield to. If not, Crofter might still hang on to
the reins and claim his doubtful rights.
A complication of an unexpected kind arose now. The Misses Redwood were
quite sufficiently _au fait_ with the etiquette of a race-course to know
that if their brother ran he must win, and that everybody else must wish
him to win. In an unguarded moment I joined in the cheer which greeted
Tempest as he appeared stripped for action on his way to the starting-
post. This was taken up as a grievous personal affront. The young
ladies repudiated and flung me from them with an energy and disgust
which quite astonished me. They loudly clamoured for my removal, and
failing that, made a concerted retreat from my detested vicinity.
"Nasty horrid Sarah, go away!" they shouted.
Then spying Dicky Brown in the distance, they shrieked on him to deliver
them.
"Want to go _to Dicky_--dear Dicky. Get away from Sarah."
And suiting the action to the word they swarmed over the back of the
bench, and started in full cry for the enviable Dicky.
Richard, however, was an old bird for his years, and did not, or
pretended not to hear their siren voices, and sheered off into the open
just in the nick of time. Whereupon the Misses Redwood redoubled their
clamour, and could only be allured back to the shelter of my fatigued
wing by my going to them and audibly bawling in their faces, "Bravo,
Redwood! go it, Redwood!"
On these terms they surrendered, and the difficulty, at the cost indeed
of my reputation as a loyal "Sharper" was temporarily tided over.
It was noticed that Tempest, though cool as ever, was pale, and carried
his left hand, while he stood waiting, in the opening of his waistcoat.
I saw Redwood go to him and say something, pointing as he did so to the
hand. Tempest's reply was a flush and a laugh as he removed his hand
from its resting-place, and waved it about at his side.
I did not like it. But it was too late now. Mr Jarman stood ready
with his pistol up, the noise of the field suddenly changed to silence,
and the two athletes, with arms out, stood straining on the line.
Off! It was a good start, and the pace was startling for a mile.
Tempest had the inside track. He seemed to have the advantage in
lightness of step, while Redwood's strength was more in length of
stride. The first of the four laps was run almost inch for inch.
Perhaps Tempest, thanks to his berth, had a foot to the good as they
entered on the second. Here our man forged ahead slowly, and gradually
drew to a clear lead. But we trembled as we saw it. Would he stay?
Apparently he ran as lightly as before, but Redwood, as he lay on at his
heels, seemed to be going even easier. However, the half-mile saw
Tempest three yards ahead and still going. Then, to our concern, we saw
Redwood's stride lengthen a little, and watched inch after inch of the
interval shrink, until at the end of the third lap there was scarcely
more difference than there had been at the end of the first. Yet our
man was still to the front.
And now it was almost difficult for us onlookers to breathe, for the tug
was at hand. The fourth lap had scarcely begun when a wild yell called
attention to the fact that Tempest was once more "putting it on." What
was still more satisfactory was that he was going as well as ever,
although in that respect so was Redwood. The gap opened again, the foot
grew to a yard, and the yard to half a dozen, and the half-dozen to-- At
last! It was but two hundred yards from home when Redwood's stride once
more lengthened out, and a new shout told us all that the chasm was once
more being filled up, inch by inch and foot by foot. Tempest heard the
shout and knew what it meant. He, _too_, lengthened his stride, and
seemed as if he was going to answer rush for rush. But our hearts stood
still and our tongues clave to the roofs of our mouths as we perceived
that it would not come off. He could barely keep up his present pace.
Would it see him through? Perhaps half the distance was passed, and
Redwood had only recovered a third of his lead. Then the yells broke
out. Every one wished he could lend his man an inch, or the hundredth
part of an inch. Redwood's rush increased, and the vanishing inches
struck panic into our philosophic breasts. Could Tempest but hold out
these few yards, we were safe. He would! No! Yes! No, they're all
but level another six yards. Then suddenly we saw Tempest fling his
hand behind and reel forward with a blind stagger over the tape, and as
the simultaneous report proclaimed a dead heat, fall sprawling and
helpless on the ground.
The cheers died on our lips, for it was surely something more than
exhaustion or broken wind. Redwood was beside him in a moment, and drew
his head on his knee. It was a dead faint--not from fatigue, but from
pain.
His burned and blistered hand, which he had so carefully concealed from
everybody, and of which he had made so little, betrayed the secret
plainly enough.
For once his pride and determination had overrated his physical
strength. He had calculated on just being able to win the race. All he
had done was just to save it, at a price which, as it turned out, was to
cost him weeks of illness, and even threaten the loss of a hand.
The news of his calamity spread like wildfire, and put an end, as far as
I at least was concerned, to the sports for the day.
We heard later in the day that he was in the Sanatorium in a high fever.
Next day he was delirious, and the notice on the board told us that the
doctor considered his condition dangerous. The next day, his old
grandfather, the only relative he had, came down, and the next, summoned
by my urgent message, my dear mother. Then for a day or two we were
kept in suspense, till one happy afternoon the bulletin reported a
change for the better, and presently the welcome news came that all
danger was past.
For me at least that was the happiest day of my life, except perhaps
that a week later when my mother as a special privilege allowed me to
see him for a moment.
He was sitting up in bed, smiling but pale.
"Tell me," he said, "I've never heard yet, did I win the Mile?"
"Dead heat," said I.
"What time?"
"Four four and a half."
"A record, isn't it? It was worth the grind."