AT CHELTENHAM.
"Everything packed and ready, boys?"
"Yes, father, I think so."
"The dog-cart will be at the door at eleven. Be sure and be ready in
time. It won't do to miss your train, you know. Well, you have had a
pleasant holiday this time, haven't you?"
"Very," both boys replied together.
"It has been awfully jolly," one went on, "and that trip in Brittany was
certainly the best thing we have done, though we have always enjoyed our
holidays. It is ever so much nicer going to out-of-the-way sort of
places, and stopping at jolly little inns without any crowd and fuss,
than being in those great Swiss hotels as we were last year, where every
one was English, and one had to be in at regular times and almost fight
to get something to eat. I hope next year you will be able to take us to
Norway, as you were saying yesterday. I should think it would be just
the same sort of thing as Brittany, only, of course, different sort of
scenery, and different language and different people. Madge, you will
have to set to and get up Norse to act as our interpreter."
"You are very lazy boys. I had to do all the talking in Brittany. You
are supposed to have learnt French longer than I have."
"Oh, yes; supposed. Nobody cares about their French lessons. They make
no difference in your place in the school, and so no one takes the
trouble to grind at them. Well, come along, let us take a turn round the
place for an hour before we start." And the two boys and Madge, who was
a year their junior, went out through the French window into the garden.
Captain Clinton walked to the window and looked after them. They were
lads any father might be proud of, straight, well-built, handsome
English lads of about sixteen. Rupert was somewhat taller than Edgar,
while the latter had slightly the advantage in breadth of shoulders.
Beyond the fact that both had brown hair and gray eyes there was no
marked likeness between them, and their school-fellows often wondered
that there should not be more similarity between twins. Both had
pleasant open faces, and they were equally popular among their
school-fellows. As to which was the cleverest, there were no means of
ascertaining; for although both were at Cheltenham together, one was on
the modern and the other on the classical side, Captain Clinton having
made this arrangement purposely in order that there should be no rivalry
between them, and the unpleasantness that sometimes arises when two
brothers are at the same school, and one is more clever than the other,
was thereby obviated. Rupert was the more lively of the two, and
generally did the largest share of talking when they were together; but
Edgar, although he talked less, had the more lively sense of humour, and
the laughter that broke out in the garden was caused by some quiet
remark of his. Captain Clinton turned sharply round upon hearing a sigh
from his wife.
"Well, Lucy, I know what you are thinking: another holiday over, and we
are no nearer to the truth. I own that our plan has failed so far, for I
can't see in either of the boys a shadow of resemblance either to you or
myself. Some people profess to see likenesses. Mr. Tomline remarked
yesterday that he should have known Rupert anywhere as my son, but then
Colonel Wilson said the day before that Edgar had got just your
expression. I don't see a scrap of likeness either way, and I begin to
think, dear, that I don't want to see it."
"No, I don't want to see it either, Percy; I love one as well as the
other. Still I should like to know which is our own."
"I used to think so too, Lucy; but I have been doubting for some time
about it, and now I am quite sure that I don't want to know. They are
both fine lads, and, as you say, we love one just as well as the other.
Parental instinct, you see, goes for nothing. I should like to know that
one of them was my son, but on the other hand I should be very sorry to
know that the other wasn't. I think, dear, that it is much better as it
is. We have got two sons instead of one; and after all, the idea that
there would be a great satisfaction in the real one inheriting all our
landed property has very little in it. There is plenty for them both,
and each of them will be just as happy on three thousand a year as he
would on six.
"As matters stand now, I have divided the property as nearly as possible
equally between them. Madge, of course, will have her share; and I have
left it in my will that they shall draw lots which shall have the part
with the house and park on it, while the other is to have a sum of money
sufficient to build an equally good house on his share of the estate. We
can only hope that chance will be wiser than we, and will give the old
house to the right boy. However, whether our son or our adopted son,
whichever be which, gets it, does not concern me greatly. There is
enough for our son to hold a good position and be comfortable and happy.
Beyond this I do not trouble. At any rate the grievance, if there is a
grievance, is a sentimental one; while it would be a matter of real
grief to me should either of them, after having always looked upon us as
his parents, come to know that he does not belong to us, and that he has
been all along in a false position, and has been in fact but an
interloper here. That would be terribly hard for him--so hard that I
have ceased to wish that the matter should ever be cleared up, and to
dread rather than hope that I should discover an unmistakable likeness
to either of us in one or other of them."
"You are right, Percy; and henceforth I will worry no more about it. It
would be hard, dreadfully hard, on either of them to know that he was
not our son; and henceforth I will, like you, try to give up wishing
that I could tell which is which. I hope they will never get to know
that there is any doubt about it."
"I am afraid we can hardly hope that," Captain Clinton said. "There are
too many people who know the story. Of course it was talked about at
every station in India at the time, and I know that even about here it
is generally known. No, it will be better some day or other to tell it
them ourselves, making, of course, light of the matter, and letting them
see that we regard them equally as our sons, and love and care for them
alike, and that even if we now knew the truth it could make no
difference in our feelings towards them. It is much better they should
learn it from us than from anyone else."
At eleven o'clock the dog-cart came to the door. The boys were ready.
Captain Clinton drove them to the station four miles away, and in two
hours after leaving home they arrived at Cheltenham with a large number
of their school-fellows, some of whom had been in the train when they
entered it, while others had joined them at Gloucester. At Cheltenham
there was a scramble for vehicles, and they were soon at the
boarding-house of Mr. River-Smith, which had the reputation of being the
most comfortable of the Cheltenham boarding-houses.
There was a din of voices through the house, and in the pleasure of
meeting again and of exchanging accounts of how the holidays had been
spent, the few lingering regrets that school-time had come round again
completely vanished. Then there was a discussion as to the football
prospects and who would get their house colours in place of those who
had gone, and whether River-Smith's was likely to retain the position it
had won by its victories over other houses in the previous season; and
the general opinion was that their chances were not good.
"You see," Skinner, the captain of the team, said to a party gathered in
the senior boys' study, "Harrison and White will be better than last
year, but Wade will of course be a great loss; his weight and strength
told tremendously in a scrimmage. Hart was a capital half-back too, and
there was no better goal-keeper in the college than Wilson. We have not
got any one to take their places, and there are four other vacancies in
the team, and in each case those who have left were a lot bigger and
stronger than any of the young ones we have got to choose from. I don't
know who they will be yet, and must wait for the trial matches before we
decide; but I think there is plenty of good material to choose from, and
we shall be nearly all up to last year's mark, except in point of
weight--there is a terrible falling off there, and we have no one who
can fill the place of Wade. He was as strong as a bull; yes, he is an
awful loss to us! There was not a fellow in the college who could go
through a grease as he could. You remember last year how he rolled those
fellows of Bishop's over and carried the ball right through them, and
then kicked the deciding goal? That was grand! Why don't some of you
fellows grow up like him?" And he looked round reproachfully at his
listeners. "Over thirteen stone Wade was, and there is not one of you
above eleven and a half--anyhow, not more than a few pounds."
"Why don't you set us an example?" Edgar Clinton asked; and there was a
laugh, for the captain of the team was all wire and muscle and could not
turn ten stone.
"I am not one of that kind," he said; "but there is Wordsworth, who is
pretty near six feet in length, and who, if he gave his mind to it and
would but eat his food quietly instead of bolting it, might put some
flesh on those spindle-shanks of his and fill himself out till he got
pretty near to Wade's weight. A fellow ought to do something for his
house, and I call it a mere waste of bone when a fellow doesn't put some
flesh on him."
"I can run," Wordsworth said apologetically.
"Yes, you can run when you get the ball," Skinner said in a tone of
disgust; "but if a fellow half your height runs up against you, over you
go. You must lay yourself out for pudding, Wordsworth. With that, and
eating your food more slowly, you really might get to be of some use to
the house."
Wordsworth grumbled something about his having done his share last year.
"It all depends what you think your share is," Skinner said severely.
"You did your best, I have no doubt, and you certainly got a good many
goals, but that arose largely from the fact that there was nothing
tangible in you. You see, you were something like a jointed
walking-stick, and, naturally, it puzzled fellows. You have grown wider
a bit since then, and must therefore try to make yourself useful in some
other line. What we want is weight, and the sooner you put weight on the
better. I see Easton has not come yet."
"He never comes until the evening train," another said. "He always
declares it has something to do with cross lines not fitting in."
"It takes him so long," Skinner growled, "to fold up his things without
a crease, to scent his pocket-handkerchief, and to get his hair to his
satisfaction, that you may be quite sure he cannot make an early start.
As he is not here, and all the rest that are left out of last year's
team are, it is a good opportunity to talk him over. I did not like
having him in the team last year, though he certainly did better than
some. What do you think? Ought we to have him this year or not? I have
been thinking a lot about it."
"I don't care for him," Scudamore said, "but I am bound to say he does
put off all that finicking nonsense when he gets his football jersey on,
and plays a good, hard game, and does not seem to mind in the least how
muddy or dirty he gets. I should certainly put him in again, Skinner, if
I were you."
There was a murmur of assent from three or four of the others.
"Well, I suppose he ought to play," Skinner said; "but it does rile me
to see him come sauntering up as if it was quite an accident that he was
there, and talk in that drawling, affected sort of way."
"It is riling," another said; "but besides that I do not think there is
much to complain about him, and his making an ass of himself at other
times does not affect us so long as he plays well in the team."
"No, I do not know that it does, but all the same it is a nuisance when
one fellow keeps himself to himself and never seems to go in for
anything. I do not suppose Easton means to give himself airs, but there
is nothing sociable about him."
"I think he is a kind-hearted fellow," Edgar Clinton said, speaking,
however, with less decision than usual, as became one who was not yet in
the first form. "When young Jackson twisted his ankle so badly last term
at the junior high jump, I know he used to go up and sit with him, and
read with him for an hour at a time pretty near every day. I used often
to wish I could manage to get up to him, but somehow I never could spare
time; but Easton did, though he was in the college four and was working
pretty hard too. I have known two or three other things he has done on
the quiet. I don't care for his way of dressing nor for his drawling way
of talking, in fact, I don't care for him at all personally; but he is a
good-natured fellow in spite of his nonsense."
"Well, then, we must try him again," Skinner said, "and see how he does
in the trial matches. There is no certainty about him, that is what I
hate; one day he plays up and does uncommonly well, then the next day he
does not seem to take a bit of interest in the game."
"I have noticed several times," Scudamore said, "that Easton's play
depends very much on the state of the game: if we are getting the best
of it he seems to think that there is no occasion to exert himself, but
if the game is going against us he pulls himself together and goes into
it with all his might."
"He does that," Skinner agreed; "that is what riles me in the fellow. He
can play a ripping good game when he likes, but then he does not always
like. However, as I said, we will give him another trial."
Half an hour later the subject of the conversation arrived. He was in
the first form on the classical side, and was going up at the next
examination for Sandhurst. Easton was one of the monitors, but seldom
asserted his authority or put himself out in any way to perform the
duties of the office. He was dressed with scrupulous care, and no one
from his appearance would have said that he had just come off a railway
journey. He nodded all round in a careless way as he came in, and there
was none of the boisterous friendliness that had marked the meeting of
most of the others.
"Affected ass!" Skinner growled to Rupert who was next to him.
"You are a prejudiced beggar, Skinner," Rupert laughed. "You know very
well he is not an ass, and I am not at all sure he is affected. I
suppose it is the way he has been brought up. There is no saying what
you might have been yourself if you had had nurses and people about you
who always insisted on your turning out spick-and-span. Well, Easton,
what have you been doing with yourself since we saw you last?"
"I have been on the Continent most of the time," Easton said, in the
quiet, deliberate tone that was so annoying to Skinner. "Spent most of
the time in Germany: had a week at Munich, and the same time in Dresden
doing the picture-gallery."
"That must have been a treat," Skinner said sarcastically.
"Yes, it was very pleasant. The worst of it is, standing about so long
makes one's feet ache."
"I wonder you did not have a bath-chair, Easton; delicate people go
about in them, you know."
"It would be a very pleasant way, Skinner, only I don't think I could
bring myself to it."
There was a laugh at his taking Skinner's suggestion seriously.
"What have you been doing, Skinner?"
"I have been up in Scotland climbing hills, and getting myself in good
condition for football," Skinner replied shortly.
"Ah, football? Yes, I suppose we shall be playing football this term."
There was another laugh, excited principally by the angry growl with
which Skinner greeted this indifference to what was to him the principal
feature of the year.
"I shouldn't mind football," Easton went on, after looking round as if
unable to understand what the others were laughing at, "if it wasn't for
the dirt. Of course it is annoying to be kicked in the shins and to be
squeezed horribly in the greases, but it is the dirt I object to most.
If one could but get one's flannels and jerseys properly washed every
time it would not matter so much, but it is disgusting to have to put on
things that look as if they had been rolled in mud."
"I wonder you play at all, Easton," Skinner said angrily.
"Well, I wonder myself sometimes," Easton said placidly. "I suppose it
is a relic of our original savage nature, when men did not mind dirt,
and lived by hunting and fighting and that sort of thing."
"And had never learned the nuisance of stiff shirts and collars, and
never heard of such a thing as a tailor, and did not part their hair in
the middle, Easton, and had never used soap," Skinner broke in.
"No; it must have been beastly," Easton said gravely. "I am very glad
that I did not live in those days."
"Ah, you would have suffered horribly if you had, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I don't know, Skinner; I suppose I should have done as other
people did. If one does not know the comfort of a wash and a clean
shirt, one would not miss it, you see. I have sometimes thought--"
"Oh, never mind what you thought," Skinner broke in out of all patience.
"Come, let us go for a walk; it is no use stopping here all this fine
afternoon. Let us take a good long spin. I can see half you fellows are
out of condition altogether, and the sooner we begin work the better.
Will you come, Easton? After lolling about looking at pictures a
twelve-mile spin will do you good."
"Thank you, Skinner; I don't know that I want any good done to me. I
should not mind a walk, if it is to be a walk; but a walk with you
generally means rushing across ploughed fields and jumping into ditches,
and getting one's self hot and uncomfortable, and splashing one's self
from head to foot. It is bad enough in flannels, but it is downright
misery in one's ordinary clothes. But I don't mind a game at rackets, if
anyone is disposed for it."
"I will play you," Mossop said. "I want to get my hand in before the
racket matches come off."
So they went and put on their flannels and racket shoes, while the rest
of the party started for a long walk with Skinner.
"I am glad he has not come," the football captain said as they started;
"he drives me out of all patience."
"I don't think you have much to drive out of you, Skinner," Rupert
Clinton laughed. "I believe Easton puts about half of it on, on purpose
to excite you. I am sure just now I saw a little amusement in his face
when he was talking so gravely."
"He will find he has got in the wrong box," Skinner said angrily, "if he
tries to chaff me."
A quiet smile was exchanged among the others, for Easton was tall and
well built and had the reputation of being the best boxer in the school;
and although Skinner was tough and wiry, he would have stood no chance
in an encounter with him.
"Well, how did you get on, Mossop?" Scudamore asked as they sat down to
tea.
"Easton beat me every game. I had no idea that he was so good. He says
he does not intend to play for the racket, but if he did he would have a
first-rate chance. I was in the last ties last year and I ought to have
a good chance this, but either I am altogether out of practice or he is
wonderfully good. I was asking him, and he said in his lazy way that
they had got a decent racket-court at his place, and that he had been
knocking the balls about a bit since he came home."
"If he is good enough to win," Pinkerton, the captain of the house,
said, "he ought to play for the honour of the house. He has never played
in any matches here before. I did not know he played at all."
"That is the way with Easton," Edgar Clinton said; "he is good all
round, only he never takes trouble to show it. He could have been in the
college cricket eleven last year if he liked, only he said he could not
spare the time. Though Skinner doesn't think so, I believe he is one of
the best in our football team; when he chooses to exert himself he is
out and out the best chess player in the house; and I suppose he is safe
to pass in high for Sandhurst."
"He is a queer fellow," Pinkerton said, "one never knows what he can do
and what he can't. At the last exam Glover said that the papers he sent
in were far and away the best, but that he had only done the difficult
questions and hadn't sent in any answers at all to the easy ones, so
that instead of coming in first he was five or six down the list. I
believe myself he did not want to beat me, because if he had he would
have been head of the house, and that would have been altogether too
much trouble for him. Glover wanted him to go up for the last Indian
Civil, and told him he was sure that he could get in if he tried, but
Easton said he wasn't fond of heat and had no fancy for India."
"I suppose he was afraid to take the starch out of his collars," Edgar
laughed. "Ah! here he is; late as usual."
Easton strolled quietly in and took his place, looking annoyingly fresh
and clean by the side of those who had accompanied Skinner on his walk,
and who, in spite of vigorous use of clothes brushes, showed signs of
cross-country running.
"Have you had a pleasant walk?" he asked calmly.
"Very pleasant," Skinner said, in a tone that defied contradiction. "A
delightful walk; just the thing for getting a little into condition."
There was a murmur of assent among the boys who had accompanied him, but
there was no great heartiness in the sound; for indeed Skinner had
pressed them all to a much higher rate of speed than was pleasant in
their ordinary clothes, although they would not have minded it in
flannels.
"You all look as if you had enjoyed it," Easton said, regarding them one
by one with an air of innocent approval; "warmed yourselves up a bit, I
should say. I remark a general disappearance of collars, and Rupert
Clinton's face is scratched as if he had been having a contest with some
old lady's cat."
"I went head-foremost into a hedge," Rupert laughed. "My foot slipped in
the mud just as I was taking off, and I took a regular header into it."
"And what is the matter with your hand, Wordsworth?"
"A beast of a dog bit me. We were going across a field, and the brute
came out from a farmhouse. My wind had gone, and I happened to be last
and he made at me. Some fool has written in a book that if you keep your
eyes fixed upon a dog he will never bite you. I fixed my eye on him like
a gimlet but it did not act, and he came right at me and sprang at me
and knocked me down and got my hand in his mouth, and I don't know what
would have happened if Skinner hadn't pulled a stick out of the hedge,
and rushed back and hit him such a lick across the back that he went off
yelping. Then the farmer let fly with a double-barrelled gun from his
garden; but luckily we were pretty well out of reach, though two or
three shots hit Scudamore on the cheek and ear and pretty nearly drew
blood. He wanted to go back to fight the farmer, but as the fellow would
have reloaded by the time he got there, and there was the dog into the
bargain, we lugged him off."
"Quite an adventurous afternoon," Easton said in a tone of cordial
admiration, which elicited a growl from Skinner.
"You wish you had been with us, don't you?" he said, with what was meant
to be a sneer.
"No, rackets was quite hard work enough for me; and I don't see much fun
in either taking a header into a hedge, being bitten by a farmer's dog,
or being peppered by the man himself. Still, no doubt these things are
pleasant for those who like them. What has become of Templar?"
"He fell into a ditch," Wordsworth said; "and he just was in a state. He
had to go up to the matron for a change of clothes. He will be here in a
minute, I expect."
"Quite a catalogue of adventures. If I had known beforehand that there
was going to be so much excitement I might have been tempted to go with
you. I am afraid, Mossop, I have kept you out of quite a good thing."
"There, shut up Easton!" Pinkerton said, for he saw that Skinner was at
the point of explosion; "let us have peace and quiet this first night.
You have got the best of it, there is no doubt. Skinner would admit
that."
"No I wouldn't," Skinner interrupted.
"Never mind whether you would or not, Skinner, it clearly is so. Now,
let us change the conversation. For my part I cannot make out why one
fellow cannot enjoy football and that sort of thing, and another like to
lie on his back in the shade, without squabbling over it. If Skinner
had his own way he would never sit quiet a minute, if Easton had his he
would never exert himself to walk across the room. It is a matter of
taste. I like half and half, but I do not want to interfere with either
of your fancies. Now, it is about time to set to work. I expect there
are a good many holiday tasks not perfect."
There was a chorus of assent, and the senior boys went off to their
private studies, and the juniors to the large study, where they worked
under the eye of the house-master.
Skinner's mournful anticipations as to the effect of the want of weight
in the football team were speedily verified. The trial matches were
almost all lost, the team being fairly borne down by the superior weight
of their opponents. There was general exasperation at these disasters,
for River-Smith's House had for some years stood high, and to be beaten
in match after match was trying indeed. Skinner took the matter terribly
to heart, and was in a chronic state of disgust and fury. As Easton
observed to Edgar Clinton:
"Skinner is becoming positively dangerous. He is like a Scotch terrier
with a sore ear, and snaps at every one who comes near him."
"Still it is annoying," Edgar, who thoroughly sympathized with Skinner,
said.
"Well, yes, it is annoying. I am annoyed myself, and it takes a good
deal to annoy me. I think we ought to do some thing."
"Well, it seems to me that we have been doing all we can," Edgar said.
"I am sure you have, for it was only yesterday Skinner was holding you
up as an example to some of us. He said, 'You ought all to be ashamed of
yourselves. Why, look at that lazy beggar Easton, he works as hard as
the whole lot of you put together. If it was not for him I should say we
had better chuck it altogether.'"
"I observe that Skinner has been a little more civil to me lately,"
Easton said. "Yes, I do my best. I object to the whole thing, but if
one does play one does not like being beaten. I think we had better have
a talk over the matter together."
"But we are always talking over the matter," Edgar objected. "All the
fellows who had a chance of turning out well have been tried, and I am
sure we play up well together. Every one says that we are beaten just
because we cannot stand their rushes."
That afternoon the house was badly beaten by the Greenites in the trial
match, and as there was a special rivalry between Green's and
River-Smith's the disgust not only of the members of the team but of the
whole house was very great. Seven of the seniors met after tea in
Skinner's study to discuss the situation.
"I don't see any thing to be done," Skinner said, after various possible
changes in the team had been discussed; "it is not play we want, it is
weight. The Greenites must average at least a stone and a half heavier
than we do. I have nothing to say against the playing. We simply cannot
stand against them; we go down like nine-pins. No, I suppose we shall
lose every match this season. But I don't see any use in talking any
more about it. I suppose no one has anything further to suggest."
"Well, yes, I have a few words to say," Easton, who had been sitting on
the table and had hitherto not opened his lips, remarked in a quiet
voice.
"Well, say away."
"It seems to me," Easton went on without paying any regard to the
snappishness of Skinner's tone, "that though we cannot make ourselves
any heavier, weight is not after all the only thing. I think we might
make up for it by last. When fellows are going to row a race they don't
content themselves with practice, they set to and train hard. It seems
to me that if we were to go into strict training and get ourselves
thoroughly fit, it ought to make a lot of difference. We might lose
goals in the first half of the play, but if we were in good training we
ought to get a pull in the second half. By playing up all we knew at
first, and pumping them as much as possible, training ought to tell. I
know, Skinner, you always said we ought to keep ourselves in good
condition; but I mean more than that, I mean strict training--getting up
early and going for a three or four mile run every morning, taking
another run in the afternoon, cutting off pudding and all that sort of
thing, and going in for it heart and soul. It is no use training unless
one does a thing thoroughly."
"Well, one could but try," Skinner said. "There is no reason why one
shouldn't train for football just as one does for rowing or running. You
are the last fellow I should have expected to hear such a proposal from,
Easton, but if you are ready to do it I am sure every one else will be."
There was a cordial exclamation of assent from the others.
"Well, of course it will be a horrible nuisance," Easton said
regretfully; "but if one does go in for a thing of this sort it seems to
me that it must be done thoroughly. And besides, it is very annoying
just at the ticklish point of a game, when you would give anything to be
able to catch the fellow ahead of you with the ball, to find that your
lungs have given out, and that you haven't a cupful of wind left."
"I believe, Easton, that you are a downright humbug," Scudamore said;
"and that while you pretend to hate anything like exertion, you are just
as fond of it as Skinner is."
"Well, at any rate," Skinner broke in, "we will try Easton's suggestion.
From to-night the team shall go into strict training. I will see
River-Smith now and get leave for us to go out at six o'clock every
morning. We will settle about the afternoon work afterwards. Of course
pudding must be given up, and there must be no buying cakes or things of
that sort. New bread and potatoes must be given up, and we must all
agree never to touch anything to drink between meals. We will try the
thing thoroughly. It will be a month before we play our next match with
Green's. If we can but beat them I do not care so much about the
others. There are two or three houses we should have no chance with if
we were to train as fine as a university eight."
The rest of the team were at once informed of the determination that had
been arrived at. Had it emanated only from Skinner several of the
members might have protested against the hardship of going into training
for football, but the fact that Easton had proposed it weighed with them
all. If he was ready to take such trouble over the matter no one else
could reasonably object, and the consequence was that, although not
without a good deal of grumbling at being got up before daylight, the
whole team turned out in their flannels and two thick jerseys punctually
at six o'clock.
"Here is an egg and half cupful of milk for each of you," Skinner said
as they gathered below. "Look sharp and beat up your egg with the milk.
Here is a mouthful of biscuit for each. River-Smith said he did not like
our going out without taking something before we started, and Cornish,
who rowed in the trials at Cambridge, told me that egg and milk was the
best thing to take."
Five minutes later, comforted by the egg and milk, the party started.
"We don't want to go at racing speed," Skinner said; "merely a good
steady trot to make the lungs play. We don't want to pull ourselves down
in weight. I don't think, after the last month's work, we have any fat
among us. What we want is wind and last. To-morrow we will turn out with
the heaviest boots we have got instead of running shoes. When we can run
four miles in them, we ought to be able to keep up pretty fairly through
the hardest game of football."
There was a good deal of lagging behind towards the last part of the
run, a fact that Skinner pointed out triumphantly as a proof of want of
condition, but after a wash and change of clothes all the party agreed
that they felt better for the run.
Mr. River-Smith was as much concerned as the boys at the defeats of the
house at football, and when they sat down to breakfast the members of
the team found that a mutton-chop was provided for each of them. Strict
orders had been issued that nothing was to be said outside the house of
the football team going into training; and as, for the afternoon's
exercise, it was only necessary that every member of the team should
take part in football practice, and play up to the utmost, the matter
remained a secret. In the first two or three matches played the training
made no apparent difference.
"You must not be disheartened at that," Mr. Cornish, who was the
"housemaster," told them. "Fellows always get weak when they first begin
to train. You will find the benefit presently."
And this was the case. They won the fourth match, which was against a
comparatively weak team. This, however, encouraged them, and they were
victorious in the next two contests, although in the second their
opponents were considered a strong team, and their victory had been
regarded as certain.
The improvement in the River-Smithites' team became a topic of
conversation in the college, and there were rumours that they had put
themselves into regular training, and that some one had seen them come
in in a body at seven in the morning after having been for a run. The
challenge cup matches were now at hand, and as it happened they were
drawn to meet the Greenites, and the match was regarded with special
interest throughout the school. The rivalry between the two houses was
notorious, and although the Greenites scoffed at the idea of their being
defeated by a team they had before so easily beaten, the great
improvement the latter had made gave promise that the struggle would be
an exceptionally severe one. Skinner had for some days before looked
after the team with extreme vigilance, scarcely letting one of them out
of his sight, lest they might eat forbidden things, or in other ways
transgress the rules laid down.
"We may not win," he admitted, as they talked over the prospect on the
evening before the match, "but at any rate they will have all their work
cut out to beat us. I know they are very confident, and of course their
weight is tremendously in their favour. Now, mind, we must press them as
hard as we can for the first half the game, and never leave them for a
single moment. They are sure to get savage when they find they have not
got it all their own way, and that will help to pump them. We shall have
more left in us the second half than they will, and then will be our
chance."
These tactics were followed out, and from the first the game was played
with exceptional spirit on both sides; and as the Greenites failed, even
by the most determined rushes, to carry the ball into their opponents'
goal, the game became, as Skinner had predicted, more and more savage.
The sympathies of the school were for the most part with River-Smith's,
and the loud shouts of applause and encouragement with which their
gallant defence of their goal was greeted, added to the irritation of
the Greenites. When the half-play was called neither party had scored a
point, and as they changed sides it was evident that the tremendous pace
had told upon both parties.
"Now is our time," Skinner said to his team; "they are more done than we
are, and our training will tell more and more every minute. Keep it up
hard, and when we see a chance make a big rush and carry it down to
their end."
But the Greenites were equally determined, and in spite of the efforts
of their opponents, kept the ball at their end of the field. Then
Skinner got it and made a rush. One of the heaviest of the Greenites
charged down upon them at full speed, but was encountered by Easton
before he reached him, and the two rolled over together. The
River-Smithites backed up their leader well, and he was more than
half-way down the ground before the Greenites had arrested his progress.
Then there was a close scrimmage, and for a time the mass swayed
backwards and forwards. But here weight counted for more than wind, and
the Greenites were pushing their opponents back when the ball rolled out
from the mass.
Edgar Clinton picked it up, and was off with it in a moment, dodging
through those who attempted to check his course. He was down near the
Greenites' goal before two of them threw themselves upon him together;
but his friends were close behind, and after a desperate scrimmage the
ball was driven behind the Greenite goal. Some loose play followed, and
a Greenite who had the ball threw it forward to one of his own team, who
caught it and started running. The River-Smithites shouted "Dead ball!"
"Dead ball!" and claimed the point; but the holder of the ball, without
heeding the shouts, ran right through followed by the rest of his team,
and touched down behind the River-Smith goal. The ball was then brought
out and a goal kicked. All this time the River-Smithites had not moved
from behind the Greenite goal, but had remained there awaiting the
result of their appeal to the umpire, who now at once decided in their
favour. Not satisfied with this the Greenites appealed to the referee,
who confirmed the decision of the umpire. Too angry to be reasonable,
the captain refused to continue the game, and called upon his team to
leave the field. They were going, when the derisive shouts of the
lookers-on caused them again to alter their intentions, and the game was
renewed.
There were ten minutes yet remaining, and for that time the game was
played with a fury that caused it to be long memorable in the annals of
Cheltenham football. But weight and strength could not prevail over the
superior last and coolness of the defenders of the River-Smith goal.
Every attempt was beaten off, every rush met, and as no point had been
added to the score when time was called, the umpire decided that the
game had been won by the River-Smithites by one touch down to nothing.
The captain of the Greenites appealed from the umpire's and referee's
decision to the football committee of the college, who gave it against
him, and he then appealed to the Rugby Union, who decided that the
umpire's decision was perfectly right, and the victory thus remained
beyond further contention with the River-Smithites.