CHAPTER XXXIX
ACHILLES LEAVES HIS TENT
They say misfortunes never come singly. As Mike sat brooding over hiswrongs in his study, after the Sammy incident, Jellicoe came into theroom, and, without preamble, asked for the loan of a sovereign.
When one has been in the habit of confining one's lendings andborrowings to sixpences and shillings, a request for a sovereign comesas something of a blow.
"What on earth for?" asked Mike.
"I say, do you mind if I don't tell you? I don't want to tell anybody.The fact is, I'm in a beastly hole."
"Oh, sorry," said Mike. "As a matter of fact, I do happen to have aquid. You can freeze on to it, if you like. But it's about all I havegot, so don't be shy about paying it back."
Jellicoe was profuse in his thanks, and disappeared in a cloud ofgratitude.
Mike felt that Fate was treating him badly. Being kept in on Saturdaymeant that he would be unable to turn out for Little Borlock againstClaythorpe, the return match. In the previous game he had scoredninety-eight, and there was a lob bowler in the Claythorpe ranks whomhe was particularly anxious to meet again. Having to yield a sovereignto Jellicoe--why on earth did the man want all that?--meant that,unless a carefully worded letter to his brother Bob at Oxford had thedesired effect, he would be practically penniless for weeks.
In a gloomy frame of mind he sat down to write to Bob, who was playingregularly for the 'Varsity this season, and only the previous week hadmade a century against Sussex, so might be expected to be in asufficiently softened mood to advance the needful. (Which, it may bestated at once, he did, by return of post.)
Mike was struggling with the opening sentences of this letter--he wasnever a very ready writer--when Stone and Robinson burst into theroom.
Mike put down his pen, and got up. He was in warlike mood, andwelcomed the intrusion. If Stone and Robinson wanted battle, theyshould have it.
But the motives of the expedition were obviously friendly. Stonebeamed. Robinson was laughing.
"You're a sportsman," said Robinson.
"What did he give you?" asked Stone.
They sat down, Robinson on the table, Stone in Psmith' s deck-chair.Mike's heart warmed to them. The little disturbance in the dormitorywas a thing of the past, done with, forgotten, contemporary withJulius Caesar. He felt that he, Stone and Robinson must learn to knowand appreciate one another.
There was, as a matter of fact, nothing much wrong with Stone andRobinson. They were just ordinary raggers of the type found at everypublic school, small and large. They were absolutely free from brain.They had a certain amount of muscle, and a vast store of animalspirits. They looked on school life purely as a vehicle for ragging.The Stones and Robinsons are the swashbucklers of the school world.They go about, loud and boisterous, with a whole-hearted and cheerfulindifference to other people's feelings, treading on the toes of theirneighbour and shoving him off the pavement, and always with an eyewide open for any adventure. As to the kind of adventure, they are notparticular so long as it promises excitement. Sometimes they gothrough their whole school career without accident. More often theyrun up against a snag in the shape of some serious-minded and muscularperson who objects to having his toes trodden on and being shoved offthe pavement, and then they usually sober down, to the mutualadvantage of themselves and the rest of the community.
One's opinion of this type of youth varies according to one's point ofview. Small boys whom they had occasion to kick, either from pure highspirits or as a punishment for some slip from the narrow path whichthe ideal small boy should tread, regarded Stone and Robinson asbullies of the genuine "Eric" and "St. Winifred's" brand. Masters wererather afraid of them. Adair had a smouldering dislike for them. Theywere useful at cricket, but apt not to take Sedleigh as seriously ashe could have wished.
As for Mike, he now found them pleasant company, and began to get outthe tea-things.
"Those Fire Brigade meetings," said Stone, "are a rag. You can do whatyou like, and you never get more than a hundred lines."
"Don't you!" said Mike. "I got Saturday afternoon."
"What!"
"Is Wilson in too?"
"No. He got a hundred lines."
Stone and Robinson were quite concerned.
"What a beastly swindle!"
"That's because you don't play cricket. Old Downing lets you do whatyou like if you join the Fire Brigade and play cricket."
"'We are, above all, a keen school,'" quoted Stone. "Don't you everplay?"
"I have played a bit," said Mike.
"Well, why don't you have a shot? We aren't such flyers here. If youknow one end of a bat from the other, you could get into some sort ofa team. Were you at school anywhere before you came here?"
"I was at Wrykyn."
"Why on earth did you leave?" asked Stone. "Were you sacked?"
"No. My pater took me away."
"Wrykyn?" said Robinson. "Are you any relation of the Jacksonsthere--J. W. and the others?"
"Brother."
"What!"
"Well, didn't you play at all there?"
"Yes," said Mike, "I did. I was in the team three years, and I shouldhave been captain this year, if I'd stopped on."
There was a profound and gratifying sensation. Stone gaped, andRobinson nearly dropped his tea-cup.
Stone broke the silence.
"But I mean to say--look here! What I mean is, why aren't you playing?Why don't you play now?"
"I do. I play for a village near here. Place called Little Borlock. Aman who played against Wrykyn for the Free Foresters captains them. Heasked me if I'd like some games for them."
"But why not for the school?"
"Why should I? It's much better fun for the village. You don't getordered about by Adair, for a start."
"Adair sticks on side," said Stone.
"Enough for six," agreed Robinson.
"By Jove," said Stone, "I've got an idea. My word, what a rag!"
"What's wrong now?" inquired Mike politely.
"Why, look here. To-morrow's Mid-term Service day. It's nowhere nearthe middle of the term, but they always have it in the fourth week.There's chapel at half-past nine till half-past ten. Then the rest ofthe day's a whole holiday. There are always house matches. We'replaying Downing's. Why don't you play and let's smash them?"
"By Jove, yes," said Robinson. "Why don't you? They're always stickingon side because they've won the house cup three years running. I say,do you bat or bowl?"
"Bat. Why?"
Robinson rocked on the table.
"Why, old Downing fancies himself as a bowler. You _must_ play,and knock the cover off him."
"Masters don't play in house matches, surely?"
"This isn't a real house match. Only a friendly. Downing always turnsout on Mid-term Service day. I say, do play."
"Think of the rag."
"But the team's full," said Mike.
"The list isn't up yet. We'll nip across to Barnes' study, and makehim alter it."
They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of"_Barnes_!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excitedconversation. Then footsteps returning down the passage.
Barnes appeared, on his face the look of one who has seen visions.
"I say," he said, "is it true? Or is Stone rotting? About Wrykyn, Imean."
"Yes, I was in the team."
Barnes was an enthusiastic cricketer. He studied his _Wisden_,and he had an immense respect for Wrykyn cricket.
"Are you the M. Jackson, then, who had an average of fifty-one pointnought three last year?"
"ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON, THEN, WHO HAD AN AVERAGE OFFIFTY-ONE POINT NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"]
"Yes."
Barnes's manner became like that of a curate talking to a bishop.
"I say," he said, "then--er--will you play against Downing's to-morrow?"
"Rather," said Mike. "Thanks awfully. Have some tea?"
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