Mike and Psmith Read online

  2

  SEDLEIGH

  The train, which had been stopping everywhere for the last half hour,pulled up again, and Mike, seeing the name of the station, got up,opened the door, and hurled a bag out on to the platform in an emphaticand vindictive manner. Then he got out himself and looked about him.

  "For the school, sir?" inquired the solitary porter, bustling up, as ifhe hoped by sheer energy to deceive the traveler into thinking thatSedleigh station was staffed by a great army of porters.

  Mike nodded. A somber nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebodyhad met him in 1812, and said, "So you're back from Moscow, eh?" Mikewas feeling thoroughly jaundiced. The future seemed wholly gloomy. And,so far from attempting to make the best of things, he had set himselfdeliberately to look on the dark side. He thought, for instance, that hehad never seen a more repulsive porter, or one more obviouslyincompetent than the man who had attached himself with a firm grasp tothe handle of the bag as he strode off in the direction of the luggagevan. He disliked his voice, his appearance, and the color of his hair.Also the boots he wore. He hated the station, and the man who tookhis ticket.

  "Young gents at the school, sir," said the porter, perceiving fromMike's _distrait_ air that the boy was a stranger to the place, "goes upin the bus mostly. It's waiting here, sir. Hi, George!"

  "I'll walk, thanks," said Mike frigidly.

  "It's a goodish step, sir."

  "Here you are."

  "Thank you, sir. I'll send up your luggage by the bus, sir. Which 'ousewas it you was going to?"

  "Outwood's."

  "Right, sir. It's straight on up this road to the school. You can't missit, sir."

  "Worse luck," said Mike.

  He walked off up the road, sorrier for himself than ever. It was suchabsolutely rotten luck. About now, instead of being on his way to aplace where they probably ran a Halma team instead of a cricket eleven,and played hunt-the-slipper in winter, he would be on the point ofarriving at Wrykyn. And as captain of cricket, at that. Which was thebitter part of it. He had never been in command. For the last twoseasons he had been the star man, going in first, and heading theaverages easily at the end of the season; and the three captains underwhom he had played during his career as a Wrykynian, Burgess, Enderby,and Henfrey, had always been sportsmen to him. But it was not the samething. He had meant to do such a lot for Wrykyn cricket this term. Hehad had an entirely new system of coaching in his mind. Now it mightnever be used. He had handed it on in a letter to Strachan, who would becaptain in his place; but probably Strachan would have some scheme ofhis own. There is nobody who could not edit a paper in the ideal way;and there is nobody who has not a theory of his own about cricketcoaching at school.

  Wrykyn, too, would be weak this year, now that he was no longer there.Strachan was a good, free bat on his day, and, if he survived a fewovers, might make a century in an hour, but he was not to be dependedupon. There was no doubt that Mike's sudden withdrawal meant that Wrykynwould have a bad time that season. And it had been such a wretchedathletic year for the school. The football fifteen had been hopeless,and had lost both the Ripton matches, the return by over sixty points.Sheen's victory in the light weights at Aldershot had been their onesuccess. And now, on top of all this, the captain of cricket was removedduring the Easter holidays. Mike's heart bled for Wrykyn, and he foundhimself loathing Sedleigh and all its works with a great loathing.

  The only thing he could find in its favor was the fact that it was setin a very pretty country. Of a different type from the Wrykyn country,but almost as good. For three miles Mike made his way through woods andpast fields. Once he crossed a river. It was soon after this that hecaught sight, from the top of a hill, of a group of buildings that worean unmistakably schoollike look.

  This must be Sedleigh.

  Ten minutes' walk brought him to the school gates, and a baker's boydirected him to Mr. Outwood's.

  There were three houses in a row, separated from the school buildings bya cricket field. Outwood's was the middle one of these.

  Mike went to the front door and knocked. At Wrykyn he had always chargedin at the beginning of term at the boys' entrance, but this formalreporting of himself at Sedleigh suited his mood.

  He inquired for Mr. Outwood, and was shown into a room lined with books.Presently the door opened, and the housemaster appeared.

  There was something pleasant and homely about Mr. Outwood. In appearancehe reminded Mike of Smee in _Peter Pan_. He had the same eyebrows andpince-nez and the same motherly look.

  "Jackson?" he said mildly.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I am very glad to see you, very glad indeed. Perhaps you would like acup of tea after your journey. I think you might like a cup of tea. Youcome from Crofton, in Shropshire, I understand, Jackson, nearBrindleford? It is a part of the country which I have always wished tovisit. I dare say you have frequently seen the Cluniac Priory of St.Ambrose at Brindleford?"

  Mike, who would not have recognized a Cluniac Priory if you had handedhim one on a tray, said he had not.

  "Dear me! You have missed an opportunity which I should have been gladto have. I am preparing a book on Ruined Abbeys and Priories of England,and it has always been my wish to see the Cluniac Priory of St. Ambrose.A deeply interesting relic of the sixteenth century. Bishop Geoffrey,1133-40--"

  "Shall I go across to the boys' part, sir?"

  "What? Yes. Oh, yes. Quite so. And perhaps you would like a cup of teaafter your journey? No? Quite so. Quite so. You should make a point ofvisiting the remains of the Cluniac Priory in the summer holidays,Jackson. You will find the matron in her room. In many respects it isunique. The northern altar is in a state of really wonderfulpreservation. It consists of a solid block of masonry five feet long andtwo and a half wide, with chamfered plinth, standing quite free from theapse wall. It will well repay a visit. Good-bye for the present,Jackson, good-bye."

  Mike wandered across to the other side of the house, his gloom visiblydeepened. All alone in a strange school, where they probably playedhopscotch, with a housemaster who offered one cups of tea after one'sjourney and talked about chamfered plinths and apses. It was alittle hard.

  He strayed about, finding his bearings, and finally came to a room whichhe took to be the equivalent of the senior day room at a Wrykyn house.Everywhere else he had found nothing but emptiness. Evidently he hadcome by an earlier train than was usual. But this room was occupied.

  A very long, thin youth, with a solemn face and immaculate clothes, wasleaning against the mantelpiece. As Mike entered, he fumbled in his topleft waistcoat pocket, produced an eyeglass attached to a cord, andfixed it in his right eye. With the help of this aid to vision heinspected Mike in silence for a while, then, having flicked an invisiblespeck of dust from the left sleeve of his coat, he spoke.

  "Hello," he said.

  He spoke in a tired voice.

  "Hello," said Mike.

  "Take a seat," said the immaculate one. "If you don't mind dirtying yourbags, that's to say. Personally, I don't see any prospect of eversitting down in this place. It looks to me as if they meant to use thesechairs as mustard-and-cress beds. A Nursery Garden in the Home. Thatsort of idea. My name," he added pensively, "is Smith. What's yours?"