Mike Read online

  CHAPTER XLII

  JELLICOE GOES ON THE SICK-LIST

  Mike woke next morning with a confused memory of having listened to agreat deal of incoherent conversation from Jellicoe, and a painfullyvivid recollection of handing over the bulk of his worldly wealth tohim. The thought depressed him, though it seemed to please Jellicoe,for the latter carolled in a gay undertone as he dressed, till Psmith,who had a sensitive ear, asked as a favour that these farm-yardimitations might cease until he was out of the room.

  There were other things to make Mike low-spirited that morning. Tobegin with, he was in detention, which in itself is enough to spoil aday. It was a particularly fine day, which made the matter worse. Inaddition to this, he had never felt stiffer in his life. It seemed tohim that the creaking of his joints as he walked must be audible toevery one within a radius of several yards. Finally, there was theinterview with Mr. Downing to come. That would probably be unpleasant.As Psmith had said, Mr. Downing was the sort of master who would belikely to make trouble. The great match had not been an ordinarymatch. Mr. Downing was a curious man in many ways, but he did not makea fuss on ordinary occasions when his bowling proved expensive.Yesterday's performance, however, stood in a class by itself. It stoodforth without disguise as a deliberate rag. One side does not keepanother in the field the whole day in a one-day match except as agrisly kind of practical joke. And Mr. Downing and his house realisedthis. The house's way of signifying its comprehension of the fact wasto be cold and distant as far as the seniors were concerned, andabusive and pugnacious as regards the juniors. Young blood had beenshed overnight, and more flowed during the eleven o'clock intervalthat morning to avenge the insult.

  Mr. Downing's methods of retaliation would have to be, of necessity,more elusive; but Mike did not doubt that in some way or other hisform-master would endeavour to get a bit of his own back.

  As events turned out, he was perfectly right. When a master has gothis knife into a boy, especially a master who allows himself to beinfluenced by his likes and dislikes, he is inclined to single him outin times of stress, and savage him as if he were the officialrepresentative of the evildoers. Just as, at sea, the skipper, when hehas trouble with the crew, works it off on the boy.

  Mr. Downing was in a sarcastic mood when he met Mike. That is to say,he began in a sarcastic strain. But this sort of thing is difficult tokeep up. By the time he had reached his peroration, the rapier hadgiven place to the bludgeon. For sarcasm to be effective, the user ofit must be met half-way. His hearer must appear to be conscious of thesarcasm and moved by it. Mike, when masters waxed sarcastic towardshim, always assumed an air of stolid stupidity, which was as a suit ofmail against satire.

  So Mr. Downing came down from the heights with a run, and began toexpress himself with a simple strength which it did his form good tolisten to. Veterans who had been in the form for terms said afterwardsthat there had been nothing to touch it, in their experience of theorator, since the glorious day when Dunster, that prince of raggers,who had left at Christmas to go to a crammer's, had introduced threelively grass-snakes into the room during a Latin lesson.

  "You are surrounded," concluded Mr. Downing, snapping his pencil intwo in his emotion, "by an impenetrable mass of conceit and vanity andselfishness. It does not occur to you to admit your capabilities as acricketer in an open, straightforward way and place them at thedisposal of the school. No, that would not be dramatic enough for you.It would be too commonplace altogether. Far too commonplace!" Mr.Downing laughed bitterly. "No, you must conceal your capabilities. Youmust act a lie. You must--who is that shuffling his feet? I will nothave it, I _will_ have silence--you must hang back in order tomake a more effective entrance, like some wretched actor who--I will_not_ have this shuffling. I have spoken of this before. Macpherson,are you shuffling your feet?"

  "Sir, no, sir."

  "Please, sir."

  "Well, Parsons?"

  "I think it's the noise of the draught under the door, sir."

  Instant departure of Parsons for the outer regions. And, in theexcitement of this side-issue, the speaker lost his inspiration, andabruptly concluded his remarks by putting Mike on to translate inCicero. Which Mike, who happened to have prepared the first half-page,did with much success.

  * * * * *

  The Old Boys' match was timed to begin shortly after eleven o'clock.During the interval most of the school walked across the field to lookat the pitch. One or two of the Old Boys had already changed and werepractising in front of the pavilion.

  It was through one of these batsmen that an accident occurred whichhad a good deal of influence on Mike's affairs.

  Mike had strolled out by himself. Half-way across the field Jellicoejoined him. Jellicoe was cheerful, and rather embarrassingly grateful.He was just in the middle of his harangue when the accident happened.

  To their left, as they crossed the field, a long youth, with the faintbeginnings of a moustache and a blazer that lit up the surroundinglandscape like a glowing beacon, was lashing out recklessly at afriend's bowling. Already he had gone within an ace of slaying a smallboy. As Mike and Jellicoe proceeded on their way, there was a shout of"Heads!"

  The almost universal habit of batsmen of shouting "Heads!" at whateverheight from the ground the ball may be, is not a little confusing. Theaverage person, on hearing the shout, puts his hands over his skull,crouches down and trusts to luck. This is an excellent plan if theball is falling, but is not much protection against a skimming drivealong the ground.

  When "Heads!" was called on the present occasion, Mike and Jellicoeinstantly assumed the crouching attitude.

  Jellicoe was the first to abandon it. He uttered a yell and spranginto the air. After which he sat down and began to nurse his ankle.

  The bright-blazered youth walked up.

  "Awfully sorry, you know, man. Hurt?"

  Jellicoe was pressing the injured spot tenderly with his finger-tips,uttering sharp howls whenever, zeal outrunning discretion, he proddedhimself too energetically.

  "Silly ass, Dunster," he groaned, "slamming about like that."

  "Awfully sorry. But I did yell."

  "It's swelling up rather," said Mike. "You'd better get over to thehouse and have it looked at. Can you walk?"

  Jellicoe tried, but sat down again with a loud "Ow!" At that momentthe bell rang.

  "I shall have to be going in," said Mike, "or I'd have helped youover."

  "I'll give you a hand," said Dunster.

  He helped the sufferer to his feet and they staggered off together,Jellicoe hopping, Dunster advancing with a sort of polka step. Mikewatched them start and then turned to go in.