Tales of St. Austin's, Page 2

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  THE ODD TRICK

  The attitude of Philip St H. Harrison, of Merevale's House, towards hisfellow-man was outwardly one of genial and even sympathetic toleration.Did his form-master intimate that his conduct was not _his_ ideaof what Young England's conduct should be, P. St H. Harrison agreedcheerfully with every word he said, warmly approved his intention oflaying the matter before the Headmaster, and accepted his punishmentwith the air of a waiter booking an order for a chump chop and friedpotatoes. But the next day there would be a squeaking desk in theform-room, just to show the master that he had not been forgotten. Or,again, did the captain of his side at football speak rudely to him onthe subject of kicking the ball through in the scrum, Harrison wouldsmile gently, and at the earliest opportunity tread heavily on thecaptain's toe. In short, he was a youth who made a practice of takingvery good care of himself. Yet he had his failures. The affair ofGraham's mackintosh was one of them, and it affords an excellentexample of the truth of the proverb that a cobbler should stick to hislast. Harrison's _forte_ was diplomacy. When he forsook the artsof the diplomatist for those of the brigand, he naturally went wrong.And the manner of these things was thus.

  Tony Graham was a prefect in Merevale's, and part of his duties was tolook after the dormitory of which Harrison was one of the ornaments. Itwas a dormitory that required a good deal of keeping in order. Suchchoice spirits as Braithwaite of the Upper Fourth, and Mace, who wasrapidly driving the master of the Lower Fifth into a premature grave,needed a firm hand. Indeed, they generally needed not only a firm hand,but a firm hand grasping a serviceable walking-stick. Add to theseHarrison himself, and others of a similar calibre, and it will be seenthat Graham's post was no sinecure. It was Harrison's custom to throwoff his mask at night with his other garments, and appear in his truecharacter of an abandoned villain, willing to stick at nothing as longas he could do it strictly incog. In this capacity he had come intoconstant contact with Graham. Even in the dark it is occasionallypossible for a prefect to tell where a noise comes from. And if thesaid prefect has been harassed six days in the week by a noise, andlocates it suddenly on the seventh, it is wont to be bad for theproducer and patentee of same.

  And so it came about that Harrison, enjoying himself one night, afterthe manner of his kind, was suddenly dropped upon with violence. He hadconstructed an ingenious machine, consisting of a biscuit tin, somepebbles, and some string. He put the pebbles in the tin, tied thestring to it, and placed it under a chest of drawers. Then he took theother end of the string to bed with him, and settled down to make anight of it. At first all went well. Repeated inquiries from Tonyfailed to produce the author of the disturbance, and when finally thequestions ceased, and the prefect appeared to have given the matter upas a bad job, P. St H. Harrison began to feel that under certaincircumstances life was worth living. It was while he was in this happyframe of mind that the string, with which he had just produced atriumphant rattle from beneath the chest of drawers, was seized, andthe next instant its owner was enjoying the warmest minute of achequered career. Tony, like Brer Rabbit, had laid low until he wascertain of the direction from which the sound proceeded. He had thenslipped out of bed, crawled across the floor in a snake-like mannerwhich would have done credit to a Red Indian, found the tin, and tracedthe string to its owner. Harrison emerged from the encounter feelingsore and unfit for any further recreation. This deed of the night leftits impression on Harrison. The account had to be squared somehow, andin a few days his chance came. Merevale's were playing a 'friendly'with the School House, and in default of anybody better, Harrison hadbeen pressed into service as umpire. This in itself had annoyed him.Cricket was not in his line--he was not one of your flannelledfools--and of all things in connection with the game he loathedumpiring most.

  When, however, Tony came on to bowl at his end, _vice_ Charteris,who had been hit for three fours in an over by Scott, the Schoolslogger, he recognized that even umpiring had its advantages, andresolved to make the most of the situation.

  Scott had the bowling, and he lashed out at Tony's first ball in hisusual reckless style. There was an audible click, and what the sportingpapers call confident appeals came simultaneously from Welch,Merevale's captain, who was keeping wicket, and Tony himself. EvenScott seemed to know that his time had come. He moved a step or twoaway from the wicket, but stopped before going farther to look at theumpire, on the off-chance of a miracle happening to turn his decisionin the batsman's favour.

  The miracle happened.

  'Not out,' said Harrison.

  'Awfully curious,' he added genially to Tony, 'how like a bat thosebits of grass sound! You have to be jolly smart to know where a noisecomes from, don't you!'

  Tony grunted disgustedly, and walked back again to the beginning of hisrun.

  If ever, in the whole history of cricket, a man was outleg-before-wicket, Scott was so out to Tony's second ball. It washardly worth appealing for such a certainty. Still, the formality hadto be gone through.

  'How was _that_?' inquired Tony.

  'Not out. It's an awful pity, don't you think, that they don't bring inthat new leg-before rule?'

  'Seems to me,' said Tony bitterly, 'the old rule holds pretty good whena man's leg's bang in front.'

  'Rather. But you see the ball didn't pitch straight, and the rulesays--'

  'Oh, all right,' said Tony.

  The next ball Scott hit for four, and the next after that for a couple.The fifth was a yorker, and just grazed the leg stump. The sixth was abeauty. You could see it was going to beat the batsman from the momentit left Tony's hand. Harrison saw it perfectly.

  'No ball,' he shouted. And just as he spoke Scott's off-stumpricocheted towards the wicket-keeper.

  'Heavens, man,' said Tony, fairly roused out of his cricket manners, avery unusual thing for him. 'I'll swear my foot never went over thecrease. Look, there's the mark.'

  'Rather not. Only, you see, it seemed to me you chucked that time. Ofcourse, I know you didn't mean to, and all that sort of thing, butstill, the rules--'

  Tony would probably have liked to have said something very forcibleabout the rules at this point, but it occurred to him that after allHarrison was only within his rights, and that it was bad form todispute the umpire's decision. Harrison walked off towards square-legwith a holy joy.

  But he was too much of an artist to overdo the thing. Tony's next overpassed off without interference. Possibly, however, this was because itwas a very bad one. After the third over he asked Welch if he could getsomebody else to umpire, as he had work to do. Welch heaved a sigh ofrelief, and agreed readily.

  'Conscientious sort of chap that umpire of yours,' said Scott to Tony,after the match. Scott had made a hundred and four, and was feelingpleased. 'Considering he's in your House, he's awfully fair.'

  'You mean that we generally swindle, I suppose?'

  'Of course not, you rotter. You know what I mean. But, I say, thatcatch Welch and you appealed for must have been a near thing. I couldhave sworn I hit it.'

  'Of course you did. It was clean out. So was the lbw. I say, did youthink that ball that bowled you was a chuck? That one in my first over,you know.'

  'Chuck! My dear Tony, you don't mean to say that man pulled you up forchucking? I thought your foot must have gone over the crease.'

  'I believe the chap's mad,' said Tony.

  'Perhaps he's taking it out of you this way for treading on his cornssomehow. Have you been milling with this gentle youth lately?'

  'By Jove,' said Tony, 'you're right. I gave him beans only the othernight for ragging in the dormitory.'

  Scott laughed.

  'Well, he seems to have been getting a bit of his own back today. Luckythe game was only a friendly. Why will you let your angry passionsrise, Tony? You've wrecked your analysis by it, though it's improved myaverage considerably. I don't know if that's any solid satisfaction toyou.'

  'It isn't.'

  'You don't say so! Well, so long. If I were you, I should k
eep an eyeon that conscientious umpire.'

  'I will,' said Tony. 'Good-night.'

  The process of keeping an eye on Harrison brought no results. When hewished to behave himself well, he could. On such occasions Sandford andMerton were literally not in it with him, and the hero of aSunday-school story would simply have refused to compete. But Nemesis,as the poets tell us, though no sprinter, manages, like the celebratedMaisie, to get right there in time. Give her time, and she will arrive.She arrived in the case of Harrison. One morning, about a fortnightafter the House-match incident, Harrison awoke with a new sensation. Atfirst he could not tell what exactly this sensation was, and being toosleepy to discuss nice points of internal emotion with himself, wasjust turning over with the intention of going to sleep again, when thetruth flashed upon him. The sensation he felt was loneliness, and thereason he felt lonely was because he was the only occupant of thedormitory. To right and left and all around were empty beds.

  As he mused drowsily on these portents, the distant sound of a bellcame to his ears and completed the cure. It was the bell for chapel. Hedragged his watch from under his pillow, and looked at it withconsternation. Four minutes to seven. And chapel was at seven. NowHarrison had been late for chapel before. It was not the thought ofmissing the service that worried him. What really was serious was thathe had been late so many times before that Merevale had hinted atserious steps to be taken if he were late again, or, at any rate, untila considerable interval of punctuality had elapsed.

  That threat had been uttered only yesterday, and here he was in allprobability late once more.

  There was no time to dress. He sprang out of bed, passed a sponge overhis face as a concession to the decencies, and looked round forsomething to cover his night-shirt, which, however suitable fordormitory use, was, he felt instinctively, scarcely the garment to wearin public.

  Fate seemed to fight for him. On one of the pegs in the wall hung amackintosh, a large, blessed mackintosh. He was inside it in a moment.

  Four minutes later he rushed into his place in chapel.

  The short service gave him some time for recovering himself. He leftthe building feeling a new man. His costume, though quaint, would notcall for comment. Chapel at St Austin's was never a full-dressceremony. Mackintoshes covering night-shirts were the rule rather thanthe exception.

  But between his costume and that of the rest there was this subtledistinction. They wore their own mackintoshes. He wore somebody else's.

  The bulk of the School had split up into sections, each section makingfor its own House, and Merevale's was already in sight, when Harrisonfelt himself grasped from behind. He turned, to see Graham.

  'Might I ask,' enquired Tony with great politeness, 'who said you mightwear my mackintosh?'

  Harrison gasped.

  'I suppose you didn't know it was mine?'

  'No, no, rather not. I didn't know.'

  'And if you had known it was mine, you wouldn't have taken it, Isuppose?'

  'Oh no, of course not,' said Harrison. Graham seemed to be taking anunexpectedly sensible view of the situation.

  'Well,' said Tony, 'now that you know that it is mine, suppose you giveit up.'

  'Give it up!'

  'Yes; buck up. It looks like rain, and I mustn't catch cold.'

  'But, Graham, I've only got on--'

  'Spare us these delicate details. Mack up, please, I want it.'

  Finally, Harrison appearing to be difficult in the matter, Tony tookthe garment off for him, and went on his way.

  Harrison watched him go with mixed feelings. Righteous indignationstruggled with the gravest apprehension regarding his own future. IfMerevale should see him! Horrible thought. He ran. He had just reachedthe House, and was congratulating himself on having escaped, when theworst happened. At the private entrance stood Merevale, and with himthe Headmaster himself. They both eyed him with considerable interestas he shot in at the boys' entrance.

  'Harrison,' said Merevale after breakfast.

  'Yes, sir?'

  'The Headmaster wishes to see you--again.'

  'Yes, sir,' said Harrison.

  There was a curious lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

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  L'AFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN(_A Story in Letters_)