The Pothunters

  Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team

  THE POTHUNTERS

  by P. G. Wodehouse

  1902

  [Dedication]TO JOAN, EFFIE ANDERNESTINE BOWES-LYON

  Contents

  1 Patient Perseverance Produces Pugilistic Prodigies

  2 Thieves Break in and Steal

  3 An Unimportant By-product

  4 Certain Revelations

  5 Concerning the Mutual Friend

  6 A Literary Banquet

  7 Barrett Explores

  8 Barrett Ceases to Explore

  9 Enter the Sleuth-hound

  10 Mr Thompson Investigates

  11 The Sports

  12 An Interesting Interview

  13 Sir Alfred Scores

  14 The Long Run

  15 Mr Roberts Explains

  16 The Disappearance of J. Thomson

  17 'We'll Proceed to Search for Thomson if He Be Above the Ground'

  18 In Which the Affairs of Various Persons Are Wound Up

  [1]

  PATIENT PERSEVERANCE PRODUCES PUGILISTIC PRODIGIES

  'Where _have_ I seen that face before?' said a voice. Tony Grahamlooked up from his bag.

  'Hullo, Allen,' he said, 'what the dickens are you up here for?'

  'I was rather thinking of doing a little boxing. If you've noobjection, of course.'

  'But you ought to be on a bed of sickness, and that sort of thing. Iheard you'd crocked yourself.'

  'So I did. Nothing much, though. Trod on myself during a game of fives,and twisted my ankle a bit.'

  'In for the middles, of course?'

  'Yes.'

  'So am I.'

  'Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman. It says you weigh eleven-three.'

  'Bit more, really, I believe. Shan't be able to have any lunch, or Ishall have to go in for the heavies. What are you?'

  'Just eleven. Well, let's hope we meet in the final.'

  'Rather,' said Tony.

  It was at Aldershot--to be more exact, in the dressing-room of theQueen's Avenue Gymnasium at Aldershot--that the conversation tookplace. From east and west, and north and south, from Dan even untoBeersheba, the representatives of the public schools had assembled tobox, fence, and perform gymnastic prodigies for fame and silver medals.The room was full of all sorts and sizes of them, heavy-weights lookingponderous and muscular, feather-weights diminutive but wiry,light-weights, middle-weights, fencers, and gymnasts in scores, somewearing the unmistakable air of the veteran, for whom Aldershot has nomysteries, others nervous, and wishing themselves back again at school.

  Tony Graham had chosen a corner near the door. This was his firstappearance at Aldershot. St Austin's was his School, and he was by farthe best middle-weight there. But his doubts as to his ability to holdhis own against all-comers were extreme, nor were they lessened by theknowledge that his cousin, Allen Thomson, was to be one of hisopponents. Indeed, if he had not been a man of mettle, he might wellhave thought that with Allen's advent his chances were at an end.

  Allen was at Rugby. He was the son of a baronet who owned many acres inWiltshire, and held fixed opinions on the subject of the whole duty ofman, who, he held, should be before anything else a sportsman. Both theThomsons--Allen's brother Jim was at St Austin's in the same House asTony--were good at most forms of sport. Jim, however, had never takento the art of boxing very kindly, but, by way of compensation, Allenhad skill enough for two. He was a splendid boxer, quick, neat,scientific. He had been up to Aldershot three times, once as afeather-weight and twice as a light-weight, and each time he hadreturned with the silver medal.

  As for Tony, he was more a fighter than a sparrer. When he paid a visitto his uncle's house he boxed with Allen daily, and invariably got theworst of it. Allen was too quick for him. But he was clever with hishands. His supply of pluck was inexhaustible, and physically he was ashard as nails.

  'Is your ankle all right again, now?' he asked.

  'Pretty well. It wasn't much of a sprain. Interfered with my training agood bit, though. I ought by rights to be well under eleven stone.You're all right, I suppose?'

  'Not bad. Boxing takes it out of you more than footer or a race. I wasin good footer training long before I started to get fit for Aldershot.But I think I ought to get along fairly well. Any idea who's in againstus?'

  'Harrow, Felsted, Wellington. That's all, I think.'

  'St Paul's?'

  'No.'

  'Good. Well, I hope your first man mops you up. I've a conscientiousobjection to scrapping with you.'

  Allen laughed. 'You'd be all right,' he said, 'if you weren't sobeastly slow with your guard. Why don't you wake up? You hit likeblazes.'

  'I think I shall start guarding two seconds before you lead. By theway, don't have any false delicacy about spoiling my aristocraticfeatures. On the ground of relationship, you know.'

  'Rather not. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. I'm not Thomson for thepresent. I'm Rugby.'

  'Just so, and I'm St Austin's. Personally, I'm going for the knock-out.You won't feel hurt?'

  This was in the days before the Headmasters' Conference had abolishedthe knock-out blow, and a boxer might still pay attentions to the pointof his opponent's jaw with an easy conscience.

  'I probably shall if it comes off,' said Allen. 'I say, it occurs to methat we shall be weighing-in in a couple of minutes, and I haven'tstarted to change yet. Good, I've not brought evening dress or somebodyelse's footer clothes, as usually happens on these festive occasions.'

  He was just pulling on his last boot when a Gymnasium official appearedin the doorway.

  'Will all those who are entering for the boxing get ready for theweighing-in, please?' he said, and a general exodus ensued.

  The weighing-in at the Public Schools' Boxing Competition is somethingin the nature of a religious ceremony, but even religious ceremoniescome to an end, and after a quarter of an hour or so Tony was weighedin the balance and found correct. He strolled off on a tour ofinspection.

  After a time he lighted upon the St Austin's Gym Instructor, whom hehad not seen since they had parted that morning, the one on his way tothe dressing-room, the other to the refreshment-bar for a modestquencher.

  'Well, Mr Graham?'

  'Hullo, Dawkins. What time does this show start? Do you know when themiddle-weights come on?'

  'Well, you can't say for certain. They may keep 'em back a bit or theymay make a start with 'em first thing. No, the light-weights are goingto start. What number did you draw, sir?'

  'One.'

  'Then you'll be in the first middle-weight pair. That'll be after thesetwo gentlemen.'

  'These two gentlemen', the first of the light-weights, were by thistime in the middle of a warmish opening round. Tony watched them withinterest and envy. 'How beastly nippy they are,' he said.

  'Wish I could duck like that,' he added.

  'Well, the 'ole thing there is you 'ave to watch the other man's eyes.But light-weights is always quicker at the duck than what heavier menare. You get the best boxing in the light-weights, though the feathersspar quicker.'

  Soon afterwards the contest finished, amidst volleys of applause. Ithad been a spirited battle, and an exceedingly close thing. The umpiresdisagreed. After a short consultation, the referee gave it as hisopinion that on the whole R. Cloverdale, of Bedford, had had a shadethe worse of the exchanges, and that in consequence J. Robinson, of StPaul's, was the victor. This was what he meant. What he said was,'Robinson wins,' in a sharp voice, as if somebody were arguing aboutit. The pair then shook hands and retired.

  'First bout, middle-weights,' shrilled the M.C. 'W.P. Ross (Wellington)and A.C.R. Graham (St Austin's).'

  Tony and his opponent retired for a moment
to the changing-room, andthen made their way amidst applause on to the raised stage on which thering was pitched. Mr W.P. Ross proceeded to the farther corner of thering, where he sat down and was vigorously massaged by his two seconds.Tony took the opposite corner and submitted himself to the sameprocess. It is a very cheering thing at any time to have one's arms andlegs kneaded like bread, and it is especially pleasant if one is at allnervous. It sends a glow through the entire frame. Like somebody'ssomething it is both grateful and comforting.

  Tony's seconds were curious specimens of humanity. One was a giganticsoldier, very gruff and taciturn, and with decided leanings towardspessimism. The other was also a soldier. He was in every way hiscolleague's opposite. He was half his size, had red hair, and wasbubbling over with conversation. The other could not interfere with hishair or his size, but he could with his conversation, and whenever heattempted a remark, he was promptly silenced, much to his disgust.

  'Plenty o' moosle 'ere, Fred,' he began, as he rubbed Tony's left arm.

  'Moosle ain't everything,' said the other, gloomily, and there wassilence again.

  'Are you ready? Seconds away,' said the referee.

  'Time!'

  The two stood up to one another.

  The Wellington representative was a plucky boxer, but he was not in thesame class as Tony. After a few exchanges, the latter got to work, andafter that there was only one man in the ring. In the middle of thesecond round the referee stopped the fight, and gave it to Tony, whocame away as fresh as he had started, and a great deal happier and moreconfident.

  'Did us proud, Fred,' began the garrulous man.

  'Yes, but that 'un ain't nothing. You wait till he meets young Thomson.I've seen 'im box 'ere three years, and never bin beat yet. Threebloomin' years. Yus.'

  This might have depressed anybody else, but as Tony already knew allthere was to be known about Allen's skill with the gloves, it had noeffect upon him.

  A sanguinary heavy-weight encounter was followed by the first bout ofthe feathers and the second of the light-weights, and then it wasAllen's turn to fight the Harrow representative.

  It was not a very exciting bout. Allen took things very easily. He knewhis training was by no means all it should have been, and it was nothis game to take it out of himself with any firework business in thetrial heats. He would reserve that for the final. So he sparred threegentle rounds with the Harrow sportsman, just doing sufficient to keepthe lead and obtain the verdict after the last round. He finishedwithout having turned a hair. He had only received one really hardblow, and that had done no damage. After this came a long series offights. The heavy-weights shed their blood in gallons for name andfame. The feather-weights gave excellent exhibitions of science, andthe light-weight pairs were fought off until there remained only thefinal to be decided, Robinson, of St Paul's, against a Charterhouseboxer.

  In the middle-weights there were three competitors still in therunning, Allen, Tony, and a Felsted man. They drew lots, and the byefell to Tony, who put up an uninteresting three rounds with one of thesoldiers, neither fatiguing himself very much. Henderson, of Felsted,proved a much tougher nut to crack than Allen's first opponent. He wasa rushing boxer, and in the first round had, if anything, the best ofit. In the last two, however, Allen gradually forged ahead, gainingmany points by his perfect style alone. He was declared the winner, buthe felt much more tired than he had done after his first fight.

  By the time he was required again, however, he had had plenty ofbreathing space. The final of the light-weights had been decided, andRobinson, of St Paul's, after the custom of Paulines, had set the crownupon his afternoon's work by fighting the Carthusian to a standstill inthe first round. There only remained now the finals of the heavies andmiddles.

  It was decided to take the latter first.

  Tony had his former seconds, and Dawkins had come to his corner to seehim through the ordeal.

  'The 'ole thing 'ere,' he kept repeating, 'is to keep goin' 'ard allthe time and wear 'im out. He's too quick for you to try any sparrin'with.'

  'Yes,' said Tony.

  'The 'ole thing,' continued the expert, 'is to feint with your left and'it with your right.' This was excellent in theory, no doubt, but Tonyfelt that when he came to put it into practice Allen might have otherschemes on hand and bring them off first.

  'Are you ready? Seconds out of the ring.... Time!'

  'Go in, sir, 'ard,' whispered the red-haired man as Tony rose from hisplace.

  Allen came up looking pleased with matters in general. He gave Tony acousinly grin as they shook hands. Tony did not respond. He was feelingserious, and wondering if he could bring off his knock-out before thethree rounds were over. He had his doubts.

  The fight opened slowly. Both were cautious, for each knew the other'spowers. Suddenly, just as Tony was thinking of leading, Allen came inlike a flash. A straight left between the eyes, a right on the side ofthe head, and a second left on the exact tip of the nose, and he wasout again, leaving Tony with a helpless feeling of impotence anddisgust.

  Then followed more sparring. Tony could never get in exactly the rightposition for a rush. Allen circled round him with an occasional feint.Then he hit out with the left. Tony ducked. Again he hit, and againTony ducked, but this time the left stopped halfway, and his rightcaught Tony on the cheek just as he swayed to one side. It staggeredhim, and before he could recover himself, in darted Allen again withanother trio of blows, ducked a belated left counter, got in twostinging hits on the ribs, and finished with a left drive which tookTony clean off his feet and deposited him on the floor beside theropes.

  'Silence, _please_,' said the referee, as a burst of applausegreeted this feat.

  Tony was up again in a moment. He began to feel savage. He had expectedsomething like this, but that gave him no consolation. He made up hismind that he really would rush this time, but just as he was coming in,Allen came in instead. It seemed to Tony for the next half-minute thathis cousin's fists were never out of his face. He looked on the worldthrough a brown haze of boxing-glove. Occasionally his hand metsomething solid which he took to be Allen, but this was seldom, and,whenever it happened, it only seemed to bring him back again like aboomerang. Just at the most exciting point, 'Time' was called.

  The pessimist shook his head gloomily as he sponged Tony's face.

  'You must lead if you want to 'it 'im,' said the garrulous man. 'You'retoo slow. Go in at 'im, sir, wiv both 'ands, an' you'll be all right.Won't 'e, Fred?'

  'I said 'ow it 'ud be,' was the only reply Fred would vouchsafe.

  Tony was half afraid the referee would give the fight against himwithout another round, but to his joy 'Time' was duly called. He cameup to the scratch as game as ever, though his head was singing. Hemeant to go in for all he was worth this round.

  And go in he did. Allen had managed, in performing a complicatedmanoeuvre, to place himself in a corner, and Tony rushed. He was sentout again with a flush hit on the face. He rushed again, and again metAllen's left. Then he got past, and in the confined space had it allhis own way. Science did not tell here. Strength was the thing thatscored, hard half-arm smashes, left and right, at face and body, andthe guard could look after itself.

  Allen upper-cut him twice, but after that he was nowhere. Tony went inwith both hands. There was a prolonged rally, and it was not until'Time' had been called that Allen was able to extricate himself. Tony'sblows had been mostly body blows, and very warm ones at that.

  'That's right, sir,' was the comment of the red-headed second. 'Keep'em both goin' hard, and you'll win yet. You 'ad 'im proper then.'Adn't 'e, Fred?'

  And even the pessimist was obliged to admit that Tony could fight, evenif he was not quick with his guard.

  Allen took the ring slowly. His want of training had begun to tell onhim, and some of Tony's blows had landed in very tender spots. He knewthat he could win if his wind held out, but he had misgivings. Thegloves seemed to weigh down his hands. Tony opened the ball with atremendous rush. Allen stop
ped him neatly. There was an interval whilethe two sparred for an opening. Then Allen feinted and dashed in. Tonydid not hit him once. It was the first round over again. Left right,left right, and, finally, as had happened before, a tremendously hotshot which sent him under the ropes. He got up, and again Allen dartedin. Tony met him with a straight left. A rapid exchange of blows, andthe end came. Allen lashed out with his left. Tony ducked sharply, andbrought his right across with every ounce of his weight behind it,fairly on to the point of the jaw. The right cross-counter isdistinctly one of those things which it is more blessed to give than toreceive. Allen collapsed.

  '... nine ... ten.'

  The time-keeper closed his watch.

  'Graham wins,' said the referee, 'look after that man there.'