CHAPTER XXII
WYATT IS REMINDED OF AN ENGAGEMENT
There are situations in life which are beyond one. The sensible manrealises this, and slides out of such situations, admitting himselfbeaten. Others try to grapple with them, but it never does any good.When affairs get into a real tangle, it is best to sit still and letthem straighten themselves out. Or, if one does not do that, simply tothink no more about them. This is Philosophy. The true philosopher isthe man who says "All right," and goes to sleep in his arm-chair.One's attitude towards Life's Little Difficulties should be that ofthe gentleman in the fable, who sat down on an acorn one day, andhappened to doze. The warmth of his body caused the acorn togerminate, and it grew so rapidly that, when he awoke, he foundhimself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty feet from the ground. Hethought he would go home, but, finding this impossible, he altered hisplans. "Well, well," he said, "if I cannot compel circumstances to mywill, I can at least adapt my will to circumstances. I decide toremain here." Which he did, and had a not unpleasant time. The oaklacked some of the comforts of home, but the air was splendid and theview excellent.
To-day's Great Thought for Young Readers. Imitate this man.
Bob should have done so, but he had not the necessary amount ofphilosophy. He still clung to the idea that he and Burgess, incouncil, might find some way of making things right for everybody.Though, at the moment, he did not see how eleven caps were to bedivided amongst twelve candidates in such a way that each should haveone.
And Burgess, consulted on the point, confessed to the same inabilityto solve the problem. It took Bob at least a quarter of an hour to getthe facts of the case into the captain's head, but at last Burgessgrasped the idea of the thing. At which period he remarked that it wasa rum business.
"Very rum," Bob agreed. "Still, what you say doesn't help us out much,seeing that the point is, what's to be done?"
"Why do anything?"
Burgess was a philosopher, and took the line of least resistance, likethe man in the oak-tree.
"But I must do something," said Bob. "Can't you see how rotten it isfor me?"
"I don't see why. It's not your fault. Very sporting of your brotherand all that, of course, though I'm blowed if I'd have done it myself;but why should you do anything? You're all right. Your brother stoodout of the team to let you in it, and here you _are_, in it.What's he got to grumble about?"
"He's not grumbling. It's me."
"What's the matter with you? Don't you want your first?"
"Not like this. Can't you see what a rotten position it is for me?"
"Don't you worry. You simply keep on saying you're all right. Besides,what do you want me to do? Alter the list?"
But for the thought of those unspeakable outsiders, Lionel Tremayneand his headmaster, Bob might have answered this question in theaffirmative; but he had the public-school boy's terror of seeming topose or do anything theatrical. He would have done a good deal to putmatters right, but he could _not_ do the self-sacrificing younghero business. It would not be in the picture. These things, if theyare to be done at school, have to be carried through stealthily, afterMike's fashion.
"I suppose you can't very well, now it's up. Tell you what, though, Idon't see why I shouldn't stand out of the team for the Ripton match.I could easily fake up some excuse."
"I do. I don't know if it's occurred to you, but the idea is rather towin the Ripton match, if possible. So that I'm a lot keen on puttingthe best team into the field. Sorry if it upsets your arrangements inany way."
"You know perfectly well Mike's every bit as good as me."
"He isn't so keen."
"What do you mean?"
"Fielding. He's a young slacker."
When Burgess had once labelled a man as that, he did not readily letthe idea out of his mind.
"Slacker? What rot! He's as keen as anything."
"Anyhow, his keenness isn't enough to make him turn out forhouse-fielding. If you really want to know, that's why you'vegot your first instead of him. You sweated away, and improvedyour fielding twenty per cent.; and I happened to be talking toFirby-Smith and found that young Mike had been shirking his, soout he went. A bad field's bad enough, but a slack field wantsskinning."
"Smith oughtn't to have told you."
"Well, he did tell me. So you see how it is. There won't be anychanges from the team I've put up on the board."
"Oh, all right," said Bob. "I was afraid you mightn't be able to doanything. So long."
"Mind the step," said Burgess.
* * * * *
At about the time when this conversation was in progress, Wyatt,crossing the cricket-field towards the school shop in search ofsomething fizzy that might correct a burning thirst acquired at thenets, espied on the horizon a suit of cricket flannels surmounted by ahuge, expansive grin. As the distance between them lessened, hediscovered that inside the flannels was Neville-Smith's body andbehind the grin the rest of Neville-Smith's face. Their visit to thenets not having coincided in point of time, as the Greek exercisebooks say, Wyatt had not seen his friend since the list of the teamhad been posted on the board, so he proceeded to congratulate him onhis colours.
"Thanks," said Neville-Smith, with a brilliant display of front teeth.
"Feeling good?"
"Not the word for it. I feel like--I don't know what."
"I'll tell you what you look like, if that's any good to you. Thatslight smile of yours will meet behind, if you don't look out, andthen the top of your head'll come off."
"I don't care. I've got my first, whatever happens. Little Willie'sgoing to buy a nice new cap and a pretty striped jacket all for hisown self! I say, thanks for reminding me. Not that you did, butsupposing you had. At any rate, I remember what it was I wanted tosay to you. You know what I was saying to you about the bust I meantto have at home in honour of my getting my first, if I did, which Ihave--well, anyhow it's to-night. You can roll up, can't you?"
"Delighted. Anything for a free feed in these hard times. What timedid you say it was?"
"Eleven. Make it a bit earlier, if you like."
"No, eleven'll do me all right."
"How are you going to get out?"
"'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.' That's whatthe man said who wrote the libretto for the last set of Latin Verseswe had to do. I shall manage it."
"They ought to allow you a latch-key."
"Yes, I've often thought of asking my pater for one. Still, I get onvery well. Who are coming besides me?"
"No boarders. They all funked it."
"The race is degenerating."
"Said it wasn't good enough."
"The school is going to the dogs. Who did you ask?"
"Clowes was one. Said he didn't want to miss his beauty-sleep. AndHenfrey backed out because he thought the risk of being sacked wasn'tgood enough."
"That's an aspect of the thing that might occur to some people. Idon't blame him--I might feel like that myself if I'd got anothercouple of years at school."
"But one or two day-boys are coming. Clephane is, for one. AndBeverley. We shall have rather a rag. I'm going to get the thingsnow."
"When I get to your place--I don't believe I know the way, now I cometo think of it--what do I do? Ring the bell and send in my card? orsmash the nearest window and climb in?"
"Don't make too much row, for goodness sake. All the servants'll havegone to bed. You'll see the window of my room. It's just above theporch. It'll be the only one lighted up. Heave a pebble at it, andI'll come down."
"So will the glass--with a run, I expect. Still, I'll try to do aslittle damage as possible. After all, I needn't throw a brick."
"You _will_ turn up, won't you?"
"Nothing shall stop me."
"Good man."
As Wyatt was turning away, a sudden compunction seized uponNeville-Smith. He called him back.
"I say, you don't think it's too risky, do you? I mean, you always ar
ebreaking out at night, aren't you? I don't want to get you into arow."
"Oh, that's all right," said Wyatt. "Don't you worry about me. Ishould have gone out anyhow to-night."
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