CHAPTER XII
MIKE GETS HIS CHANCE
The headmaster was quite bland and business-like about it all. Therewere no impassioned addresses from the dais. He did not tell theschool that it ought to be ashamed of itself. Nor did he say that heshould never have thought it of them. Prayers on the Saturday morningwere marked by no unusual features. There was, indeed, a stir ofexcitement when he came to the edge of the dais, and cleared histhroat as a preliminary to making an announcement. Now for it, thoughtthe school.
This was the announcement.
"There has been an outbreak of chicken-pox in the town. All streetsexcept the High Street will in consequence be out of bounds tillfurther notice."
He then gave the nod of dismissal.
The school streamed downstairs, marvelling.
The less astute of the picnickers, unmindful of the homely proverbabout hallooing before leaving the wood, were openly exulting. Itseemed plain to them that the headmaster, baffled by the magnitude ofthe thing, had resolved to pursue the safe course of ignoring italtogether. To lie low is always a shrewd piece of tactics, and thereseemed no reason why the Head should not have decided on it in thepresent instance.
Neville-Smith was among these premature rejoicers.
"I say," he chuckled, overtaking Wyatt in the cloisters, "this is allright, isn't it! He's funked it. I thought he would. Finds the job toobig to tackle."
Wyatt was damping.
"My dear chap," he said, "it's not over yet by a long chalk. It hasn'tstarted yet."
"What do you mean? Why didn't he say anything about it in Hall, then?"
"Why should he? Have you ever had tick at a shop?"
"Of course I have. What do you mean? Why?"
"Well, they didn't send in the bill right away. But it came allright."
"Do you think he's going to do something, then?"
"Rather. You wait."
Wyatt was right.
Between ten and eleven on Wednesdays and Saturdays old Bates, theschool sergeant, used to copy out the names of those who were in extralesson, and post them outside the school shop. The school inspectedthe list during the quarter to eleven interval.
To-day, rushing to the shop for its midday bun, the school was awareof a vast sheet of paper where usually there was but a small one. Theysurged round it. Buns were forgotten. What was it?
Then the meaning of the notice flashed upon them. The headmaster hadacted. This bloated document was the extra lesson list, swollen withnames as a stream swells with rain. It was a comprehensive document.It left out little.
"The following boys will go in to extra lesson this afternoon and nextWednesday," it began. And "the following boys" numbered four hundred.
"Bates must have got writer's cramp," said Clowes, as he read the hugescroll.
* * * * *
Wyatt met Mike after school, as they went back to the house.
"Seen the 'extra' list?" he remarked. "None of the kids are in it, Inotice. Only the bigger fellows. Rather a good thing. I'm glad you gotoff."
"Thanks," said Mike, who was walking a little stiffly. "I don't knowwhat you call getting off. It seems to me you're the chaps who gotoff."
"How do you mean?"
"We got tanned," said Mike ruefully.
"What!"
"Yes. Everybody below the Upper Fourth."
Wyatt roared with laughter.
"By Gad," he said, "he is an old sportsman. I never saw such a man. Helowers all records."
"Glad you think it funny. You wouldn't have if you'd been me. I wasone of the first to get it. He was quite fresh."
"Sting?"
"Should think it did."
"Well, buck up. Don't break down."
"I'm not breaking down," said Mike indignantly.
"All right, I thought you weren't. Anyhow, you're better off than Iam."
"An extra's nothing much," said Mike.
"It is when it happens to come on the same day as the M.C.C. match."
"Oh, by Jove! I forgot. That's next Wednesday, isn't it? You won't beable to play!"
"No."
"I say, what rot!"
"It is, rather. Still, nobody can say I didn't ask for it. If one goesout of one's way to beg and beseech the Old Man to put one in extra,it would be a little rough on him to curse him when he does it."
"I should be awfully sick, if it were me."
"Well, it isn't you, so you're all right. You'll probably get my placein the team."
Mike smiled dutifully at what he supposed to be a humorous sally.
"Or, rather, one of the places," continued Wyatt, who seemed to besufficiently in earnest. "They'll put a bowler in instead of me.Probably Druce. But there'll be several vacancies. Let's see. Me.Adams. Ashe. Any more? No, that's the lot. I should think they'd giveyou a chance."
"You needn't rot," said Mike uncomfortably. He had his day-dreams,like everybody else, and they always took the form of playing for thefirst eleven (and, incidentally, making a century in record time). Tohave to listen while the subject was talked about lightly made him hotand prickly all over.
"I'm not rotting," said Wyatt seriously, "I'll suggest it to Burgessto-night."
"You don't think there's any chance of it, really, do you?" said Mikeawkwardly.
"I don't see why not? Buck up in the scratch game this afternoon.Fielding especially. Burgess is simply mad on fielding. I don't blamehim either, especially as he's a bowler himself. He'd shove a man intothe team like a shot, whatever his batting was like, if his fieldingwas something extra special. So you field like a demon this afternoon,and I'll carry on the good work in the evening."
"I say," said Mike, overcome, "it's awfully decent of you, Wyatt."
* * * * *
Billy Burgess, captain of Wrykyn cricket, was a genial giant, whoseldom allowed himself to be ruffled. The present was one of the rareoccasions on which he permitted himself that luxury. Wyatt found himin his study, shortly before lock-up, full of strange oaths, like thesoldier in Shakespeare.
"You rotter! You rotter! You _worm_!" he observed crisply, asWyatt appeared.
"Dear old Billy!" said Wyatt. "Come on, give me a kiss, and let's befriends."
"You----!"
"William! William!"
"If it wasn't illegal, I'd like to tie you and Ashe and thatblackguard Adams up in a big sack, and drop you into the river. AndI'd jump on the sack first. What do you mean by letting the team downlike this? I know you were at the bottom of it all."
He struggled into his shirt--he was changing after a bath--and hisface popped wrathfully out at the other end.
"I'm awfully sorry, Bill," said Wyatt. "The fact is, in the excitementof the moment the M.C.C. match went clean out of my mind."
"You haven't got a mind," grumbled Burgess. "You've got a cheap brownpaper substitute. That's your trouble."
Wyatt turned the conversation tactfully.
"How many wickets did you get to-day?" he asked.
"Eight. For a hundred and three. I was on the spot. Young Jacksoncaught a hot one off me at third man. That kid's good."
"Why don't you play him against the M.C.C. on Wednesday?" said Wyatt,jumping at his opportunity.
"What? Are you sitting on my left shoe?"
"No. There it is in the corner."
"Right ho!... What were you saying?"
"Why not play young Jackson for the first?"
"Too small."
"Rot. What does size matter? Cricket isn't footer. Besides, he isn'tsmall. He's as tall as I am."
"I suppose he is. Dash, I've dropped my stud."
Wyatt waited patiently till he had retrieved it. Then he returned tothe attack.
"He's as good a bat as his brother, and a better field."
"Old Bob can't field for toffee. I will say that for him. Dropped asitter off me to-day. Why the deuce fellows can't hold catches whenthey drop slowly into their mouths I'm hanged if I can see."
&
nbsp; "You play him," said Wyatt. "Just give him a trial. That kid's agenius at cricket. He's going to be better than any of his brothers,even Joe. Give him a shot."
Burgess hesitated.
"You know, it's a bit risky," he said. "With you three lunatics out ofthe team we can't afford to try many experiments. Better stick to themen at the top of the second."
Wyatt got up, and kicked the wall as a vent for his feelings.
"You rotter," he said. "Can't you _see_ when you've got a goodman? Here's this kid waiting for you ready made with a style likeTrumper's, and you rave about top men in the second, chaps who playforward at everything, and pat half-volleys back to the bowler! Do yourealise that your only chance of being known to Posterity is as theman who gave M. Jackson his colours at Wrykyn? In a few years he'll beplaying for England, and you'll think it a favour if he nods to you inthe pav. at Lord's. When you're a white-haired old man you'll gododdering about, gassing to your grandchildren, poor kids, how you'discovered' M. Jackson. It'll be the only thing they'll respect youfor."
Wyatt stopped for breath.
"All right," said Burgess, "I'll think it over. Frightful gift of thegab you've got, Wyatt."
"Good," said Wyatt. "Think it over. And don't forget what I said aboutthe grandchildren. You would like little Wyatt Burgess and the otherlittle Burgesses to respect you in your old age, wouldn't you? Verywell, then. So long. The bell went ages ago. I shall be locked out."
* * * * *
On the Monday morning Mike passed the notice-board just as Burgessturned away from pinning up the list of the team to play the M.C.C. Heread it, and his heart missed a beat. For, bottom but one, just abovethe W. B. Burgess, was a name that leaped from the paper at him. Hisown name.
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