by Harold Avery
CHAPTER XII.
THE WRAXBY MATCH.
Wednesday, the twenty-fourth of July, saw the whole of Ronleigh Collegein a state of bustle and excitement. The near approach of the holidayswas sufficient in itself to put every one in high spirits, while, inaddition to this, the afternoon was to witness the chief cricket contestof the season--the annual match against Wraxby Grammar School. Duringthe hour before dinner the ground itself was a scene of brisk activity:the school colours flew at the summit of the flagstaff; the boundaryflags fluttered in the breeze; a number of willing hands, under thedirection of Allingford, put a finishing touch to the pitch with the bigroller, while others assisted in rigging up the two screens of whitecanvas in line with the wickets.
"I do hope we lick them," said little "Rats" to Jack Vance as they stoodby the pavilion, watching Oaks mixing some whiting for the creases;"we _must_ somehow or other."
"Why?"
"Why? because they've beaten us now three times running; and the lasttime when our chaps went over to Wraxby and got licked at footer theircaptain asked Ally if in future we should like to play a master!Such rot!" continued the youthful "Rats," boiling with wrath; "as if wecouldn't smash them without! Look here, I'd give--I'd give sixpence ifwe could win!" and with this burst of patriotic enthusiasm the speakerhurried away to join Maxton, who, with an old sprung racquet in one handand the inside of an exploded cricket-ball in the other, was calling tohim from the adjoining playing field to "Come and play tip and run, andbring something that'll do for a wicket."
The feelings expressed by "Rats" as regards the result of the match wereshared by the whole school, and by none more so than the members of theThird Form.
"The Happy Family" turned up to a man, and encamped _en masse_ upon theturf within twenty yards of the pavilion. Bibbs was the last to arriveon the scene of action, and did so with a bag of sweets in one hand, abook in the other, and a piece of paper, pinned by some joker to thetail of his coat, bearing the legend, "Please to kick me"--a requestwhich was immediately responded to in a most hearty and generous fashionby all present.
Kicking the unfortunate Bibbs afforded every one such exquisiteenjoyment that an effort was made to prolong the pastime by forcibleattempts to fasten the placard on to other members of the company, anda general _melee_, would have followed if the attention of thecombatants had not been attracted in another direction. Ronleigh havingwon the toss and elected to go in first, the Wraxby men strolled out ofthe pavilion to take the field.
They were a likely-looking lot of fellows--the faded flannel caps andcareless way in which they sauntered towards the pitch proclaiming thefact that each one was a veteran player.
"That chap with the wicket-keeping gloves in his hand is Partridge,their captain," said Carton; "and that fellow who's putting out thesingle stump to bowl at is Austin. He does put them in to sometune; you can hardly see the ball, it's so swift."
There was a faint _clang_ from the pitch.
"See that!" cried Fletcher junior: "that chap Austin's knocked thatsingle stump out of the ground first ball. My eye, he'll make ourfellows sit up, I'll bet."
"No, he won't," cried "Rats" excitedly. "Old Ally'll knock him into acocked hat. He'll soon break his back," added the speakercomplaisantly. "Hullo! men in--Parkes and Rowland."
There is something in the short space of time preceding the first_clack_ of the bat at a cricket match which rivals in interest even thatexciting moment at football when the centre forward stands hovering overthe ball waiting for the whistle to give the signal for the contest tocommence.
The noisy clatter of "The Happy Family" ceases as the crowd of boys,ranged all down the sides of the field, turn to watch the opening of thegame.
It is an ideal day for cricket, with a fresh breeze blowing, justsufficient to temper the hot afternoon sunshine and cause a flutter ofcricket-shirts and boundary flags. Rowland takes centre, twists thehandle of his bat round and round in his hands, and is heard amid thegeneral hush to say, "No, no trial." Austin glances round at themotionless figures of his comrades, signals to _long-on_ to stand alittle deeper, and then delivers the ball. With an easy and gracefulforward stroke, the batsman returns it sharply in the direction of theopposite wicket, and an almost imperceptible movement, like thereleasing of a spring, takes place among the fielders. So beginsthe battle.
"Twenty up!" had just been called from the pavilion when a sharp catchin the slips disposed of Parkes.
"Never mind!" cried "Rats." "Here comes old Ally; he'll make them trotround a bit!"
The captain commenced his innings with a heart-warming leg hit, whichsent the ball to the boundary, a wave of legs and arms marking its trackas the spectators, with a joyous yell, rolled over one another to escapebeing hit.
For some time cheer followed cheer, and "The Happy Family" clapped untiltheir hands smarted; then suddenly there arose a prolonged "_Oh, oh!_"from all the field.
"Hullo! what's the matter?" asked Bibbs, looking up from the book he wasreading.
"What's the matter?" shouted Maxton wrathfully, snatching away thevolume and banging Bibbs on the head with it. "Why don't you watch thegame? Old Ally's bowled off his pads!"
It was only too true: the captain's wicket was down, and "The HappyFamily," after a simultaneous ejaculation of "_Blow it!_" tore up stalksof grass, and began to chew them with a stern expression on their faces.
This disaster seemed but the forerunner of others. Redfern, the nextman, had hardly taken his place at the wicket when a sharp _click_, theglitter of bails twirling in the air, and a Wraxby shout of "Wellbowled!" announced his fate; while ten minutes later Rowland, one of themainstays of the home team, was caught in a most provoking manner at_cover-point_.
"Oh, bother it all!" sighed "Rats; this is nothing but a procession."
"Now, Oaks, old chap, do your best for us!" cried Allingford.
"All right," returned the other, laughing, as he paused for a momentoutside the pavilion to fasten the strap of his batting-glove; "I'mgoing to make runs this journey, or die in the attempt."
Oaks was undoubtedly a regular Briton, just the sort of fellow to turnthe fortunes of a losing game. He walked up to the wicket as coolly asthough it were enclosed within a practice net, patted down the groundwith the flat of his bat in a manner which seemed to imply that he had"come to stay," and then proceeded to hit three twos in his first"over."
This dashing commencement was but the prelude to a brilliant bit ofrapid scoring: twos and threes followed each other in quick succession.Allingford shouted, the crowd roared, while "The Happy Family"gambolled about on one another's chests and stomachs, and squealed withdelight. Like the poet's brook, Oaks might have exclaimed, "Men maycome, and men may go, but I go on for ever." When Wraxby changed thebowling, he welcomed the new-comer by sending the first ball into thenext field, and continued to cut and drive in such a gallant manner thateven Bibbs, standing up to get the full use of his lungs, shouted, "Go'long!" and "Well hit!" until his face was the colour of a poppy.
"I say!" exclaimed Carton, as the eighth wicket fell, "I wish one ofthese next two chaps would hang on a bit, and give Oaks a chance ofgetting a few more; it must be nearly eighty up."
"Thurston, you're in!" came from the scorer.
The boy named was sitting by himself, on the end of a form close to thetelegraph, moodily scraping up the ground with the spikes of hiscricket-shoes. He knew that most of his comrades in the eleven wouldgive him the cold shoulder, and so did not mingle with them inside thepavilion. He rose, and prepared to obey the summons.
"Let's give him a cheer," said Rats; "he may do something.--Go it,Thurston! Sit tight, and keep the pot boiling!"
The big fellow turned his head in the direction of "The Happy Family,"and with something of the old good-humoured smile, which had seldom oflate been seen upon his face, answered: "All right, my boy, you see if Idon't."
"Jolly fellow old Thirsty," remarked "Rats," swelling with pride at thisfriendly recognit
ion. "He can play when he likes, but he hasn'ttroubled to practise much of late. He used always--Phew! my eye, whatan awful crack!"
A terrifically swift ball from Austin had risen suddenly from the hardground. Thurston had no time to avoid it, but turning away his face,received the blow on the back of his head. He dropped his bat,staggered away from the wicket, and fell forward on his knees.
To suffer for the cause of the school in a cricket or football match wasa thing which, like charity, "covered a multitude of sins." Allingfordhurried out of the pavilion and ran towards the pitch, while Partridgeand a few more of the "Wraxby men gathered round their wounded opponentand helped him to his feet.
"You'd better come out, Thurston," said the Ronleigh captain; "I'll sendthe next man in."
"No, I'll go on," replied the other, in rather a shaky voice; "I shallbe all right in a minute."
It requires something more than ordinary pluck for a batsman to stand upto fast bowling and show good form after having been badly hit. For atime a great deal of determination, and the exercise of a considerableamount of will power, are necessary to conquer the natural inclinationto shrink from a possible repetition of the injury; and those whowatched the dogged manner in which Thurston continued to defend hiswicket, being themselves practical cricketers, rewarded him with loudshouts of encouragement and praise.
Oaks piled on the score with unflagging energy, while the careful playof his companion defied all attempts of the Wraxby bowlers to dissolvethe partnership.
"Bravo, 'Thirsty!'" shouted the spectators. "Go 'long'--and another!"
At length, just as the telegraph operator had received the welcomeorder, "A hundred up!" the ball shot, and crashed into Thurston'swicket. He came slowly back from the pitch, still holding his hand tothe back of his head; and though his individual score had barely runinto double figures, he was greeted on all sides with hearty cheers.
Payne, the last man, just succeeded in cracking his _duck's-egg_, andthe innings closed for 104.
As the fielders came trooping in, a small boy ran past the Third Formencampment exclaiming, "I say, you chaps, old Punch is in the lowerroad, over by that tree!" Which announcement had no sooner been madethan the greater part of "The Happy Family" sprang to their feet, andwent scampering across the field in the direction of the opposite hedge.
The cause of this stampede, it must be explained, was the arrival of anitinerant vendor of ice-cream, whose real name, Samuel Jones, had beenchanged to Punch on account of the prominence of his nasal organ.His presence within the grounds of Ronleigh College was not approved ofby the authorities, and his trade with the small boys, who were hisparticular patrons, was carried on through a gap in the hedge.Punch's establishment ran on four wheels, and was ornamented with anumber of daubs representing Union Jacks and Royal Standards, whichformed the framework of an alarming portrait of the Prince of Wales,from which adornment one might be led to suppose that on some previousoccasion His Royal Highness had patronized the stall. The ice-creamwas shovelled out of a tin receptacle, and pasted in lumps on to the topof very shallow glasses, the standard price for which was one penny; andthere being a scarcity of spoons, the customers usually devoured thedelicacy in the same manner as a dog does a saucer of milk. Cynicalmembers of the upper classes at Ronleigh, who had ceased to patronizethe stall, charged Punch with not being over-particular in washing theglasses, and of making the "stuff," as they called it, with cornflourinstead of cream. But the small boys were not fastidious; and as eachone had two helpings, which they ate as slowly as possible to prolongthe enjoyment, they were still refreshing themselves when the home teammoved out to field.
"Look sharp!" cried "Rats," giving Bibbs's elbow a sudden jerk whichcaused that worthy to plaster the end of his nose with the remains ofhis third ice. "Come on! let's see the beginning."
The second half of the game proved, if anything, more exciting than thefirst. Two wickets fell before 10 appeared on the telegraph.
"Oh, we shall lick them easily!" cried "Rats" jubilantly; while Fletcherjunior gave vent to his feelings by handing Bibbs's bag of sweets roundto the company.
But there were still some hard nuts to be cracked in the Wraxby team,and one soon appeared in Partridge, the captain. Over after over wentby, and the score rapidly increased: "Thirty up!"--"Forty up!"--"Fiftyup!" Two more wickets were taken; but Partridge seemed to have fairlygot his eye in, and gave the home team as much leather-hunting as Oakshad provided for the visitors. To make matters worse, Austin, arrivingon the scene sixth man in, appeared to be also possessed with adetermination to carry his bat; and though he was eventually run outby a sharp throw-in from square-leg, it was not until eighty runs hadbeen registered for the Grammar School.
The closing scene of the game caused an amount of excitementunparalleled in the history of Ronleigh cricket.
As the last man of the Wraxby team went in to bat, the telegraph waschanged from 90 to 100. "Over" had just been called, and the invinciblePartridge stepped forward to play, evidently making up his mind foranother boundary hit. Thurston had been put on to bowl at the top end,and stood ready to recommence the attack.
"Four to equal, five to beat," sighed "Rats." "Bother it all, they'resure to win."
A cricket match needs to be very narrowly watched, or the spectatorwhose eye has strayed for a moment from the game misses some fine pieceof play. The incident which finished the contest between RonleighCollege and Wraxby Grammar School occupied barely three seconds of time;yet it was remembered and spoken about many years after those concernedin it had passed on to swell the ranks of the "old boys."
Partridge commenced the over with a hard, straight drive, and at thesame instant Thurston gave a little jump into the air with his right armstretched above his head. The ball had passed like lightning betweenthe wickets, and the spectators looked for a moment to see where it hadgone; then a wild shriek of joy from "The Happy Family" rent the air,--
"_Caught!_"
It was true enough. With a splendid one-handed catch Thurston hadbrought the well-fought contest to a close, and secured a victory forRonleigh College.
This brilliant feat, coupled with the gallant manner in which he hadcontinued his innings when hurt, and so enabled Oaks to run up thescore, caused the black sheep of the Sixth Form to be regarded as thehero of the day. Allingford shook him by the hand, and a noisy crowdhoisted him shoulder high and carried him three times round thequadrangle.
Thurston certainly had good reason to feel proud of the part he hadplayed in the chief match of the season, and might in years to come havealways looked back with pleasure on this twenty-fourth of July.Unfortunately another event of a sadly different character was destinedto make it a red-letter day in his career at Ronleigh. The feeling ofrespect and good-will which his prowess in the field had awakened in theminds of his former friends afforded him a splendid opportunity forreassociating himself with all that was worthy and honourable in schoollife. The chance no sooner presented itself, however, than it was flungaway, and was lost for ever.
Evening preparation was over, and supper, an informal meal, attendanceat which was not compulsory, was in progress. The door of Thurston'sstudy was once more locked on the inside, as it had been when Diggorywent to return the match-box to its rightful owner.
Fletcher senior, Hawley, and Gull sat on three sides of the small table,while Thurston himself occupied the fourth.
"Hang it all!" exclaimed the latter, throwing down a handful of playingcards upon the table, and pushing back his chair. "I shan't play anymore to-night; I've got no more tin."
"Oh, go on; I'll lend you some," answered Fletcher. "I don't carewhether I win or lose; it's only the game I play for."
As a matter of fact, Fletcher nearly always _did_ win, and was mightilydispleased on the rare occasions when he lost.
"No; I've borrowed enough already," returned the other. "I shan't beable to square up as it is till next term. It's all very well forfellows like you three, who have ri
ch people, and can write home anytime for a fiver; but I'm not so flush of cash.--Look here, Gull, haveyou got that banjo? Sing us a song."
"All right," answered Gull, reaching down and picking a smallfive-stringed instrument off the floor; "what'll you have?"
"Oh, something with a good swing to it. I feel like kicking up a row."
Gull tuned up, struck a few chords, and then launched out into arattling nigger song with an amount of "go" and clatter sufficient toinspire the hearer with an almost irresistible desire to get up anddance. The three listeners shouted the chorus at the top of theirvoices, pounding the table with their fists by way of a sort of drumaccompaniment. Gull was just preparing to commence the fourth versewhen there was a knock at the study door.
"Wait a jiff," said Thurston.--"Who's there? What d'you want?"
"Why," came the answer, uttered in rather a drawling tone, "I wish youfellows wouldn't make so much row. I can't possibly work. Do bequiet."
"Oh, go to Bath!" shouted Thurston.--"It's only that old stew-potBrowse," he added. "The beggar's got the next study, and he's crammingup for some 'exam.'--Go on, Gull."
The entertainment continued, and waxed more noisy than ever, theperformers hammering the table with a ruler and two walking-sticks toadd zest to the choruses.
Soon there came another interruption, very different in tone from themild expostulation of the studious Browse. The door was violentlyshaken, and from without came the sharp, peremptory order of theschool captain,--
"Look here, Thurston, just shut up; we've had enough of this horriblerow for one night. Stop it, d'you hear?"
"All right," growled the owner of the study; "keep your hair on, oldfellow!"
"Sh! steady on, Thirsty," said Fletcher, in a low tone. "Don't go toofar, or he'll put a stop to our next merry meeting. I know Allingford,and he's rather a hard wall to run your head against."
"That confounded old Browse has gone and sneaked!" cried the other, witha flush of passion on his face. "Let's wait till Ally's gone, and thenmake a raid on the old stew-pot."
Hawley and Gull sprang to their feet with a murmur of assent; Fletchershrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
"What we'll do is this," continued Thurston. "He sits with his back tothe door. I'll pop in first and throw this tablecloth over his head;then, while I hold him down, you chaps upset the things and put out thelight. Then we'll rush out all together, and he won't know for certainwho did it."
Five minutes later the conspirators crept out into the passage, andtip-toed towards the door of the adjoining study. Fletcher lingeredbehind, and, instead of following the expedition, stole softly awayin the opposite direction. Another moment, and the unfortunate Browsewas struggling to rise from his chair, with his head enveloped in thetablecloth. Hawley and Gull, following immediately in rear of theirleader, sent the table, with its load of books and writing materials,over with a crash, threw the chairs into different corners of the room,and were about to scatter the contents of the bookcase over the floor,when Allingford suddenly burst into the room, and stood glaring roundlike an angry lion.
With one swing of his right arm he sent Thurston staggering against thewall, and then, stepping forward without an instant's hesitation, hedealt each of the other marauders a swinging box on the ear.
The two Fifth Form boys were big, strong fellows, and for a moment itseemed as though a stand-up fight would ensue. The captain, however,followed up his attack with amazing promptness, and before hisantagonists had time to think of resistance he had taken them both bythe shoulders and sent them flying into the passage.
"There!" he exclaimed. "I'll teach you gentlemen to come playing prankson Sixth Form studies. What business have you got here, I should liketo know?--As for you," continued the speaker, casting a scornful glanceat the originator of the outrage, "I should have thought a fellow who'sa prefect ought to know better than to go rioting with every scamp inthe school."
Thurston's conduct on the cricket field had clearly proved him to be nocoward. He stood his ground, and returned Allingford's angry glanceswith a look of fierce defiance. He attempted to make some reply, butsomehow the words failed him, and turning on his heel he walked away tohis own study.
"Confound that fellow Fletcher!" he muttered between his teeth."He always takes precious good care to sneak away when there's any rowon. If it wasn't for that money I owe him, I'd punch his head."
Half an hour later there was a sharp rap at the door, and Allingford,Oaks, and Acton entered the room.
"Well," said Thurston, looking up with a frown from the book he wasreading, "what d'you want now? I don't remember asking you fellows tocome and see me. A chap can't call his study his own nowadays."
"No," answered Acton grimly. "If a chap wants to work, a lot ofblackguards come and wreck his furniture."
"Look here, Thurston," said the captain coldly, "we've no wish to stayhere longer than we can help. We've come simply to tell you this--thatafter what's happened to-night the prefects are determined thatto-morrow morning you send in your resignation to the doctor."
"And supposing I don't choose to send in my resignation?" returned theother.
"Then," answered the captain calmly, "we shall send it in for you."
There was a moment's silence; then Thurston rose from his chair, andclosing his book flung it down with a bang upon the table.
"All right," he said; "I'll do it. You fellows have been set against mefrom the first. I know all about it, and before I leave this place I'llpay you out."
"I almost wish we'd left it till after the holidays," said Oaks, as thethree prefects walked down the passage.
"No," said Allingford firmly; "if we hesitate, and the fellows see it,we're lost. It must be done at once."
"Well, perhaps so," answered Oaks; "but I'll tell you this--Thurstonmeans mischief. I wish he was going to leave. He won't forget this ina hurry, and my belief is we shall hear more about it next term."