School Stories - P. G. Wodehouse (best e book reader TXT) 📗

of rapture, and began to wave his arms like a semaphore. The man in the dogcart was Dr. Adamson.

“Hullo, Charteris,” said the Doctor, pulling up his horse, “what are you doing here?”

“Give me a lift,” said Charteris, “and I’ll tell you. It’s a long yarn. Can I get in?”

“Come along. Plenty of room.”

Charteris climbed up, and sank on to the cushioned seat with a sigh of pleasure. What glorious comfort. He had never enjoyed anything more in his life.

“I’m nearly dead,” he said, as the dogcart went on again. “This is how it all happened. You see, it was this way⁠—”

And he embarked forthwith upon his narrative.

VI

By special request the Doctor dropped Charteris within a hundred yards of Merevale’s door.

“Good night,” he said. “I don’t suppose you will value my advice at all, but you may have it for what it is worth. I recommend you stop this sort of game. Next time something will happen.”

“By Jove, yes,” said Charteris, climbing painfully down from the dogcart, “I’ll take that advice. I’m a reformed character from this day onwards. This sort of thing isn’t good enough. Hullo, there’s the bell for lockup. Good night, Doctor, and thanks most awfully for the lift. It was frightfully kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Dr. Adamson, “it is always a privilege to be in your company. When are you coming to tea with me again?”

“Whenever you’ll have me. I must get leave, though, this time.”

“Yes. By the way, how’s Graham? It is Graham, isn’t it? The fellow who broke his collarbone?”

“Oh, he’s getting on splendidly. Still in a sling, but it’s almost well again now. But I must be off. Good night.”

“Good night. Come to tea next Monday.”

“Right,” said Charteris; “thanks awfully.”

He hobbled in at Merevale’s gate, and went up to his study. The Babe was in there talking to Welch.

“Hullo,” said the Babe, “here’s Charteris.”

“What’s left of him,” said Charteris.

“How did it go off?”

“Don’t, please.”

“Did you win?” asked Welch.

“No. Second. By a yard. Oh, Lord, I am dead.”

“Hot race?”

“Rather. It wasn’t that, though. I had to sprint all the way to the station, and missed my train by ten seconds at the end of it all.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“That was the one stroke of luck I’ve had this afternoon. I started to walk back, and after I’d gone about a quarter of a mile, Adamson caught me up in his dogcart. I suggested that it would be a Christian act on his part to give me a lift, and he did. I shall remember Adamson in my will.”

“Tell us what happened.”

“I’ll tell thee everything I can,” said Charteris. “There’s little to relate. I saw an aged, aged man a-sitting on a gate. Where do you want me to begin?”

“At the beginning. Don’t rot.”

“I was born,” began Charteris, “of poor but honest parents, who sent me to school at an early age in order that I might acquire a grasp of the Greek and Latin languages, now obsolete. I⁠—”

“How did you lose?” enquired the Babe.

“The other man beat me. If he hadn’t, I should have won hands down. Oh, I say, guess who I met at Rutton.”

“Not a beak?”

“No. Almost as bad, though. The Bargee man who paced me from Stapleton. Man who crocked Tony.”

“Great Scott!” cried the Babe. “Did he recognize you?”

“Rather. We had a very pleasant conversation.”

“If he reports you,” began the Babe.

“Who’s that?”

Charteris looked up. Tony Graham had entered the study.

“Hullo, Tony! Adamson told me to remember him to you.”

“So you’ve got back?”

Charteris confirmed the hasty guess.

“But what are you talking about, Babe?” said Tony. “Who’s going to be reported, and who’s going to report?”

The Babe briefly explained the situation.

“If the man,” he said, “reports Charteris, he may get run in tomorrow, and then we shall have both our halves away against Dacre’s. Charteris, you are a fool to go rotting about out of bounds like this.”

“Nay, dry the starting tear,” said Charteris cheerfully. “In the first place, I shouldn’t get kept in on a Thursday anyhow. I should be shoved into extra on Saturday. Also, I shrewdly conveyed to the Bargee the impression that I was at Rutton by special permission.”

“He’s bound to know that that can’t be true,” said Tony.

“Well, I told him to think it over. You see, he got so badly left last time he tried to compass my downfall, that I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he let the job alone this journey.”

“Let’s hope so,” said the Babe gloomily.

“That’s right, Babby,” remarked Charteris encouragingly, nodding at the pessimist.

“You buck up and keep looking on the bright side. It’ll be all right. You see if it won’t. If there’s any running in to be done, I shall do it. I shall be frightfully fit tomorrow after all this dashing about today. I haven’t an ounce of superfluous flesh on me. I’m a fine, strapping specimen of sturdy young English manhood. And I’m going to play a very selfish game tomorrow, Babe.”

“Oh, my dear chap, you mustn’t.” The Babe’s face wore an expression of horror. The success of the House-team in the final was very near to his heart. He could not understand anyone jesting on the subject. Charteris respected his anguish, and relieved it speedily.

“I was only ragging,” he said. “Considering that our three-quarter line is our one strong point, I’m not likely to keep the ball from it, if I get a chance of getting it out. Make your mind easy, Babe.”

The final House-match was always a warmish game. The rivalry between the various Houses was great, and the football cup especially was fought for with immense keenness. Also, the match was the last fixture of the season, and there was a certain feeling in the teams that if they did happen to disable a man or two, it would not matter much. The injured sportsman would not be needed for School-match purposes for another six months. As a result of which philosophical reflection, the tackling was ruled slightly energetic, and