Mike - Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (the reading strategies book TXT) 📗

to strike. The immediate cause

of revolt was early-morning fielding-practice, that searching test of

cricket keenness. Mike himself, to whom cricket was the great and

serious interest of life, had shirked early-morning fielding-practice

in his first term at Wrykyn. And Stone and Robinson had but a luke-warm

attachment to the game, compared with Mike’s.

 

As a rule, Adair had contented himself with practice in the afternoon

after school, which nobody objects to; and no strain, consequently,

had been put upon Stone’s and Robinson’s allegiance. In view of the

M.C.C. match on the Wednesday, however, he had now added to this an

extra dose to be taken before breakfast. Stone and Robinson had left

their comfortable beds that day at six o’clock, yawning and heavy-eyed,

and had caught catches and fielded drives which, in the cool morning

air, had stung like adders and bitten like serpents. Until the sun has

really got to work, it is no joke taking a high catch. Stone’s dislike

of the experiment was only equalled by Robinson’s. They were neither of

them of the type which likes to undergo hardships for the common good.

They played well enough when on the field, but neither cared greatly

whether the school had a good season or not. They played the game

entirely for their own sakes.

 

The result was that they went back to the house for breakfast with a

never-again feeling, and at the earliest possible moment met to debate

as to what was to be done about it. At all costs another experience

like to-day’s must be avoided.

 

“It’s all rot,” said Stone. “What on earth’s the good of sweating

about before breakfast? It only makes you tired.”

 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Robinson, “if it wasn’t bad for the heart.

Rushing about on an empty stomach, I mean, and all that sort of

thing.”

 

“Personally,” said Stone, gnawing his bun, “I don’t intend to stick

it.”

 

“Nor do I.”

 

“I mean, it’s such absolute rot. If we aren’t good enough to play for

the team without having to get up overnight to catch catches, he’d

better find somebody else.”

 

“Yes.”

 

At this moment Adair came into the shop.

 

“Fielding-practice again to-morrow,” he said briskly, “at six.”

 

“Before breakfast?” said Robinson.

 

“Rather. You two must buck up, you know. You were rotten to-day.” And

he passed on, leaving the two malcontents speechless.

 

Stone was the first to recover.

 

“I’m hanged if I turn out to-morrow,” he said, as they left the shop.

“He can do what be likes about it. Besides, what can he do, after all?

Only kick us out of the team. And I don’t mind that.”

 

“Nor do I.”

 

“I don’t think he will kick us out, either. He can’t play the M.C.C.

with a scratch team. If he does, we’ll go and play for that village

Jackson plays for. We’ll get Jackson to shove us into the team.”

 

“All right,” said Robinson. “Let’s.”

 

Their position was a strong one. A cricket captain may seem to be an

autocrat of tremendous power, but in reality he has only one weapon,

the keenness of those under him. With the majority, of course, the

fear of being excluded or ejected from a team is a spur that drives.

The majority, consequently, are easily handled. But when a cricket

captain runs up against a boy who does not much care whether he plays

for the team or not, then he finds himself in a difficult position,

and, unless he is a man of action, practically helpless.

 

Stone and Robinson felt secure. Taking it all round, they felt that

they would just as soon play for Lower Borlock as for the school. The

bowling of the opposition would be weaker in the former case, and the

chance of making runs greater. To a certain type of cricketer runs are

runs, wherever and however made.

 

The result of all this was that Adair, turning out with the team next

morning for fielding-practice, found himself two short. Barnes was

among those present, but of the other two representatives of Outwood’s

house there were no signs.

 

Barnes, questioned on the subject, had no information to give, beyond

the fact that he had not seen them about anywhere. Which was not a

great help. Adair proceeded with the fielding-practice without further

delay.

 

At breakfast that morning he was silent and apparently wrapped in

thought. Mr. Downing, who sat at the top of the table with Adair on

his right, was accustomed at the morning meal to blend nourishment of

the body with that of the mind. As a rule he had ten minutes with the

daily paper before the bell rang, and it was his practice to hand on

the results of his reading to Adair and the other house-prefects, who,

not having seen the paper, usually formed an interested and

appreciative audience. To-day, however, though the house-prefects

expressed varying degrees of excitement at the news that Tyldesley had

made a century against Gloucestershire, and that a butter famine was

expected in the United States, these world-shaking news-items seemed

to leave Adair cold. He champed his bread and marmalade with an

abstracted air.

 

He was wondering what to do in this matter of Stone and Robinson.

 

Many captains might have passed the thing over. To take it for granted

that the missing pair had overslept themselves would have been a safe

and convenient way out of the difficulty. But Adair was not the sort

of person who seeks for safe and convenient ways out of difficulties.

He never shirked anything, physical or moral.

 

He resolved to interview the absentees.

 

It was not until after school that an opportunity offered itself. He

went across to Outwood’s and found the two non-starters in the senior

day-room, engaged in the intellectual pursuit of kicking the wall and

marking the height of each kick with chalk. Adair’s entrance coincided

with a record effort by Stone, which caused the kicker to overbalance

and stagger backwards against the captain.

 

“Sorry,” said Stone. “Hullo, Adair!”

 

“Don’t mention it. Why weren’t you two at fielding-practice this

morning?”

 

Robinson, who left the lead to Stone in all matters, said nothing.

Stone spoke.

 

“We didn’t turn up,” he said.

 

“I know you didn’t. Why not?”

 

Stone had rehearsed this scene in his mind, and he spoke with the

coolness which comes from rehearsal.

 

“We decided not to.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. We came to the conclusion that we hadn’t any use for early-morning

fielding.”

 

Adair’s manner became ominously calm.

 

“You were rather fed-up, I suppose?”

 

“That’s just the word.”

 

“Sorry it bored you.”

 

“It didn’t. We didn’t give it the chance to.”

 

Robinson laughed appreciatively.

 

“What’s the joke, Robinson?” asked Adair.

 

“There’s no joke,” said Robinson, with some haste. “I was only

thinking of something.”

 

“I’ll give you something else to think about soon.”

 

Stone intervened.

 

“It’s no good making a row about it, Adair. You must see that you

can’t do anything. Of course, you can kick us out of the team, if you

like, but we don’t care if you do. Jackson will get us a game any

Wednesday or Saturday for the village he plays for. So we’re all

right. And the school team aren’t such a lot of flyers that you can

afford to go chucking people out of it whenever you want to. See what

I mean?”

 

“You and Jackson seem to have fixed it all up between you.”

 

“What are you going to do? Kick us out?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. I thought you’d see it was no good making a beastly row. We’ll

play for the school all right. There’s no earthly need for us to turn

out for fielding-practice before breakfast.”

 

“You don’t think there is? You may be right. All the same, you’re

going to to-morrow morning.”

 

“What!”

 

“Six sharp. Don’t be late.”

 

“Don’t be an ass, Adair. We’ve told you we aren’t going to.”

 

“That’s only your opinion. I think you are. I’ll give you till five

past six, as you seem to like lying in bed.”

 

“You can turn out if you feel like it. You won’t find me there.”

 

“That’ll be a disappointment. Nor Robinson?”

 

“No,” said the junior partner in the firm; but he said it without any

deep conviction. The atmosphere was growing a great deal too tense for

his comfort.

 

“You’ve quite made up your minds?”

 

“Yes,” said Stone.

 

“Right,” said Adair quietly, and knocked him down.

 

He was up again in a moment. Adair had pushed the table back, and was

standing in the middle of the open space.

 

“You cad,” said Stone. “I wasn’t ready.”

 

“Well, you are now. Shall we go on?”

 

Stone dashed in without a word, and for a few moments the two might

have seemed evenly matched to a not too intelligent spectator. But

science tells, even in a confined space. Adair was smaller and lighter

than Stone, but he was cooler and quicker, and he knew more about the

game. His blow was always home a fraction of a second sooner than his

opponent’s. At the end of a minute Stone was on the floor again.

 

He got up slowly and stood leaning with one hand on the table.

 

“Suppose we say ten past six?” said Adair. “I’m not particular to a

minute or two.”

 

Stone made no reply.

 

“Will ten past six suit you for fielding-practice to-morrow?” said

Adair.

 

“All right,” said Stone.

 

“Thanks. How about you, Robinson?”

 

Robinson had been a petrified spectator of the Captain-Kettle-like

manoeuvres of the cricket captain, and it did not take him long to

make up his mind. He was not altogether a coward. In different

circumstances he might have put up a respectable show. But it takes a

more than ordinarily courageous person to embark on a fight which he

knows must end in his destruction. Robinson knew that he was nothing

like a match even for Stone, and Adair had disposed of Stone in a

little over one minute. It seemed to Robinson that neither pleasure

nor profit was likely to come from an encounter with Adair.

 

“All right,” he said hastily, “I’ll turn up.”

 

“Good,” said Adair. “I wonder if either of you chaps could tell me

which is Jackson’s study.”

 

Stone was dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief, a task which

precluded anything in the shape of conversation; so Robinson replied

that Mike’s study was the first you came to on the right of the

corridor at the top of the stairs.

 

“Thanks,” said Adair. “You don’t happen to know if he’s in, I

suppose?”

 

“He went up with Smith a quarter of an hour ago. I don’t know if he’s

still there.”

 

“I’ll go and see,” said Adair. “I should like a word with him if he

isn’t busy.”