Mike

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE AFTERMATH

  Bad news spreads quickly. By the quarter to eleven interval next daythe facts concerning Wyatt and Mr. Wain were public property. Mike, asan actual spectator of the drama, was in great request as aninformant. As he told the story to a group of sympathisers outside theschool shop, Burgess came up, his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy.

  "Anybody seen young--oh, here you are. What's all this about JimmyWyatt? They're saying he's been sacked, or some rot."

  "WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT JIMMY WYATT?"]

  "So he has--at least, he's got to leave."

  "What? When?"

  "He's left already. He isn't coming to school again."

  Burgess's first thought, as befitted a good cricket captain, was forhis team.

  "And the Ripton match on Saturday!"

  Nobody seemed to have anything except silent sympathy at his command.

  "Dash the man! Silly ass! What did he want to do it for! Poor oldJimmy, though!" he added after a pause. "What rot for him!"

  "Beastly," agreed Mike.

  "All the same," continued Burgess, with a return to the austere mannerof the captain of cricket, "he might have chucked playing the goattill after the Ripton match. Look here, young Jackson, you'll turn outfor fielding with the first this afternoon. You'll play on Saturday."

  "All right," said Mike, without enthusiasm. The Wyatt disaster was toorecent for him to feel much pleasure at playing against Ripton_vice_ his friend, withdrawn.

  Bob was the next to interview him. They met in the cloisters.

  "Hullo, Mike!" said Bob. "I say, what's all this about Wyatt?"

  "Wain caught him getting back into the dorm. last night afterNeville-Smith's, and he's taken him away from the school."

  "What's he going to do? Going into that bank straight away?"

  "Yes. You know, that's the part he bars most. He'd have been leavinganyhow in a fortnight, you see; only it's awful rot for a chap likeWyatt to have to go and froust in a bank for the rest of his life."

  "He'll find it rather a change, I expect. I suppose you won't beseeing him before he goes?"

  "I shouldn't think so. Not unless he comes to the dorm. during thenight. He's sleeping over in Wain's part of the house, but I shouldn'tbe surprised if he nipped out after Wain has gone to bed. Hope hedoes, anyway."

  "I should like to say good-bye. But I don't suppose it'll bepossible."

  They separated in the direction of their respective form-rooms. Mikefelt bitter and disappointed at the way the news had been received.Wyatt was his best friend, his pal; and it offended him that theschool should take the tidings of his departure as they had done. Mostof them who had come to him for information had expressed a sort ofsympathy with the absent hero of his story, but the chief sensationseemed to be one of pleasurable excitement at the fact that somethingbig had happened to break the monotony of school routine. They treatedthe thing much as they would have treated the announcement that arecord score had been made in first-class cricket. The school was notso much regretful as comfortably thrilled. And Burgess had actuallycursed before sympathising. Mike felt resentful towards Burgess. As amatter of fact, the cricket captain wrote a letter to Wyatt duringpreparation that night which would have satisfied even Mike's sense ofwhat was fit. But Mike had no opportunity of learning this.

  There was, however, one exception to the general rule, one member ofthe school who did not treat the episode as if it were merely aninteresting and impersonal item of sensational news. Neville-Smithheard of what had happened towards the end of the interval, and rushedoff instantly in search of Mike. He was too late to catch him beforehe went to his form-room, so he waited for him at half-past twelve,when the bell rang for the end of morning school.

  "I say, Jackson, is this true about old Wyatt?"

  Mike nodded.

  "What happened?"

  Mike related the story for the sixteenth time. It was a melancholypleasure to have found a listener who heard the tale in the rightspirit. There was no doubt about Neville-Smith's interest andsympathy. He was silent for a moment after Mike had finished.

  "It was all my fault," he said at length. "If it hadn't been for me,this wouldn't have happened. What a fool I was to ask him to my place!I might have known he would be caught."

  "Oh, I don't know," said Mike.

  "It was absolutely my fault."

  Mike was not equal to the task of soothing Neville-Smith's woundedconscience. He did not attempt it. They walked on without furtherconversation till they reached Wain's gate, where Mike left him.Neville-Smith proceeded on his way, plunged in meditation.

  The result of which meditation was that Burgess got a second shockbefore the day was out. Bob, going over to the nets rather late in theafternoon, came upon the captain of cricket standing apart from hisfellow men with an expression on his face that spoke of mentalupheavals on a vast scale.

  "What's up?" asked Bob.

  "Nothing much," said Burgess, with a forced and grisly calm. "Onlythat, as far as I can see, we shall play Ripton on Saturday with asort of second eleven. You don't happen to have got sacked oranything, by the way, do you?"

  "What's happened now?"

  "Neville-Smith. In extra on Saturday. That's all. Only our first- andsecond-change bowlers out of the team for the Ripton match in one day.I suppose by to-morrow half the others'll have gone, and we shall takethe field on Saturday with a scratch side of kids from the JuniorSchool."

  "Neville-Smith! Why, what's he been doing?"

  "Apparently he gave a sort of supper to celebrate his getting hisfirst, and it was while coming back from that that Wyatt got collared.Well, I'm blowed if Neville-Smith doesn't toddle off to the Old Manafter school to-day and tell him the whole yarn! Said it was all hisfault. What rot! Sort of thing that might have happened to any one. IfWyatt hadn't gone to him, he'd probably have gone out somewhere else."

  "And the Old Man shoved him in extra?"

  "Next two Saturdays."

  "Are Ripton strong this year?" asked Bob, for lack of anything betterto say.

  "Very, from all accounts. They whacked the M.C.C. Jolly hot team ofM.C.C. too. Stronger than the one we drew with."

  "Oh, well, you never know what's going to happen at cricket. I mayhold a catch for a change."

  Burgess grunted.

  Bob went on his way to the nets. Mike was just putting on his pads.

  "I say, Mike," said Bob. "I wanted to see you. It's about Wyatt. I'vethought of something."

  "What's that?"

  "A way of getting him out of that bank. If it comes off, that's tosay."

  "By Jove, he'd jump at anything. What's the idea?"

  "Why shouldn't he get a job of sorts out in the Argentine? There oughtto be heaps of sound jobs going there for a chap like Wyatt. He's ajolly good shot, to start with. I shouldn't wonder if it wasn't rathera score to be able to shoot out there. And he can ride, I know."

  "By Jove, I'll write to father to-night. He must be able to work it, Ishould think. He never chucked the show altogether, did he?"

  Mike, as most other boys of his age would have been, was profoundlyignorant as to the details by which his father's money had been, orwas being, made. He only knew vaguely that the source of revenue hadsomething to do with the Argentine. His brother Joe had been born inBuenos Ayres; and once, three years ago, his father had gone overthere for a visit, presumably on business. All these things seemed toshow that Mr. Jackson senior was a useful man to have about if youwanted a job in that Eldorado, the Argentine Republic.

  As a matter of fact, Mike's father owned vast tracts of land upcountry, where countless sheep lived and had their being. He had longretired from active superintendence of his estate. Like Mr. Spenlow,he had a partner, a stout fellow with the work-taint highly developed,who asked nothing better than to be left in charge. So Mr. Jackson hadreturned to the home of his fathers, glad to be there again. But hestill had a decided voice in the ordering of affairs on the ranches,and Mike was
going to the fountain-head of things when he wrote to hisfather that night, putting forward Wyatt's claims to attention andability to perform any sort of job with which he might be presented.

  The reflection that he had done all that could be done tended toconsole him for the non-appearance of Wyatt either that night or nextmorning--a non-appearance which was due to the simple fact that hepassed that night in a bed in Mr. Wain's dressing-room, the door ofwhich that cautious pedagogue, who believed in taking no chances,locked from the outside on retiring to rest.