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THE HEAD OF KAY'S
by P. G. Wodehouse
1905
CONTENTS
Chapter
I MAINLY ABOUT FENN
II AN EVENING AT KAY'S
III THE FINAL HOUSE-MATCH
IV HARMONY AND DISCORD
V CAMP
VI THE RAID ON THE GUARD-TENT
VII A CLUE
VIII A NIGHT ADVENTURE--THE DETHRONEMENT OF FENN
IX THE SENSATIONS OF AN EXILE
X FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF AN EXILE
XI THE SENIOR DAYROOM OPENS FIRE
XII KENNEDY INTERVIEWS WALTON
XIII THE FIGHT IN THE DORMITORY
XIV FENN RECEIVES A LETTER
XV DOWN TOWN
XVI WHAT HAPPENED TO FENN
XVII FENN HUNTS FOR HIMSELF
XVIII A VAIN QUEST
XIX THE GUILE OF WREN
XX JIMMY THE PEACEMAKER
XXI IN WHICH AN EPISODE IS CLOSED
XXII KAY'S CHANGES ITS NAME
XXIII THE HOUSE-MATCHES
XXIV THE SPORTS
I
MAINLY ABOUT FENN
"When we get licked tomorrow by half-a-dozen wickets," said Jimmy
Silver, tilting his chair until the back touched the wall, "don't say
I didn't warn you. If you fellows take down what I say from time to
time in note-books, as you ought to do, you'll remember that I offered
to give anyone odds that Kay's would out us in the final. I always
said that a really hot man like Fenn was more good to a side than
half-a-dozen ordinary men. He can do all the bowling and all the
batting. All the fielding, too, in the slips."
Tea was just over at Blackburn's, and the bulk of the house had gone
across to preparation in the school buildings. The prefects, as was
their custom, lingered on to finish the meal at their leisure. These
after-tea conversations were quite an institution at Blackburn's. The
labours of the day were over, and the time for preparation for the
morrow had not yet come. It would be time to be thinking of that in
another hour. Meanwhile, a little relaxation might be enjoyed.
Especially so as this was the last day but two of the summer term, and
all necessity for working after tea had ceased with the arrival of the
last lap of the examinations.
Silver was head of the house, and captain of its cricket team, which
was nearing the end of its last match, the final for the inter-house
cup, and--on paper--getting decidedly the worst of it. After riding in
triumph over the School House, Bedell's, and Mulholland's, Blackburn's
had met its next door neighbour, Kay's, in the final, and, to the
surprise of the great majority of the school, was showing up badly.
The match was affording one more example of how a team of average
merit all through may sometimes fall before a one-man side.
Blackburn's had the three last men on the list of the first eleven,
Silver, Kennedy, and Challis, and at least nine of its representatives
had the reputation of being able to knock up a useful twenty or thirty
at any time. Kay's, on the other hand, had one man, Fenn. After him
the tail started. But Fenn was such an exceptional all-round man that,
as Silver had said, he was as good as half-a-dozen of the Blackburn's
team, equally formidable whether batting or bowling--he headed the
school averages at both. He was one of those batsmen who seem to know
exactly what sort of ball you are going to bowl before it leaves your
hand, and he could hit like another Jessop. As for his bowling, he
bowled left hand--always a puzzling eccentricity to an undeveloped
batsman--and could send them down very fast or very slow, as he
thought best, and it was hard to see which particular brand he was
going to serve up before it was actually in mid-air.
But it is not necessary to enlarge on his abilities. The figures
against his name in _Wisden_ prove a good deal. The fact that he
had steered Kay's through into the last round of the house-matches
proves still more. It was perfectly obvious to everyone that, if only
you could get Fenn out for under ten, Kay's total for that innings
would be nearer twenty than forty. They were an appalling side. But
then no house bowler had as yet succeeded in getting Fenn out for
under ten. In the six innings he had played in the competition up to
date, he had made four centuries, an eighty, and a seventy.
Kennedy, the second prefect at Blackburn's, paused in the act of
grappling with the remnant of a pot of jam belonging to some person
unknown, to reply to Silver's remarks.
"We aren't beaten yet," he said, in his solid way. Kennedy's chief
characteristics were solidity, and an infinite capacity for taking
pains. Nothing seemed to tire or discourage him. He kept pegging away
till he arrived. The ordinary person, for instance, would have
considered the jam-pot, on which he was then engaged, an empty
jam-pot. Kennedy saw that there was still a strawberry (or it may have
been a section of a strawberry) at the extreme end, and he meant to
have that coy vegetable if he had to squeeze the pot to get at it. To
take another instance, all the afternoon of the previous day he had
bowled patiently at Fenn while the latter lifted every other ball into
space. He had been taken off three times, and at every fresh attack he
had plodded on doggedly, until at last, as he had expected, the
batsman had misjudged a straight one, and he had bowled him all over
his wicket. Kennedy generally managed to get there sooner or later.
"It's no good chucking the game up simply because we're in a tight
place," he said, bringing the spoon to the surface at last with the
section of strawberry adhering to the end of it. "That sort of thing's
awfully feeble."
"He calls me feeble!" shouted Jimmy Silver. "By James, I've put a man
to sleep for less."
It was one of his amusements to express himself from time to time in a
melodramatic fashion, sometimes accompanying his words with suitable
gestures. It was on one of these occasions--when he had assumed at a
moment's notice the _role_ of the "Baffled Despot", in an
argument with Kennedy in his study on the subject of the house
football team--that he broke what Mr Blackburn considered a valuable
door with a poker. Since then he had moderated his transports.
"They've got to make seventy-nine," said Kennedy.
Challis, the other first eleven man, was reading a green scoring-book.
"I don't think Kay's ought to have the face to stick the cup up in
their dining-room," he said, "considering the little they've done to
win it. If they _do_ win it, that is. Still, as they made two
hundred first innings, they ought to be able to knock off
seventy-nine. But I was saying that the pot ought to go to Fenn. Lot
the rest of the team had to do with it. Blackburn's, first innings,
hundred and fifty-one; Fenn, eight for forty-nine. Kay's, two hundred
and one; Fenn, a hundred and sixty-four not out. Second innings,
Blackburn's hundred and twenty-eight; Fenn ten for eighty. Bit thick,
isn't it? I suppose that's what you'd call a one-man team."
Williams, one of the other prefects, who had just sat down at the
piano for the purpose of playing his one tune--a cake-walk, of which,
through constant practice, he had mastered the rudiments--spoke over
his shoulder to Silver.
"I tell you what, Jimmy," he said, "you've probably lost us the pot by
getting your people to send brother Billy to Kay's. If he hadn't kept
up his wicket yesterday, Fenn wouldn't have made half as many."
When his young brother had been sent to Eckleton two terms before,
Jimmy Silver had strongly urged upon his father the necessity of
placing him in some house other than Blackburn's. He felt that a head
of a house, even of so orderly and perfect a house as Blackburn's, has
enough worries without being saddled with a small brother. And on the
previous afternoon young Billy Silver, going in eighth wicket for
Kay's, had put a solid bat in front of everything for the space of one
hour, in the course of which he made ten runs and Fenn sixty. By
scoring odd numbers off the last ball of each over, Fenn had managed
to secure the majority of the bowling in the most masterly way.
"These things will happen," said Silver, resignedly. "We Silvers, you
know, can't help making runs. Come on, Williams, let's have that tune,
and get it over."
Williams obliged. It was a classic piece called "The Coon Band
Contest", remarkable partly for a taking melody, partly for the vast
possibilities of noise which it afforded. Williams made up for his
failure to do justice to the former by a keen appreciation of the
latter. He played the piece through again, in order to correct the
mistakes he had made at his first rendering of it. Then he played it
for the third time to correct a new batch of errors.
"I should like to hear Fenn play that," said Challis. "You're awfully
good, you know, Williams, but he might do it better still."
"Get him to play it as an encore at the concert," said Williams,
starting for the fourth time.
The talented Fenn was also a musician,--not a genius at the piano, as
he was at cricket, but a sufficiently sound performer for his age,
considering that he had not made a special study of it. He was to play
at the school concert on the following day.
"I believe Fenn has an awful time at Kay's," said Jimmy Silver. "It
must be a fair sort of hole, judging from the specimens you see
crawling about in Kay caps. I wish I'd known my people were sending
young Billy there. I'd have warned them. I only told them not to sling
him in here. I had no idea they'd have picked Kay's."
"Fenn was telling me the other day," said Kennedy, "that being in
Kay's had spoiled his whole time at the school. He always wanted to
come to Blackburn's, only there wasn't room that particular term. Bad
luck, wasn't it? I don't think he found it so bad before he became
head of the house. He didn't come into contact with Kay so much. But
now he finds that he can't do a thing without Kay buzzing round and
interfering."
"I wonder," said Jimmy Silver, thoughtfully, "if that's why he bowls
so fast. To work it off, you know."
In the course of a beautiful innings of fifty-three that afternoon,
the captain of Blackburn's had received two of Fenn's speediest on the
same spot just above the pad in rapid succession, and he now hobbled
painfully when he moved about.
The conversation that evening had dealt so largely with Fenn--the
whole school, indeed, was talking of nothing but his great attempt to
win the cricket cup single-handed--that Kennedy, going out into the
road for a breather before the rest of the boarders returned from
preparation, made his way to Kay's to see if Fenn was imitating his
example, and taking the air too.
He found him at Kay's gate, and they strolled towards the school
buildings together. Fenn was unusually silent.
"Well?" said Kennedy, after a minute had passed without a remark.
"Well, what?"
"What's up?"
Fenn laughed what novelists are fond of calling a mirthless laugh.
"Oh, I don't know," he said; "I'm sick of this place."
Kennedy inspected his friend's face anxiously by the light of the lamp
over the school gate. There was no mistake about it. Fenn certainly
did look bad. His face always looked lean and craggy, but tonight
there was a difference. He looked used up.
"Fagged?" asked Kennedy.
"No. Sick."
"What about?"
"Everything. I wish you could come into Kay's for a bit just to see
what it's like. Then you'd understand. At present I don't suppose
you've an idea of it. I'd like to write a book on 'Kay Day by Day'.
I'd have plenty to put in it."
"What's he been doing?"
"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary run. It's the fact that he's always
at it that does me. You get a houseful of--well, you know the sort of
chap the average Kayite is. They'd keep me busy even if I were allowed
a free hand. But I'm not. Whenever I try and keep order and stop
things a bit, out springs the man Kay from nowhere, and takes the job
out of my hands, makes a ghastly mess of everything, and retires
purring. Once in every three times, or thereabouts, he slangs me in
front of the kids for not keeping order. I'm glad this is the end of
the term. I couldn't stand it much longer. Hullo, here come the chaps
from prep. We'd better be getting back."
II
AN EVENING AT KAY'S
They turned, and began to walk towards the houses. Kennedy felt
miserable. He never allowed himself to be put out, to any great
extent, by his own worries, which, indeed, had not been very numerous
up to the present, but the misfortunes of his friends always troubled
him exceedingly. When anything happened to him personally, he found
the discomfort of being in a tight place largely counterbalanced by
the excitement of trying to find a way out. But the impossibility of
helping Fenn in any way depressed him.
"It must be awful," he said, breaking the silence.
"It is," said Fenn, briefly.
"But haven't the house-matches made any difference? Blackburn's always
frightfully bucked when the house does anything. You can do anything
you like with him if you lift a cup. I should have thought Kay would
have been all right when he saw you knocking up centuries, and getting
into the final, and all that sort of thing."
Fenn laughed.
"Kay!" he said. "My dear man, he doesn't _know_. I don't suppose
he's got the remotest idea that we are in the final at all, or, if he
has, he doesn't understand what being in the final means."
"But surely he'll be glad if you lick us tomorrow?" asked Kennedy.
Such indifference on the part of a house-master respecting the
fortunes of his house seemed to him, having before him the bright
example of Mr Blackburn, almost incredible.
"I don't suppose so," said Fenn. "Or, if he is, I'll bet he doesn't
show it. He's not like Blackburn. I wish he was. Here he comes, so
perhaps we'd better talk about something else."
The vanguard of the boys returning from preparation had passed them,
and they were now standing at the gate of the house. As Fenn spoke, a
little, restless-looking man in cap and gown came up. His clean-shaven
face wore an expression of extreme alertness--the sort of look a ferret
wears as he slips in at the mouth of a rabbit-hole. A doctor, called
upon to sum up Mr Kay at a glance, would probably have said that he
suffered from nerves, which would have been a perfectly correct
diagnosis, though none of the members of his house put his manners and
customs down to that cause. They considered that the methods he
pursued in the management of the house were the outcome of a naturally
malignant disposition. This was, however, not the case. There is no
reason to suppose that Mr Kay did not mean well. But there is no doubt
that he was extremely fussy. And fussiness--with the possible
exceptions of homicidal mania and a taste for arson--is quite the
worst characteristic it is possible for a house-master to possess.
He caught sight of Fenn and Kennedy at the gate, and stopped in his
stride.
"What are you doing here, Fenn?" he asked, with an abruptness which
brought a flush to the latter's face. "Why are you outside the house?"
Kennedy began to understand why it was that his friend felt so
strongly on the subject of his house-master. If this was the sort of
thing that happened every day, no wonder that there was dissension in
the house of Kay. He tried to imagine Blackburn speaking in that way
to Jimmy Silver or himself, but his imagination was unequal to the
task. Between Mr Blackburn and his prefects there existed a perfect
understanding. He relied on them to see that order was kept, and they
acted accordingly. Fenn, by the exercise of considerable self-control,
had always been scrupulously polite to Mr Kay.
"I came out to get some fresh air before lock-up, sir," he replied.
"Well, go in. Go in at once. I cannot allow you to be outside the
house at this hour. Go indoors directly."
Kennedy expected a scene, but Fenn took it quite quietly.
"Good night, Kennedy," he said.
"So long," said Kennedy.
Fenn caught his eye, and smiled painfully. Then he turned and went
into the house.
Mr Kay's zeal for reform was apparently still unsatisfied. He directed
his batteries towards Kennedy.
"Go to your house at once, Kennedy. You have no business out here at
this time."
This, thought Kennedy, was getting a bit too warm. Mr Kay might do as
he pleased with his own house, but he was hanged if he was going to
trample on _him_.
"Mr Blackburn is my house-master, sir," he said with great respect.
Mr Kay stared.
"My house-master," continued Kennedy with gusto, slightly emphasising
the first word, "knows that I always go out just before lock-up, and
he has no objection."
And, to emphasise this point, he walked towards the school buildings
again. For a moment it seemed as if Mr Kay intended to call him back,
but he thought better of it. Mr Blackburn, in normal circumstances a
pacific man, had one touchy point--his house. He resented any
interference with its management, and was in the habit of saying so.
Mr Kay remembered one painful scene in the Masters' Common Room, when
he had ventured to let fall a few well-meant hints as to how a house
should be ruled. Really, he had thought Blackburn would have choked.
Better, perhaps, to leave him to look after his own affairs.
So Mr Kay followed Fenn indoors, and Kennedy, having watched him
vanish, made his way to Blackburn's.
Quietly as Fenn had taken the incident at the gate, it nevertheless
rankled. He read prayers that night in a distinctly unprayerful mood.
It seemed to him that it would be lucky if he could get through to the
end of the term before Mr Kay applied that last straw which does not
break the backs of camels only. Eight weeks' holiday, with plenty of
cricket, would brace him up for another term. And he had been invited
to play for the county against Middlesex four days after the holidays
began. That should have been a soothing thought. But it really seemed
to make matters worse. It was hard that a man who on Monday would be
bowling against Warner and Beldam, or standing up to Trott and Hearne,
should on the preceding Tuesday be sent indoors like a naughty child
by a man who stood five-feet-one in his boots, and was devoid of any
sort of merit whatever.
It seemed to him that it would help him to sleep peacefully that night
if he worked off a little of his just indignation upon somebody. There
was a noise going on in the fags' room. There always was at Kay's. It
was not a particularly noisy noise--considering; but it had better be
stopped. Badly as Kay had treated him, he remembered that he was head
of the house, and as such it behoved him to keep order in the house.
He went downstairs, and, on arriving on the scene of action, found
that the fags were engaged upon spirited festivities, partly in honour
of the near approach of the summer holidays, partly because--miracles
barred--the house was going on the morrow to lift the cricket-cup.
There were a good many books flying about, and not a few slippers.
There was a confused mass rolling in combat on the floor, and the
table was occupied by a scarlet-faced individual, who passed the time
by kicking violently at certain hands, which were endeavouring to drag
him from his post, and shrieking frenzied abuse at the owners of the
said hands. It was an animated scene, and to a deaf man might have
been most enjoyable.
Fenn's appearance was the signal for a temporary suspension of
hostilities.
"What the dickens is all this row about?" he inquired.
No one seemed ready at the moment with a concise explanation. There
was an awkward silence. One or two of the weaker spirits even went so
far as to sit down and begin to read. All would have been well but for
a bright idea which struck some undiscovered youth at the back of the
room.
"Three cheers for Fenn!" observed this genial spirit, in no uncertain
voice.
The idea caught on. It was just what was wanted to give a finish to
the evening's festivities. Fenn had done well by the house. He had
scored four centuries and an eighty, and was going to knock off the
runs against Blackburn's tomorrow off his own bat. Also, he had taken
eighteen wickets in the final house-match. Obviously Fenn was a person
deserving of all encouragement. It would be a pity to let him think
that his effort had passed unnoticed by the fags' room. Happy thought!
Three cheers and one more, and then "He's a jolly good fellow", to
wind up with.
It was while those familiar words, "It's a way we have in the public
scho-o-o-o-l-s", were echoing through the room in various keys, that a
small and energetic form brushed past Fenn as he stood in the doorway,
vainly trying to stop the fags' choral efforts.
It was Mr Kay.
The singing ceased gradually, very gradually. It was some time before
Mr Kay could make himself heard. But after a couple of minutes there
was a lull, and the house-master's address began to be audible.
"... unendurable noise. What is the meaning of it? I will not have it.
Do you hear? It is disgraceful. Every boy in this room will write me
two hundred lines by tomorrow evening. It is abominable, Fenn." He
wheeled round towards the head of the house. "Fenn, I am surprised at
you standing here and allowing such a disgraceful disturbance to go
on. Really, if you cannot keep order better--It is disgraceful,
disgraceful."
Mr Kay shot out of the room. Fenn followed in his wake, and the
procession made its way to the house-masters' study. It had been a
near thing, but the last straw had arrived before the holidays.
Mr Kay wheeled round as he reached his study door.
"Well, Fenn?"
Fenn said nothing.
"Have you anything you wish to say, Fenn?"
"I thought you might have something to say to me, sir."
"I do not understand you, Fenn."
"I thought you might wish to apologise for slanging me in front of the
fags."
It is wonderful what a difference the last straw will make in one's
demeanour to a person.
"Apologise! I think you forget whom it is you are speaking to."
When a master makes this well-worn remark, the wise youth realises
that the time has come to close the conversation. All Fenn's prudence,
however, had gone to the four winds.
"If you wanted to tell me I was not fit to be head of the house, you
needn't have done it before a roomful of fags. How do you think I can
keep order in the house if you do that sort of thing?"
Mr Kay overcame his impulse to end the interview abruptly in order to
put in a thrust.
"You do not keep order in the house, Fenn," he said, acidly.
"I do when I am not interfered with."
"You will be good enough to say 'sir' when you speak to me, Fenn,"
said Mr Kay, thereby scoring another point. In the stress of the
moment, Fenn had not noticed the omission.
He was silenced. And before he could recover himself, Mr Kay was in
his study, and there was a closed, forbidding door between them.
And as he stared at it, it began slowly to dawn upon Fenn that he had
not shown up to advantage in the recent interview. In a word, he had
made a fool of himself.
III
THE FINAL HOUSE-MATCH
Blackburn's took the field at three punctually on the following
afternoon, to play out the last act of the final house-match. They
were not without some small hope of victory, for curious things happen
at cricket, especially in the fourth innings of a match. And runs are
admitted to be easier saved than made. Yet seventy-nine seemed an
absurdly small score to try and dismiss a team for, and in view of the
fact that that team contained a batsman like Fenn, it seemed smaller
still. But Jimmy Silver, resolutely as he had declared victory
impossible to his intimate friends, was not the man to depress his
team by letting it become generally known that he considered
Blackburn's chances small.
"You must work like niggers in the field," he said; "don't give away a
run. Seventy-nine isn't much to make, but if we get Fenn out for a
few, they won't come near it."
He did not add that in his opinion Fenn would take very good care that
he did not get out for a few. It was far more likely that he would
make that seventy-nine off his own bat in a dozen overs.
"You'd better begin, Kennedy," he continued, "from the top end. Place
your men where you want 'em. I should have an extra man in the deep,
if I were you. That's where Fenn kept putting them last innings. And
you'll want a short leg, only for goodness sake keep them off the
leg-side if you can. It's a safe four to Fenn every time if you don't.
Look out, you chaps. Man in."
Kay's first pair were coming down the pavilion steps.
Challis, going
to his place at short slip, called Silver's attention to a remarkable
fact.
"Hullo," he said, "why isn't Fenn coming in first?"
"What! By Jove, nor he is. That's queer. All the better for us. You
might get a bit finer, Challis, in case they snick 'em."
Wayburn, who had accompanied Fenn to the wicket at the beginning of
Kay's first innings, had now for his partner one Walton, a large,
unpleasant-looking youth, said to be a bit of a bruiser, and known to
be a black sheep. He was one of those who made life at Kay's so close
an imitation of an Inferno. His cricket was of a rustic order. He hit
hard and high. When allowed to do so, he hit often. But, as a rule, he
left early, a prey to the slips or deep fields. Today was no exception
to that rule.
Kennedy's first ball was straight and medium-paced. It was a little
too short, however, and Walton, letting go at it with a semi-circular
sweep like the drive of a golfer, sent it soaring over mid-on's head
and over the boundary. Cheers from the pavilion.
Kennedy bowled his second ball with the same purposeful air, and
Walton swept at it as before. There was a click, and Jimmy Silver, who
was keeping wicket, took the ball comfortably on a level with his
chin.
"How's that?"
The umpire's hand went up, and Walton went out--reluctantly, murmuring
legends of how he had not gone within a yard of the thing.
It was only when the next batsman who emerged from the pavilion turned
out to be his young brother and not Fenn, that Silver began to see
that something was wrong. It was conceivable that Fenn might have
chosen to go in first wicket down instead of opening the batting, but
not that he should go in second wicket. If Kay's were to win it was
essential that he should begin to bat as soon as possible. Otherwise
there might be no time for him to knock off the runs. However good a
batsman is, he can do little if no one can stay with him.
There was no time to question the newcomer. He must control his
curiosity until the fall of the next wicket.
"Man in," he said.
Billy Silver was in many ways a miniature edition of his brother, and
he carried the resemblance into his batting. The head of Blackburn's
was stylish, and took no risks. His brother had not yet developed a
style, but he was very settled in his mind on the subject of risks.
There was no tempting him with half-volleys and long-hops. His motto
was defence, not defiance. He placed a straight bat in the path of
every ball, and seemed to consider his duty done if he stopped it.
The remainder of the over was, therefore, quiet. Billy played
Kennedy's fastest like a book, and left the more tempting ones alone.
Challis's first over realised a single, Wayburn snicking him to leg.
The first ball of Kennedy's second over saw him caught at the wicket,
as Walton had been.
"Every _time_ a coconut," said Jimmy Silver complacently, as he
walked to the other end. "We're a powerful combination, Kennedy.
Where's Fenn? Does anybody know? Why doesn't he come in?"
Billy Silver, seated on the grass by the side of the crease, fastening
the top strap of one of his pads, gave tongue with the eagerness of
the well-informed man.
"What, don't you know?" he said. "Why, there's been an awful row. Fenn
won't be able to play till four o'clock. I believe he and Kay had a
row last night, and he cheeked Kay, and the old man's given him a sort
of extra. I saw him going over to the School House, and I heard him
tell Wayburn that he wouldn't be able to play till four."
The effect produced by this communication would be most fittingly
expressed by the word "sensation" in brackets. It came as a complete
surprise to everyone. It seemed to knock the bottom out of the whole
match. Without Fenn the thing would be a farce. Kay's would have no
chance.
"What a worm that man is," said Kennedy. "Do you know, I had a sort of
idea Fenn wouldn't last out much longer. Kay's been ragging him all
the term. I went round to see him last night, and Kay behaved like a
bounder then. I expect Fenn had it out with him when they got indoors.
What a beastly shame, though."
"Beastly," agreed Jimmy Silver. "Still, it can't be helped. The sins
of the house-master are visited on the house. I'm afraid it will be
our painful duty to wipe the floor with Kay's this day. Speaking at a
venture, I should say that we have got them where the hair's short.
Yea. Even on toast, if I may be allowed to use the expression. Who is
this coming forth now? Curtis, or me old eyes deceive me. And is not
Curtis's record score three, marred by ten chances? Indeed yes. A
fastish yorker should settle Curtis's young hash. Try one."
Kennedy followed the recipe. A ball later the middle and leg stumps
were lying in picturesque attitudes some yards behind the crease, and
Curtis was beginning that "sad, unending walk to the pavilion",
thinking, with the poet,
"Thou wast not made to play, infernal ball!"
Blackburn's non-combatants, dotted round the boundary, shrieked their
applause. Three wickets had fallen for five runs, and life was worth
living. Kay's were silent and gloomy.
Billy Silver continued to occupy one end in an immovable manner, but
at the other there was no monotony. Man after man came in, padded and
gloved, and looking capable of mighty things. They took guard, patted
the ground lustily, as if to make it plain that they were going to
stand no nonsense, settled their caps over their eyes, and prepared to
receive the ball. When it came it usually took a stump or two with it
before it stopped. It was a procession such as the school grounds had
not often seen. As the tenth man walked from the pavilion, four
sounded from the clock over the Great Hall, and five minutes later the
weary eyes of the supporters of Kay's were refreshed by the sight of
Fenn making his way to the arena from the direction of the School
House.
Just as he arrived on the scene, Billy Silver's defence broke down.
One of Challis's slows, which he had left alone with the idea that it
was going to break away to the off, came in quickly instead, and
removed a bail. Billy Silver had only made eight; but, as the full
score, including one bye, was only eighteen, this was above the
average, and deserved the applause it received.
Fenn came in in the unusual position of eleventh man, with an
expression on his face that seemed to suggest that he meant business.
He was curiously garbed. Owing to the shortness of the interval
allowed him for changing, he had only managed to extend his cricket
costume as far as white buckskin boots. He wore no pads or gloves. But
even in the face of these sartorial deficiencies, he looked like a
cricketer. The field spread out respectfully, and Jimmy Silver moved a
man from the slips into the country.
There were three more balls of Challis's over, for Billy Silver's
collapse had occurred at the third delivery. Fenn mistimed the first.
Two hours' writing indoors does not improve the eye. The ball missed
the leg stump by an inch.
About the fifth ball he made no mistake. He got the full face of the
bat to it, and it hummed past coverpoint to the boundary. The last of
the over he put to leg for three.
A remarkable last-wicket partnership now took place, remarkable not so
much for tall scoring as for the fact that one of the partners did not
receive a single ball from beginning to end of it, with the exception
of the one that bowled him. Fenn seemed to be able to do what he
pleased with the bowling. Kennedy he played with a shade more respect
than the others, but he never failed to score a three or a single off
the last ball of each of his overs. The figures on the telegraph-board
rose from twenty to thirty, from thirty to forty, from forty to fifty.
Williams went on at the lower end instead of Challis, and Fenn made
twelve off his first over. The pavilion was filled with howling
enthusiasts, who cheered every hit in a frenzy.
Jimmy Silver began to look worried. He held a hasty consultation with
Kennedy. The telegraph-board now showed the figures 60--9--8.
"This won't do," said Silver. "It would be too foul to get licked
after having nine of them out for eighteen. Can't you manage to keep
Fenn from scoring odd figures off the last ball of your over? If only
that kid at the other end would get some of the bowling, we should do
it."
"I'll try," said Kennedy, and walked back to begin his over.
Fenn reached his fifty off the third ball. Seventy went up on the
board. Ten more and Kay's would have the cup. The fourth ball was too
good to hit. Fenn let it pass. The fifth he drove to the on. It was a
big hit, but there was a fieldsman in the neighbourhood. Still, it was
an easy two. But to Kennedy's surprise Fenn sent his partner back
after they had run a single. Even the umpire was surprised. Fenn's
policy was so obvious that it was strange to see him thus deliberately
allow his partner to take a ball.
"That's not over, you know, Fenn," said the umpire--Lang, of the
School House, a member of the first eleven.
Fenn looked annoyed. He had miscounted the balls, and now his partner,
who had no pretensions to be considered a bat, would have to face
Kennedy.
That mistake lost Kay's the match.
Impossible as he had found it to defeat Fenn, Kennedy had never lost
his head or his length. He was bowling fully as well as he had done at
the beginning of the innings.
The last ball of the over beat the batsman all the way. He scooped
blindly forward, missed it by a foot, and the next moment the off
stump lay flat. Blackburn's had won by seven runs.
IV
HARMONY AND DISCORD
What might be described as a mixed reception awaited the players as
they left the field. The pavilion and the parts about the pavilion rails
were always packed on the last day of a final house-match, and even in
normal circumstances there was apt to be a little sparring between the
juniors of the two houses which had been playing for the cup. In the
present case, therefore, it was not surprising that Kay's fags took the
defeat badly. The thought that Fenn's presence at the beginning of the
innings, instead of at the end, would have made all the difference
between a loss and a victory, maddened them. The crowd that seethed
in front of the pavilion was a turbulent one.
For a time the operation of chairing Fenn up the steps occupied the
active minds of the Kayites. When he had disappeared into the first
eleven room, they turned their attention in other directions. Caustic
and uncomplimentary remarks began to fly to and fro between the
representatives of Kay's and Blackburn's. It is not known who actually
administered the first blow. But, when Fenn came out of the pavilion
with Kennedy and Silver, he found a stirring battle in progress. The
members of the other houses who had come to look on at the match stood
in knots, and gazed with approval at the efforts of Kay's and
Blackburn's juniors to wipe each other off the face of the earth. The
air was full of shrill battle-cries, varied now and then by a smack or
a thud, as some young but strenuous fist found a billet. The fortune
of war seemed to be distributed equally so far, and the combatants
were just warming to their work.
"Look here," said Kennedy, "we ought to stop this."
"What's the good," said Fenn, without interest. "It pleases them, and
doesn't hurt anybody else."
"All the same," observed Jimmy Silver, moving towards the nearest
group of combatants, "free fights aren't quite the thing, somehow.
For, children, you should never let your angry passions rise; your
little hands were never made to tear each other's eyes. Dr Watts'
_Advice to Young Pugilists_. Drop it, you little beasts."
He separated two heated youths who were just beginning a fourth round.
The rest of the warriors, seeing Silver and the others, called a
truce, and Silver, having read a sort of Riot Act, moved on. The
juniors of the beaten house, deciding that it would be better not to
resume hostilities, consoled themselves by giving three groans for Mr
Kay.
"What happened after I left you last night, Fenn?" asked Kennedy.
"Oh, I had one of my usual rows with Kay, only rather worse than
usual. I said one or two things he didn't like, and today the old man
sent for me and told me to come to his room from two till four. Kay
had run me in for being 'grossly rude'. Listen to those kids. What a
row they're making!"
"It's a beastly shame," said Kennedy despondently.
At the school shop Morrell, of Mulholland's, met them. He had been
spending the afternoon with a rug and a novel on the hills at the back
of the school, and he wanted to know how the final house-match had
gone. Blackburn's had beaten Mulholland's in one of the early rounds.
Kennedy explained what had happened.
"We should have lost if Fenn had turned up earlier," he said. "He had
a row with Kay, and Kay gave him a sort of extra between two and
four."
Fenn, busily occupied with an ice, added no comment of his own to this
plain tale.
"Rough luck," said Morrell. "What's all that row out in the field?"
"That's Kay's kids giving three groans for Kay," explained Silver. "At
least, they started with the idea of giving three groans. They've got
up to about three hundred by this time. It seems to have fascinated
them. They won't leave off. There's no school rule against groaning in
the grounds, and they mean to groan till the end of the term.
Personally, I like the sound. But then, I'm fond of music."
Morrell's face beamed with sudden pleasure. "I knew there was
something I wanted to tell you," he said, "only I couldn't remember
what. Your saying you're fond of music reminds me. Mulholland's
crocked himself, and won't be able to turn out for the concert."
"What!" cried Kennedy. "How did it happen? What's he done?"
Mr Mulholland was the master who looked after the music of the school,
a fine cricketer and keen sportsman. Had nothing gone wrong, he would
have conducted at the concert that night.
"I heard it from the matron at our place," said Morrell. "She's full
of it. Mulholland was batting at the middle net, and somebody else--I
forget who--was at the one next to it on the right. The bowler sent
down a long-hop to leg, and this Johnny had a smack at it, and sent it
slap through the net, and it got Mulholland on the side of the head.
He was stunned for a bit, but he's getting all right again now. But he
won't be able to conduct tonight. Rather bad luck on the man,
especially as he's so keen on the concert."
"Who's going to sub for him?" asked Silver. "Perhaps they'll scratch
the show," suggested Kennedy.
"Oh, no," said Morrell, "it's all right. Kay is going to conduct. He's
often done it at choir practices when Mulholland couldn't turn up."
Fenn put down his empty saucer with an emphatic crack on the counter.
"If Kay's going to run the show, I'm hanged if I turn up," he said.
"My dear chap, you can't get out of it now," said Kennedy anxiously.
He did not want to see Fenn plunging into any more strife with the
authorities this term.
"Think of the crowned heads who are coming to hear you," pleaded Jimmy
Silver. "Think of the nobility and gentry. Think of me. You must
play."
"Ah, there you are, Fenn."
Mr Kay had bustled in in his energetic way.
Fenn said nothing. He _was_ there. It was idle to deny it.
"I thought I should find you here. Yes, I wanted to see you about the
concert tonight. Mr Mulholland has met with an unfortunate accident,
and I am looking after the entertainment in his place. Come with me
and play over your piece. I should like to see that you are perfect in
it. Dear me, dear me, what a noise those boys are making. Why
_are_ they behaving in that extraordinary way, I wonder!"
Kay's juniors had left the pavilion, and were trooping back to their
house. At the present moment they were passing the school shop, and
their tuneful voices floated in through the open window.
"This is very unusual. Why, they seem to be boys in my house. They are
groaning."
"I think they are a little upset at the result of the match, sir,"
said Jimmy Silver suavely. "Fenn did not arrive, for some reason, till
the end of the innings, so Mr Blackburn's won. The wicket was good,
but a little fiery."
"Thank you, Silver," replied Mr Kay with asperity. "When I require
explanations I will ask for them."
He darted out of the shop, and a moment later they heard him pouring
out a flood of recriminations on the groaning fags.
"There was _once_ a man who snubbed me," said Jimmy Silver. "They
buried him at Brookwood. Well, what are you going to do, Fenn? Going
to play tonight? Harkee, boy. Say but the word, and I will beard this
tyrant to his face."
Fenn rose.
"Yes," he said briefly, "I shall play. You'd better turn up. I think
you'll enjoy it."
Silver said that no human power should keep him away.
* * * * *
The School concert was always one of the events of the summer term.
There was a concert at the end of the winter term, too, but it was not
so important. To a great many of those present the summer concert
marked, as it were, the last flutter of their school life. On the
morrow they would be Old Boys, and it behoved them to extract as much
enjoyment from the function as they could. Under Mr Mullholland's rule
the concert had become a very flourishing institution. He aimed at a
high standard, and reached it. There was more than a touch of the
austere about the music. A glance at the programme was enough to show
the lover of airs of the trashy, clashy order that this was no place
for him. Most of the items were serious. When it was thought necessary
to introduce a lighter touch, some staidly rollicking number was
inserted, some song that was saved--in spite of a catchy tune--by a
halo of antiquity. Anything modern was taboo, unless it were the work
of Gotsuchakoff, Thingummyowsky, or some other eminent foreigner.
Foreign origin made it just possible.
The school prefects lurked during the performance at the doors and at
the foot of the broad stone steps that led to the Great Hall. It was
their duty to supply visitors with programmes.
Jimmy Silver had foregathered with Kennedy, Challis, and Williams at
the junior door. The hall was full now, and their labours consequently
at an end.
"Pretty good 'gate'," said Silver, looking in through the open door.
"It must be warm up in the gallery."
Across the further end of the hall a dais had been erected. On this
the bulk of the school sat, leaving the body of the hall to the
crowned heads, nobility, and gentry to whom Silver had referred in his
conversation with Fenn.
"It always is warm in the gallery," said Challis. "I lost about two
stone there every concert when I was a kid. We simply used to sit and
melt."
"And I tell you what," broke in Silver, "it's going to get warmer
before the end of the show. Do you notice that all Kay's house are
sitting in a lump at the back. I bet they're simply spoiling for a
row. Especially now Kay's running the concert. There's going to be a
hot time in the old town tonight--you see if there isn't. Hark at
'em."
The choir had just come to the end of a little thing of Handel's.
There was no reason to suppose that the gallery appreciated Handel.
Nevertheless, they were making a deafening noise. Clouds of dust rose
from the rhythmical stamping of many feet. The noise was loudest and
the dust thickest by the big window, beneath which sat the men from
Kay's. Things were warming up.
The gallery, with one last stamp which nearly caused the dais to
collapse, quieted down. The masters in the audience looked serious.
One or two of the visitors glanced over their shoulders with a smile.
How excited the dear boys were at the prospect of holidays! Young
blood! Young blood! Boys _would_ be boys.
The concert continued. Half-way through the programme there was a ten
minutes' interval. Fenn's pianoforte solo was the second item of the
second half.
He mounted the platform amidst howls of delight from the gallery.
Applause at the Eckleton concerts was granted more for services in the
playing-fields than merit as a musician. Kubelik or Paderewski would
have been welcomed with a few polite handclaps. A man in the eleven or
fifteen was certain of two minutes' unceasing cheers.
"Evidently one of their heroes, my dear," said Paterfamilias to
Materfamilias. "I suppose he has won a scholarship at the University."
Paterfamilias' mind was accustomed to run somewhat upon scholarships
at the University. What the school wanted was a batting average of
forty odd or a bowling analysis in single figures.
Fenn played the "Moonlight Sonata". A trained musical critic would
probably have found much to cavil at in his rendering of the piece,
but it was undoubtedly good for a public school player. Of course he
was encored. The gallery would have encored him if he had played with
one finger, three mistakes to every bar.
"I told Fenn," said Jimmy Silver, "if he got an encore, that he ought
to play the--My aunt! _He is!_"
Three runs and half-a-dozen crashes, and there was no further room for
doubt. Fenn was playing the "Coon Band Contest".
"He's gone mad," gasped Kennedy.
Whether he had or not, it is certain that the gallery had. All the
evening they had been stewing in an atmosphere like that of the inner
room of a Turkish bath, and they were ready for anything. It needed
but a trifle to set them off. The lilt of that unspeakable Yankee
melody supplied that trifle. Kay's malcontents, huddled in their seats
by the window, were the first to break out. Feet began to stamp in
time to the music--softly at first, then more loudly. The wooden dais
gave out the sound like a drum.
Other rioters joined in from the right. The noise spread through the
gallery as a fire spreads through gorse. Soon three hundred pairs of
well-shod feet were rising and falling. Somebody began to whistle.
Everybody whistled. Mr Kay was on his feet, gesticulating wildly. His
words were lost in the uproar.
For five minutes the din prevailed. Then, with a final crash, Fenn
finished. He got up from the music-stool, bowed, and walked back to
his place by the senior door. The musical efforts of the gallery
changed to a storm of cheering and clapping.
The choir rose to begin the next piece.
Still the noise continued.
People began to leave the Hall--in ones and twos first, then in a
steady stream which blocked the doorways. It was plain to the dullest
intelligence that if there was going to be any more concert, it would
have to be performed in dumb show. Mr Kay flung down his baton.
The visitors had left by now, and the gallery was beginning to follow
their example, howling as it went.
"Well," said Jimmy Silver cheerfully, as he went with Kennedy down the
steps, "I _think_ we may call that a record. By my halidom,
there'll be a row about this later on."
V
CAMP
With the best intentions in the world, however, a headmaster cannot
make a row about a thing unless he is given a reasonable amount of
time to make it in. The concert being on the last evening of term,
there was only a single morning before the summer holidays, and that
morning was occupied with the prize-giving. The school assembled at
ten o'clock with a shadowy hope that this prize-day would be more
exciting than the general run of prize-days, but they were
disappointed. The function passed off without sensation. The
headmaster did not denounce the school in an impassioned speech from
the dais. He did not refer to the events of the previous evening. At
the same time, his demeanour was far from jovial. It lacked that
rollicking bonhomie which we like to see in headmasters on prize-day.
It was evident to the most casual observer that the affair was not
closed. The school would have to pay the bill sooner or later. But
eight weeks would elapse before the day of reckoning, which was a
comforting thought.
The last prize was handed over to its rightful owner. The last and
dullest vote of thanks had been proposed by the last and dullest
member of the board of governors. The Bishop of Rumtifoo (who had been
selected this year to distribute the prizes) had worked off his
seventy minutes' speech (inaudible, of course, as usual), and was
feeling much easier. The term had been formally declared at an end,
and those members of the school corps who were going to camp were
beginning to assemble in front of the buildings.
"I wonder why it always takes about three hours to get us off to the
station," said Jimmy Silver. "I've been to camp two years now, and
there's always been this rotting about in the grounds before we start.
Nobody's likely to turn up to inspect us for the next hour or so. If
any gent cares to put in a modest ginger-beer at the shop, I'm with
him."