THE LONG RUN
Vaughan came up soon afterwards, and Dallas told him the great news.
They were neither of them naturally vindictive, but the Mutual Friend
had been a heavy burden to them during his stay in the House, and they
did not attempt to conceal from themselves their unfeigned pleasure at
the news of his impending departure.
'I'll never say another word against Mr Plunkett, senior, in my life,'
said Vaughan. 'He's a philanthropist. I wonder what the Mutual's going
to do? Gentleman of leisure, possibly. Unless he's going to the
'Varsity.'
'Same thing, rather. I don't know a bit what he's going to do, and I
can't say I care much. He's going, that's the main point.'
'I say,' said Vaughan. 'I believe the Old Man was holding a sort of
reception tonight. I know he had Thomson over to his House. Do you
think there's a row on?'
'Oh, I don't know. Probably only wanted to see if he was all right
after the mile. By Jove, it was a bit of a race, wasn't it?' And the
conversation drifted off into matters athletic.
There were two persons that night who slept badly. Jim lay awake until
the College clock had struck three, going over in his mind the various
points of his difficulties, on the chance of finding a solution of
them. He fell asleep at a quarter past, without having made any
progress. The Head, also, passed a bad night. He was annoyed for many
reasons, principally, perhaps, because he had allowed Sir Alfred Venner
to score so signal a victory over him. Besides that, he was not easy in
his mind about Jim. He could not come to a decision. The evidence was
all against him, but evidence is noted for its untrustworthiness. The
Head would have preferred to judge the matter from his knowledge of
Jim's character. But after the Plunkett episode he mistrusted his
powers in that direction. He thought the matter over for a time, and
then, finding himself unable to sleep, got up and wrote an article for
a leading review on the subject of the Doxology. The article was
subsequently rejected--which proves that Providence is not altogether
incapable of a kindly action--but it served its purpose by sending its
author to sleep.
Barrett, too, though he did not allow it to interfere with his
slumbers, was considerably puzzled as to what he ought to do about the
cups which he had stumbled upon in the wood. He scarcely felt equal to
going to the Dingle again to fetch them, and yet every minute he
delayed made the chances of their remaining there more remote. He
rather hoped that Reade would think of some way out of it. He had a
great respect for Reade's intellect, though he did not always show it.
The next day was the day of the Inter-House cross-country race. It was
always fixed for the afternoon after Sports Day, a most inconvenient
time for it, as everybody who had exerted or over-exerted himself the
afternoon before was unable to do himself justice. Today, contrary to
general expectation, both Drake and Thomson had turned out. The knowing
ones, however, were prepared to bet anything you liked (except cash),
that both would drop out before the first mile was over. Merevale's
pinned their hopes on Welch. At that time Welch had not done much
long-distance running. He confined himself to the hundred yards and the
quarter. But he had it in him to do great things, as he proved in the
following year, when he won the half, and would have beaten the great
Mitchell-Jones record for the mile, but for an accident, or rather an
event, which prevented his running. The tale of which is told
elsewhere.
The course for the race was a difficult one. There were hedges and
brooks to be negotiated, and, worst of all, ploughed fields. The first
ploughed field usually thinned the ranks of the competitors
considerably. The distance was about ten miles.
The race started at three o'clock. Jim and Welch, Merevale's first
string, set the pace from the beginning, and gradually drew away from
the rest. Drake came third, and following him the rest of the Houses in
a crowd.
Welch ran easily and springily; Jim with more effort. He felt from the
start that he could not last. He resolved to do his best for the honour
of the House, but just as the second mile was beginning, the first of
the ploughed fields appeared in view, stretching, so it appeared to
Jim, right up to the horizon. He groaned.
'Go on, Welch,' he gasped. 'I'm done.'
Welch stopped short in his stride, and eyed him critically.
'Yes,' he said, 'better get back to the House. You overdid it
yesterday. Lie down somewhere. G'bye.' And he got into his stride
again. Jim watched his figure diminish, until at last it was a
shapeless dot of white against the brown surface. Then he lay down on
his back and panted.
It was in this attitude that Drake found him. For a moment an almost
irresistible wish seized him to act in the same way. There was an
unstudied comfort about Jim's pose which appealed to him strongly. His
wind still held out, but his legs were beginning to feel as if they did
not belong to him at all. He pulled up for an instant.
'Hullo,' he said, 'done up?'
For reply Jim merely grunted.
'Slacker,' said Drake. 'Where's Welch?'
'Miles ahead.'
'Oh Lord!' groaned Drake and, pulling himself together,
set out painfully once more across the heavy surface of the field.
Jim lay where he was a little longer. The recollection of the other
runners, who might be expected to arrive shortly, stirred him to
action. He did not wish to interview everyone on the subject of his
dropping out. He struck off at right angles towards the hedge on the
left. As he did so, the first of the crowd entered the field. Simpson
_major_, wearing the colours of Perkins's House on his manly
bosom, was leading. Behind him came a group of four, two School House,
Dallas of Ward's, and a representative of Prater's. A minute later they
were followed by a larger group, consisting this time of twenty or more
runners--all that was left of the fifty who had started. The rest had
dropped out at the sight of the ploughed field.
Jim watched the procession vanish over the brow of the hill, and, as it
passed out of sight, began to walk slowly back to the School again.
He reached it at last, only to find it almost entirely deserted. In
Merevale's House there was nobody. He had hoped that Charteris and Tony
might have been somewhere about. When he had changed into his ordinary
clothes, he made a tour of the School grounds. The only sign of life,
as far as he could see, was Biffen, who was superintending the cutting
of the grass on the cricket-field. During the winter Biffen always
disappeared, nobody knew where, returning at the beginning of Sports'
Week to begin preparations for the following cricket season. It had
been stated that during the winter he shut himself up and lived on
himself after the fashion of a bear. Others believed that he went and
worked in some Welsh mine until he was needed again at the School.
Biffen himself was not communicative on the subject, a fact which led a
third party to put forward the awful theory that he was a professional
association player and feared to mention his crime in a school which
worshipped Rugby.
'Why, Mr Thomson,' he said, as Jim came up, 'I thought you was running.
Whoa!' The last remark was addressed to a bored-looking horse attached
to the mowing-machine. From the expression on its face, the animal
evidently voted the whole process pure foolishness. He pulled up
without hesitation, and Biffen turned to Jim again.
'Surely they ain't come back yet?' he said.
'I have,' said Jim. 'I did myself up rather in the mile yesterday, and
couldn't keep up the pace. I dropped out at that awfully long ploughed
field by Parker's Spinney.'
Biffen nodded.
'And 'oo was winning, sir?'
'Well, Welch was leading, the last I saw of it. Shouldn't wonder if he
won either. He was going all right. I say, the place seems absolutely
deserted. Isn't anybody about?'
'Just what Mr MacArthur was saying to me just this minute, sir. 'E
went into the Pavilion.'
'Good. I'll go and hunt for him.'
Biffen 'clicked' the _blasé_ horse into movement again. Jim went
to the Pavilion and met the Babe coming down the steps.
'Hullo, Babe! I was looking for you.'
'Hullo! Why aren't you running?'
'Dropped out. Come and have tea in my study.'
'No, I'll tell you what. You come back with me. I've got rather a
decent dog I want to show you. Only got him yesterday.'
Jim revelled in dogs, so he agreed instantly. The Babe lived with his
parents in a big house about a mile from the College, and in so doing
was the object of much envy amongst those who had to put up with life
at the Houses. Jim had been to his home once or twice before, and had
always had a very good time indeed there. The two strolled off. In
another hour the place began to show signs of life again. The School
began to return by ones and twos, most of them taking up a position
near the big gates. This was where the race was to finish. There was a
straight piece of road about two hundred yards in length before the
high road was reached. It was a sight worth seeing when the runners,
paced by their respective Houses on each side of the road, swept round
the corner, and did their best to sprint with all that was left in them
after ten miles of difficult country. Suddenly a distant shouting began
to be heard. The leaders had been sighted. The noise increased, growing
nearer and nearer, until at last it swelled into a roar, and a black
mass of runners turned the corner. In the midst of the black was one
white figure--Welch, as calm and unruffled as if he had been returning
from a short trot to improve his wind. Merevale's surged round him in a
cheering mob. Welch simply disregarded them. He knew where he wished to
begin his sprint, and he would begin it at that spot and no other. The
spot he had chosen was well within a hundred yards from the gates. When
he reached it, he let himself go, and from the uproar, the crowd
appeared to be satisfied. A long pause, and still none of the other
runners appeared. Five minutes went by before they began to appear.
First Jones, of the School House, and Simpson, who raced every yard of
the way, and finished in the order named, and then three of Philpott's
House in a body. The rest dropped in at intervals for the next quarter
of an hour.
The Headmaster always made a point of watching the finish of the
cross-country run. Indeed, he was generally one of the last to leave.
With the majority of the spectators it was enough to see the first five
safely in.
The last man and lock-up arrived almost simultaneously, and the Head
went off to a well-earned dinner.
He had just finished this meal, and was congratulating himself on not
being obliged to spend the evening in a series of painful interviews,
as had happened the night before, when Parker, the butler, entered the
room.
'Well, Parker, what is it?' asked he.
'Mr Roberts, sir, wishes to see you.'
For a moment the Head was at a loss. He could not recall any friend or
acquaintance of that name. Then he remembered that Roberts was the name
of the detective who had come down from London to look into the matter
of the prizes.
'Very well,' he said, resignedly, 'show him into the study.'
Parker bowed, and retired. The Head, after an interval, followed him,
and made his way to the study.