A Case for M.C.C.
CONTRARY to expectation, breakfast was dispatched in sufficiently
reasonable time to permit my match with Grace to start about eleven.
Needless to say, Grace herself arranged the details. The seven
cricketers who were not playing on this occasion, instead of being
allowed to act the part of mere lookers-on, received orders to field
for both sides. “And, Toddles,” said Grace, in an intimidating tone,
“if you drop Dimmy and then take me, I’ll never forgive you.” Her
father, to my great uneasiness, was to be installed as scorer, under
his usual convenient willow tree; and the notorious Biffin she proposed
to nominate as umpire. Acting on the joint advice of Toddles and
Archie, I entered a formal protest against Biffin being allowed to
stand in this important fixture. This matter, which involved much more
than I had suspected, was debated at the breakfast-table.
“Oh,” said Grace, “you’ve nothing against Biffin’s personal character,
I hope?”
“Oh, no,” said I; “it’s only that he don’t quite command my confidence,
you know.”
“How funny!” said Grace; “’cause I have every confidence in Biffin.
He knows the game, his eyesight’s good, his decisions are as prompt
as possible, and his judgment’s wonderful. Can’t expect more of an
umpire, can you? Of course, he might be better looking, but that’s
his misfortune, poor man! Besides, I never think it’s wise to have an
umpire who’s too good-looking. One’s liable to watch him, instead of
the ball, don’t you see.”
“Dimsdale, don’t you be bluffed,” said Charlie. “She’s a regular
Arthur Roberts at the game of bluff. She knows as well as anybody that
Biffin’s umpiring is worth about five hundred runs a year to her.
The darned impudent decisions I’ve seen that bounder Biffin give are
something cruel. If he’s given her in once, he’s given her in six times
when she’s been stumped yards out of her ground, simply on account
of the tip of the wicket-keeper’s nose being in front of the wicket.
Pretty barefaced to come it once, but six times is what I should call
immoral.”
“Shows his knowledge o’ the game,” said Biffin’s defender, “and his
attention to the fine points of it, too. There’s lots of umpires ’ud
not have noticed that, and I should have had to have gone out.”
“They’d not, that’s a cert.,” said Charlie; “and that you would have
had to have gone out is a dead cert.”
“I s’pose, Charlie,” said Grace, “that the tip o’ the wicket-keeper’s
nose _is_ a part of his person, isn’t it? And Rule 42 says----”
“Here, no more cucumbers!” cried T. S. M. hastily.
“Dimsdale, don’t you budge,” said Carteret. “If you consent to Biffin,
you’ll be shamefully rooked.”
“What’s Dimmy got to do with it?” said Grace. “Is Dimmy the M.C.C., or
what? If I say Biffin’s going to stand, Biffin will stand, and don’t
you think he won’t; ’cause if you do, you’ll be in error.”
“Go it, Lord Harris!” said Toddles. “Just hear Harris! Oh, you
autocratic person! Talk about George, why, you’re worse than a colonel
of militia!”
The case was being conducted with great fervour by both sides. There
was quite a formidable array of counsel for the prosecution. Indeed,
Grace’s defence of the indefensible Biffin had for once caused her to
stand absolutely alone. She was no whit abashed, though. Nor did she
descend to mere argument. She was thoroughly satisfied with her own
opinion, and was prepared to enforce it in the teeth of male criticism
of the most destructive kind.
“Biffin’s an unmitigated ruffian,” said Archie. “And if I can help it,
he’ll never stand again.”
“But you can’t help it, Archie,” said his sister; “’cause if I want him
to stand, he will stand, don’t you see?”
“He’s an unprincipled person,” said the little parson. “And I marvel
that Grace’s moral nature can countenance him.”
“I’ll have a bob each way on ‘moral nature,’ Toddles,” said Grace.
“His umpirin’s too thick to talk about,” said T. S. M. “Why, at
Harrow----”
“Yes, at Harrow,” said Grace. This prompt seizure of her opportunity
was of no avail, however. Public opinion was now entirely with T. S. M.
Poor Grace stood alone. She consoled herself with a massive piece of
toast, with butter and marmalade to match.
“Seeing that Dimsdale’s happiness is at stake,” said Toddles, with
an air of patronage and protection that was perfectly insufferable,
“we shall do well to stick by him in this, and give him our undivided
support. We’ll admit that he’s not much chance under the most
favourable conditions; but with Biffin as umpire he’s as good as
plucked before he goes on the field. Besides, we want this to be a
sporting event. Fair play all round, you know, and no favour, and may
the best man win.”
“Toddles,” said the keen Grace, pausing an instant in her
well-organized assault on the toast and marmalade, “you’re mixed. Sort
yourself out a bit. Toddles, you’re talking rot.”
“Oh, but, my dear Grace,” said I, “it’s not rot for me, I can assure
you. It’s a matter for earnest consideration.”
It was really enjoyable to feel such a weight of public opinion behind
one. It was evidently a crisis that had been coming slowly to a head
for years. Here was the opportunity of the long-suffering to test the
legality of Grace’s uncompromising attitude on the Biffin question.
In the somewhat technical language of the barrister, they were simply
making a test case of it, in order to get a judicial pronouncement as
to whether in future Grace was to be licensed to do as she liked.
“O’ course I shall, James,” said Grace; “I always do, don’t I?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Archie, “I suggest that the question be
submitted to arbitration. We’ll submit it to the Guv’nor, and take his
verdict as final. Will you agree to that, Grace?”
“You know quite well, Archie,” said Grace, in a honeyed voice, “that I
am always perfectly willing for you to fill up your spare time in a way
that’s profitable and amusing to yourself, providing it’s not likely
to do you personally any harm, or to lead astray those who are younger
than you are. Talk it over by all means with your father, Archie, but
if I say Biffin will stand, you can take my word for it.”
The high-wrought state of public opinion, that was enough to make the
French pause and the Sultan tremble, merely appeared to incite the
dauntless Grace to new audacity. She positively snapped her fingers at
it, and ate her toast and marmalade with an air of the most victorious
unconcern.
“H’m,” said the little parson, in his best clerical tone; “she seems
to be a person of character and ideas. What’s to be done? We can’t let
Dimsdale be knocked down and walked over on an occasion of this sort.
Grace, I certainly think that your uncompromising attitude on this
vexed question is greatly to be deplored.”
“Deplore away,” said Grace, helping herself to butter. “What an amusing
little man you are, Toddles!”
Affairs were at a deadlock. How was it possible to negotiate if one
side would insist on having its own way?
“It’s a sort of diplomatic _impasse_,” said Archie. “What’s to be done?
Suppose we take Biffin by main force and put him under the cucumber
frame, and keep him fastened down? There’d be no more bad decisions
then.”
“Plenty of bad language, though,” said some person of wit.
“And we wouldn’t release him,” said Carteret, “until Grace had actually
played an innings without damaging the eyesight of the cucumbers or
otherwise mutilating them.”
“I call Grace’s behaviour beas’ly bad form,” said the Harrow captain.
“Oh, I know it’s beastly bad form,” said Grace; “but then, you see,
Tommy, one has to play pretty low down to gain the appreciation of
one’s family.”
Had Grace’s cause only been a just one, the manner in which she
maintained it against all comers must have evoked unqualified
admiration. The cabal was powerless in the face of her despotic
attitude. They said hard things, and they said rude things, as
brothers will, even if they have a sister who is a first-class angel
of an unimpeachable appearance. But although Grace stood alone,
discredited, out of favour, a fallen idol, and a mark for some very
cutting observations, mostly the Harrow captain’s, who saw his moment,
and, boylike, was exulting in it--despite all this, Grace continued
to consume toast and marmalade as valiantly as ever. Now and then
she diversified this proceeding by looking daggers at Toddles, when
that irrepressible little clergyman made faces at her. Now and then
she introduced a brief remark on her own account, that on examination
proved to be as flinty and hard-edged as a chip of granite. It was
plain that the exercise of a considerable force of character had been
the secret of Grace’s ascendancy and pre-eminence in regard to these
great men. And having obtained her power, she did not hesitate to abuse
it, as they say her sex generally do.
“In my opinion,” said Archie, “there’s been a mistake in Grace’s
destiny. Her arrogance and sweet unreasonableness makes her look a
bit out of drawing, I think. Strikes me that Nature planned her for
a Gladstone or a Mailyphist, and then made her a girl for fun. But I
believe she simply doesn’t care what we think of her.”
“Oh, yes, I do, you know, Archie,” said Grace; “I’m as cut up as can
be. I’m quite put off my game. You had better let us have some more
toast, Jane. Toddles, pass the marmalade--and the butter. Yes, I think
I’ll have the butter, too.”
However, in my eyes Grace’s splendid isolation had such a nobility,
such a dignity, such a pathos of its own, that it struck me with
some suddenness that a little magnanimity might not be altogether
out of place. It was patent, however, that her brothers had such
firm convictions on the point at issue that they were not likely to
exercise it. Therefore, I had a try myself.
“My dear Grace,” said I, “don’t let’s worry about Biffin any more.
_I’m_ perfectly willing for him to stand, you know.”
“What!” cried the whole table with one voice.
Yet I ask you what could a fellow do under the circumstances? Splendid
isolation is magnificent, of course, but not being one of Grace’s
brothers, how could I help pitying the isolated?
The storm of contumely that my unconditional surrender provoked was
woeful. Even the gallant Optimist reviled me. Their unanimity was
crushing. It was not the question at issue that mattered so much;
it was the general principle. It always is the general principle.
They considered themselves betrayed. They had pledged themselves and
their interests entirely in _my_ cause, and then I calmly go over to
the other side and merge that cause in the enemy’s. In fact, in the
impassioned language of Toddles, the more they examined the fine points
of my conduct, the deeper the iron entered into their souls.
“Jolly good o’ the iron,” said Grace; “improve ’em no end. Been wanting
a tonic a long time.”
Grace, indeed, I am glad to state, took an entirely different view of
my behaviour. Never had I seen her face so brightly eloquent as when
she laid down her coffee-cup and looked at me.
“Dimmy,” said she, “you’re a good sort, that’s what you are--a ripping
good sort. Dimmy, you’re A 1!”
Her tone implied that she meant it, too. And really it was decidedly
consoling to feel that we stood together facing scorn and disfavour on
every hand. But it seemed that the tactful Grace knew how, when, and
where to be generous. Or, no, I’m quite sure her generosity was not
studied at all. It was just unaided nature!
“Look here, you men,” said she; “as Dimmy’s such a good sort, he’s
not going to be such a good sort, do you see? No, I don’t mean that
exactly; I mean----”
“If it’s sheer cheek that you mean, which we’ve every reason to fear
that it is,” said Toddles, “we shall be very grateful if you’ll be
content to consider it said. If we have any more before lunch I’m
thinking that some of the batting won’t be of a very high order at
Tonbridge on Monday.”
“That’ll do, Toddles,” said Grace. “Have a rest now, there’s a good
little man. What was I saying? Oh, as Dimmy’s done the right thing,
I’m going to do the right thing, too. Father, will you stand to-day,
please?”
A rousing cheer greeted this announcement.
“I’ve always said,” remarked George, “that more can be done by the
kindness method in the treatment of these wild natures than cruelty,
firearms, and that sort of thing. Here’s Grace lying down now,
apparently as tame and docile as a kitten, without the use of red-hot
irons or anything of the kind. And it’s so much better than burning her
fur, don’t you know.”
The Rector consenting to stand, the affair terminated. Biffin, for
that day at least, had to be content with the humbler functions of the
scorer.
Breakfast over, we trooped out into the sun. And as we did so I am
free to confess that my attire was a trifle irregular. Carteret being
the most medium-built man amongst us, except in the matter of girth,
and, therefore, the most resembling me, had very kindly lent me his
buckskins; Charlie lent me one of his shirts, which, to my infinite
pleasure, he assured me was the one he wore in the ’Varsity match, when
he got so many Oxford wickets, and paid so very little for them; while
Archie subscribed the identical pair of unmentionables in which he made
his record score against Sussex at Brighton last year. In passing,
it should be noted that record scores have quite a habit of getting
themselves made against Sussex at Brighton. It is probably the sea air.
Despite this peculiar and rather extensive outfit, and an unbiassed
umpire withal, I was earnestly assured that I could not possibly have
a look in. In fact, Grace was popularly supposed to be invincible in
single combat under Rectory rules, on the Rectory wicket. A copy of the
rules aforesaid was duly deposited in the Rector’s hands before the
match began. And, although I was privileged to peruse them, the one
conclusion to which they helped me was, that although the laws of the
M.C.C. had very kindly and thoughtfully provided nine several ways in
which a batsman might get out, those of the Rectory had most generously
furnished nine and ninety.
I’ll admit at once that I had not the least confidence in myself.
Everybody took a simple-minded pleasure in telling me that Grace never
had been beaten single-handed on her own playing-piece.
“My boy,” said the little parson, with his excruciating friendliness,
“that brown-haired, brown-faced, brown-booted, brown-hollanded person,
familiarly known as Grace, is as full of wiles, tricks, and low devices
as a certain person with a toasting-fork and a curly tail whom I shall
not even permit myself to mention. If you can take Grace down a peg,
posterity becomes your servant. Your fame will be for all time, your
name will be in Wisden. For I believe I’m right in saying that under
these conditions Grace would knock spots off half the Middlesex eleven.”
“Certain of it,” said Archie pleasantly. “She’s a holy terror; and
the charm of it is, Dimsdale, that she never has made a secret of what
she’s going to do to you.”
“Why should I?” said Grace. “I’m going to give him a most awful licking
for last night’s horrible behaviour.”
“All right,” said I meekly; “lick away.”
“Dimmy,” said she, “if I don’t, I’ll give you a scarf-pin.”
“I shall require more than a scarf-pin,” said I. And the emphasis I
used was unmistakable.
“By Jove!” said Grace, “I was forgetting _that_. Thanks for the
reminder, old chap. Will you call, or shall I?”
Next moment Grace had won the toss.
“Dimmy,” said she, “as your bowling’s so thoroughly depressing, and
you’re not likely to have _me_ out in a year, I think you’d better bat
first. Get your pads on.”