Mike
Page 42
CHAPTER XLI
THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF JELLICOE
Outwood's rollicked considerably that night. Mike, if he had cared totake the part, could have been the Petted Hero. But a cordialinvitation from the senior day-room to be the guest of the evening atabout the biggest rag of the century had been refused on the plea offatigue. One does not make two hundred and seventy-seven runs on a hotday without feeling the effects, even if one has scored mainly by themedium of boundaries; and Mike, as he lay back in Psmith's deck-chair,felt that all he wanted was to go to bed and stay there for a week.His hands and arms burned as if they were red-hot, and his eyes wereso tired that he could not keep them open.
Psmith, leaning against the mantelpiece, discoursed in a desultory wayon the day's happenings--the score off Mr. Downing, the undeniableannoyance of that battered bowler, and the probability of his ventinghis annoyance on Mike next day.
"In theory," said he, "the manly what-d'you-call-it of cricket and allthat sort of thing ought to make him fall on your neck to-morrow andweep over you as a foeman worthy of his steel. But I am prepared tobet a reasonable sum that he will give no Jiu-jitsu exhibition of thiskind. In fact, from what I have seen of our bright little friend, Ishould say that, in a small way, he will do his best to make itdistinctly hot for you, here and there."
"I don't care," murmured Mike, shifting his aching limbs in the chair.
"In an ordinary way, I suppose, a man can put up with having hisbowling hit a little. But your performance was cruelty to animals.Twenty-eight off one over, not to mention three wides, would have madeJob foam at the mouth. You will probably get sacked. On the otherhand, it's worth it. You have lit a candle this day which can never beblown out. You have shown the lads of the village how ComradeDowning's bowling ought to be treated. I don't suppose he'll ever takeanother wicket."
"He doesn't deserve to."
Psmith smoothed his hair at the glass and turned round again.
"The only blot on this day of mirth and good-will is," he said, "thesingular conduct of our friend Jellicoe. When all the place wasringing with song and merriment, Comrade Jellicoe crept to my side,and, slipping his little hand in mine, touched me for three quid."
This interested Mike, fagged as he was.
"What! Three quid!"
"Three jingling, clinking sovereigns. He wanted four."
"But the man must be living at the rate of I don't know what. It wasonly yesterday that he borrowed a quid from _me_!"
"He must be saving money fast. There appear to be the makings of afinancier about Comrade Jellicoe. Well, I hope, when he's collectedenough for his needs, he'll pay me back a bit. I'm pretty well cleanedout."
"I got some from my brother at Oxford."
"Perhaps he's saving up to get married. We may be helping towardsfurnishing the home. There was a Siamese prince fellow at my dame's atEton who had four wives when he arrived, and gathered in a fifthduring his first summer holidays. It was done on the correspondencesystem. His Prime Minister fixed it up at the other end, and sent himthe glad news on a picture post-card. I think an eye ought to be kepton Comrade Jellicoe."
* * * * *
Mike tumbled into bed that night like a log, but he could not sleep.He ached all over. Psmith chatted for a time on human affairs ingeneral, and then dropped gently off. Jellicoe, who appeared to bewrapped in gloom, contributed nothing to the conversation.
After Psmith had gone to sleep, Mike lay for some time running over inhis mind, as the best substitute for sleep, the various points of hisinnings that day. He felt very hot and uncomfortable.
Just as he was wondering whether it would not be a good idea to get upand have a cold bath, a voice spoke from the darkness at his side.
"Are you asleep, Jackson?"
"Who's that?"
"Me--Jellicoe. I can't get to sleep."
"Nor can I. I'm stiff all over."
"I'll come over and sit on your bed."
There was a creaking, and then a weight descended in the neighbourhoodof Mike's toes.
Jellicoe was apparently not in conversational mood. He uttered no wordfor quite three minutes. At the end of which time he gave a soundmidway between a snort and a sigh.
"I say, Jackson!" he said.
"Yes?"
"Have you--oh, nothing."
Silence again.
"Jackson."
"Hullo?"
"I say, what would your people say if you got sacked?"
"All sorts of things. Especially my pater. Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. So would mine."
"Everybody's would, I expect."
"Yes."
The bed creaked, as Jellicoe digested these great thoughts. Then hespoke again.
"It would be a jolly beastly thing to get sacked."
Mike was too tired to give his mind to the subject. He was not reallylistening. Jellicoe droned on in a depressed sort of way.
"You'd get home in the middle of the afternoon, I suppose, and you'ddrive up to the house, and the servant would open the door, and you'dgo in. They might all be out, and then you'd have to hang about, andwait; and presently you'd hear them come in, and you'd go out into thepassage, and they'd say 'Hullo!'"
Jellicoe, in order to give verisimilitude, as it were, to an otherwisebald and unconvincing narrative, flung so much agitated surprise intothe last word that it woke Mike from a troubled doze into which he hadfallen.
"Hullo?" he said. "What's up?"
"Then you'd say. 'Hullo!' And then they'd say, 'What are you doinghere? 'And you'd say----"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"About what would happen."
"Happen when?"
"When you got home. After being sacked, you know."
"Who's been sacked?" Mike's mind was still under a cloud.
"Nobody. But if you were, I meant. And then I suppose there'd be anawful row and general sickness, and all that. And then you'd be sentinto a bank, or to Australia, or something."
Mike dozed off again.
"My pater would be frightfully sick. My mater would be sick. My sisterwould be jolly sick, too. Have you got any sisters, Jackson? I say,Jackson!"
"Hullo! What's the matter? Who's that?"
"Me--Jellicoe."
"What's up?"
"I asked you if you'd got any sisters."
"Any _what_?"
"Sisters."
"Whose sisters?"
"Yours. I asked if you'd got any."
"Any what?"
"Sisters."
"What about them?"
The conversation was becoming too intricate for Jellicoe. He changedthe subject.
"I say, Jackson!"
"Well?"
"I say, you don't know any one who could lend me a pound, do you?"
"What!" cried Mike, sitting up in bed and staring through the darknessin the direction whence the numismatist's voice was proceeding. "Do_what_?"
"I say, look out. You'll wake Smith."
"Did you say you wanted some one to lend you a quid?"
"Yes," said Jellicoe eagerly. "Do you know any one?"
Mike's head throbbed. This thing was too much. The human brain couldnot be expected to cope with it. Here was a youth who had borrowed apound from one friend the day before, and three pounds from anotherfriend that very afternoon, already looking about him for furtherloans. Was it a hobby, or was he saving up to buy an aeroplane?
"What on earth do you want a pound for?"
"I don't want to tell anybody. But it's jolly serious. I shall getsacked if I don't get it."
Mike pondered.
Those who have followed Mike's career as set forth by the presenthistorian will have realised by this time that he was a good long wayfrom being perfect. As the Blue-Eyed Hero he would have been a rankfailure. Except on the cricket field, where he was a natural genius,he was just ordinary. He resembled ninety per cent. of other membersof English public schools. He had some virtues and a goo
d manydefects. He was as obstinate as a mule, though people whom he likedcould do as they pleased with him. He was good-natured as a generalthing, but on occasion his temper could be of the worst, and had, inhis childhood, been the subject of much adverse comment among hisaunts. He was rigidly truthful, where the issue concerned onlyhimself. Where it was a case of saving a friend, he was prepared toact in a manner reminiscent of an American expert witness.
He had, in addition, one good quality without any defect to balanceit. He was always ready to help people. And when he set himself to dothis, he was never put off by discomfort or risk. He went at the thingwith a singleness of purpose that asked no questions.
Bob's postal order, which had arrived that evening, was reposing inthe breast-pocket of his coat.
It was a wrench, but, if the situation was so serious with Jellicoe,it had to be done.
* * * * *
Two minutes later the night was being made hideous by Jellicoe'salmost tearful protestations of gratitude, and the postal order hadmoved from one side of the dormitory to the other.