Works of E F Benson

by E. F. Benson

  There came a roar from the ring of spectators round the field, and shouts of derisive laughter from a group of Adams’s boys standing near, and David, forgetting everything else for the moment, added a piercing cat-call whistle to the general hubbub. Tomlin had changed his field with the obvious intention of getting Maddox caught in the slips, sending mid-on there, making the fourth of them. Then he proceeded to bowl a little wide of the off-stump. Maddox had let three balls go by, but the fourth he pulled round to exactly where mid-on had been, and scored four for it. Oh, a great stroke, and no one could tell, perhaps not even Maddox, how it was done.

  There was one more ball of this over, and it was wonderfully important that Maddox should score one or three or five off it, so as to get the bowling again. But it was no use attempting to do anything with such a ball, it was all he could do to play it. So Cruikshank got the bowling. Well, it was better that Cruikshank should face Crawley than Tomlin. If only Tomlin could receive a telegram saying that his father and mother and his three brothers and his four sisters (if he had any) were all seriously ill, and that he had to go home absolutely this minute....

  It was clear that Cruikshank was nervous — David knew of somebody else who was nervous, too — but he presented a dull solid wall to two straight balls. Then, with extreme caution, he lobbed one up in the direction of long-off, and ran like the devil. “Come on,” he shouted to Maddox, for he was just as anxious that Maddox should get the bowling as was the rest of Adams’s.

  Maddox wanted a run as much as anybody, but he was completely taken by surprise at the impudence of this. But there was Cruikshank half way up the pitch, and it meant a wicket lost, if he told him to go back. So he, too, ran like the devil.

  The situation only lasted a couple of seconds, but it made up in quality what it lacked in quantity. If long-off, who already had the ball in his hands, had thrown it in to the end from which Cruikshank had started, he had a good chance of getting Maddox run out, while if he threw it in to the bowler, close to him, he had the practical certainty of running Cruikshank out, which was not nearly so important. Simultaneously both wicket-keeper and bowler shouted “This end!” and he threw it wildly to about the middle of the pitch. And there were fifteen more runs to get to win.

  It seemed to David, as he watched, forgetting himself for a moment or two, that Maddox himself was feeling the strain, especially after this last and unmerited escape. He spooned a ball feebly in the air short, but only just short of point, and the next, though he scored two off it, was the most dangerous stroke, and as unlike as possible to his usual crisp cutting. Still, it might be only that there was something dreadfully unexpected about that ball, which caused him to mistime it. But if only he would kindly not mis-time balls for a little while longer. Then came the last ball of the over, which he hit out at, completely missed it, and was nearly bowled. So Cruikshank had to face the fatal Tomlin.

  There ensued some piercing moments. There was an appeal for a catch at the wickets, confidently made, which was not upheld, and Cruikshank proceeded to play like a clockwork doll, imperfectly wound up. After failing to play two balls altogether, he hit out as hard as he could at the third, intending to drive it, and snicked it between his legs for one. But that gave Maddox the bowling again, and off the last ball he scored one, and thus secured the bowling again.

  A little faint glimmer of hope came into David’s heart. There was a bye for two, which left eleven runs only to get, and perhaps, perhaps he would not have to bat at all. If only Maddox would hit three fours in succession, a feat of which he was perfectly capable, the match would be over, and David thought it would be quite impossible ever to stop shouting again. For nothing in the whole world mattered to him now, except that they should win, and nobody mattered except those two white figures at the wicket. Yet one was Frank, and David so far mastered his trembling knees as to go to the scoring-box to see how many he had made. His score was just eighty, so that he could not get his century, even if he scored the rest himself.

  Rather a pity, but certainly nobody would care less than Frank.

  At the third ball he opened his shoulders, and gave a little skip out to drive, and a celestial stroke it was. The ball flew along the ground, rather to the right of long-off, and it seemed as if it must go for four; but that odious fellow just reached it, stopping it with his foot, made a beautiful return, and instead of four it was a single only. And Cruikshank had the bowling.

  A roar had gone up on account of the smart fielding of the last ball, and was instantly silent again. Now there went up another, not so soon coming to an end, for Cruikshank’s leg-stump had been sent flying. And there were ten more runs to get.

  David got up, put on his cap and then with great deliberation took it off again. He didn’t know if he wanted a cap or not, and it was immensely important to settle that. It was sunny, but the sun was still high, and would not really come in his eyes. But he certainly wanted something to drink, for his throat had suddenly become gritty and dry like the side of a match-box, and he wanted to run away and hide, or to do anything in the world rather than cross that interminable stretch of grass, across which Cruikshank was now walking. But as soon as Cruikshank reached the pavilion he would have to go. That impossible feat had to be accomplished.

  Bags had been sitting by him, thoughtfully eating cherries, after David had refused them, but it was long since he had had any clear consciousness of Bags or of any one else except those white figures in the field. But at this awful moment Bags proved himself a friend in need.

  “Oh, David, how ripping it will be,” he said, in a voice of complete conviction, “that you and Maddox win cock-house match for us.”

  Up till that moment the possibility had literally not entered David’s head: he had been entirely absorbed in the prospect of losing it for them. But this suggestion put a little bit of heart into him, instead of the cold fear.

  “By Gad,” he said, and, drawing a long breath, went down the steps on to the level field.

  The moment he got moving, even though he was only moving to the place of execution, he found that it was not so impossible as it had appeared in anticipation. It had seemed out of the question at this crucially critical period in the history of cricket, which was more important than the history of the world, to face this. But now there he was, going out all alone, bat in hand, and he did not sink into the earth or fall down with a few hollow groans. And then two other things encouraged him further, neither of which he had contemplated. As his tall, slight figure detached itself from the crowd in front of the pavilion a real cheer went up, not from the boys of his house only, but from the school in general. He told himself that they were not cheering him, David Blaize, but only the last actor in this enthralling piece of drama, in spite of which he felt much the healthier for it. And the second thing that encouraged him was far better, for Maddox, leaving the wicket, had come half-way across the ground to meet him and walk back with him.

  “David, old chap, isn’t it ripping,” he said (even as Bags had said), “that it’s you and me? Just the jolliest thing that could happen. Don’t bother about runs; they’ll come all right. Just keep your end up, and don’t take any risks. The bowling’s absolute piffle, so long as you don’t try to hit it.”

  Then they had to part company, each going to his wicket.

  There were, so David remembered with hideous distinctness, two more balls of the over, and after taking middle and leg he had a look round. The two points that struck him most were that the other wicket seemed nightmarishly close to be bowled at from, and that there were apparently about thirty fielders. But then as Crawley walked away to get his run, the rest of David’s nerve, now that the time for action had come, was completely restored to him. He had never felt cooler nor clearer of eye in his life.

  He received his first ball. At first he thought it was going to be a full-pitch, but then he saw it was a yorker. He saw it in time and he heard, sweet as honey to the mouth, the chunk with which it hit the centre o
f his bat close to the end.

  There was no doubt whatever about the second ball: it was a half volley well outside his leg-stump. David made one futile attempt to be prudent and resist the temptation, but he was quite incapable of it, danced out a yard, and smote for all he was worth. He heard the solid impact of the bat, telling him he had hit it correctly, and — there was the ball, already beyond and high above mid-on. It was not worth while starting to run, since this was a boundary-hit, if ever there was one. And — almost more important — this was the end of the over. Opposite he saw Maddox shaking his fist at him, as the roar of applause went up, mingled with shouts from his particular friends of “Well hit, Blazes! Smack ’em about, David,” and he swaggered out of his ground, to slap a perfectly true place on the wicket with his bat. He looked up with a deprecatory smile at Frank.

  “Sorry, I had to,” he said.

  “You little devil!” said the other.

  A silence more intense than ever settled down over the ground, as the last shouts consequent on David’s immortal feat died away, for Tomlin proceeded to send down perhaps the best over he had ever bowled in his life. Once he completely beat Maddox, and must have shaved the varnish off his bails, and from the rest the batsman made no attempt to score, being quite satisfied with stopping them. At the end Anstruther looked round the field.

  “Wace, take an over at Crawley’s end, will you?” he said.

  Then that period, deadly for a newly arrived batsman, had to be gone through, when the fresh bowler has a few practice-balls, and rearranges the field, and it made David fret. Long-on had to be moved two yards nearer, and one yard to the right: cover-point had to go much deeper, point had to come in a little, and the slips went through a mystic dance. This being concluded, Wace proceeded.

  David opened with an appalling stroke, that would have been easily caught by cover, if only Wace had not moved him, and thereupon Wace brought him in again. So David, with an even worse stroke, spooned the ball over his head, so that if he had not been moved the second time, he must have caught it. For this he scored one amid derisive and exultant yells, and Maddox hit at him with his bat as they crossed each other. And there were four more runs to get.

  Then the end came. Maddox played two balls with great care, and the unfortunate Wace then sent him a full pitch to leg. There came the sound of the striking bat; next moment the ball bounded against the palings by the pavilion. And Maddox had played his last house-match.

  Frank waited to see the ball hit the palings, and then ran across the pitch to David.

  “Didn’t I tell you so?” he said. “And wasn’t it ripping that you and I should do that? Hullo, they’re coming for us. Let’s run.”

  All round the ground the crowd had broken up wildly shouting, some going towards the pavilion, but others, headed by a detachment from Adams’s, streaming out on to the pitch. The two boys ran towards the pavilion, dodging the first few of these, but both were caught and carried in starfish-wise. Then again and again, first Maddox alone, then both together, they had to come out on to the balcony, while the house and school generally shouted itself hoarse for this entrancing finish. Indeed, the honours were fairly divided, for if Maddox’s batting had saved the situation to-day, the situation would have been impossible to save if it had not been for David’s bowling yesterday. Then by degrees the crowd dispersed, and the shouting died, and the two sat for a while there, the happiest pair perhaps in all England, blunt and telegraphic with each other.

  “David, you little devil,” said Frank. “Frightful cheek, your hitting that four. Second ball you received, too.”

  David gave a cackle of laughter.

  “Don’t rub it in,” he said. “I apologised. Juicy shot, too. I say, Tomlin sent you down an over of corkers after that.”

  “Nearly spewed with anxiety,” said Frank. “Absolute limit of an over.”

  “Wicked fellow, Tomlin, “ quoth David. “Glad I didn’t get any of them.”

  “So’m I, damn glad. Else—”

  “Of course nobody can bat except yourself,” said David.

  “You can’t, anyhow.”

  “But we’ve won.”

  “Have we really? Don’t interrupt. I should have added that you can bowl.”

  “You can’t,” said David, getting level.

  “No, filthy exercise. I’ll take you down to bathe, if you don’t bar washing, and then I’ll take you to school shop, and you may eat all there is. Lucky I’m flush.”

  “Right oh, thanks awfully,” said David. “But you won’t be flush long.”

  They got up to go, but at the door Maddox paused.

  “Best of all the days I’ve had at school, David,” he said.

  “Same here, “ said David.

  School bathing did not begin for another hour, but Maddox had the sixth-form privilege of bathing whenever he chose, and Adams, whom they ran to catch up on their way down, gave David leave to go with him. He had dutifully and delightedly watched every ball of the match, and had helped to carry David into the pavilion as there was no chance of assisting at the entry of Maddox.

  “Yes, by all means, yes, you — you blest pair of sirens,” he said, quoting from the Milton Ode which was to be sung at concert at the end of the term. “And take care of David, Jonathan, and don’t let him sink from being top-heavy with pride. We shall want him to bowl next year.” They trotted on for a little, in order to arrive at the bathing-place in the greatest possible heat.

  “I say, wasn’t that ripping of him?” said David. “Didn’t know he knew we were pals.”

  “Jolly cute,” observed Maddox.

  “But how did he know? We don’t go about together in public. Lord, here’s the Head coming. Lucky I’ve got leave.”

  They had gone through the gate into the master’s garden, beyond which lay the bathing-place. This was penetrable only by masters and by the sixth-form, and there was no turning back, or avoiding what was to David a rather formidable meeting. It was quite illogical that he should find it so, since he had leave, but he had not met the Head since the interview in the disused class-room, and the halo of terror still shone about his head.

  He nodded kindly to the boys as they dropped into walking pace and took their caps off, and then stopped.

  “Fine innings of yours, Maddox,” he said. “I congratulate you. You too, Blaize. A lot to expect, wasn’t it, that you should howl Mr. Tovey’s eleven out one day, and keep up your wicket to win the match the next? Very glad you did it successfully.”

  David, still rather awed, shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Thanks awfully, sir,” he said. “I — I’ve got leave to bathe from Mr. Adams.”

  The Head looked at him a moment, with a certain merriment lurking below his gravity.

  “Quite sure?” he asked.

  David saw this was a joke, and laughed.

  “I want just a word with you, Maddox,” said the Head. “Will you go on, Blaize?”

  The Head waited a moment.

  “It’s about Blaize I wanted to speak to you, Maddox, “ he said. “How is he getting on? I had to give him a good whipping last term. Is he more — more rational?”

  “He’s come on tremendously sir,” said Maddox. “He’s getting on excellently.”

  “I’m glad you think that, because I believe he’s one of the most promising boys we’ve got, and you know him, I should think, better than any of us.”

  Maddox wondered how on earth the Head knew that. Adams might know; but how did the Head?

  “I don’t want his cricket to interfere with his work,” he said. “The middle fifth had to write an essay last week, and I told Mr. Howliss to send them in to me to look over. All but two or three were dreadful rubbish, but Blaize’s was excellent. And, as you’re a Trinity scholar as well as being captain of the eleven, you can see my point of view. Do you think he’s getting cricket out of focus? He ought to be higher in his form, you know.”

  Maddox shook his head.

  �
�Oh, I don’t think Blaize is a bit unbalanced about his cricket, sir,” he said. “I always rub it in that cricket doesn’t matter. At least I usually do, though I didn’t to-day, because I couldn’t after he’d bowled like that. But I’ll rub it in again after to-morrow.”

  “Why after to-morrow?” asked the Head.