[11]
THE SPORTS
Sports weather at St Austin's was as a rule a quaint but unpleasantsolution of mud, hail, and iced rain. These were taken as a matter ofcourse, and the School counted it as something gained when they werespared the usual cutting east wind.
This year, however, occurred that invaluable exception which is souseful in proving rules. There was no gale, only a gentle breeze. Thesun was positively shining, and there was a general freshness in theair which would have made a cripple cast away his crutches, and, afterbacking himself heavily both ways, enter for the Strangers' HundredYards.
Jim had wandered off alone. He was feeling too nervous at the thoughtof the coming mile and all it meant to him to move in society for thepresent. Charteris, Welch, and Tony, going out shortly before lunch toinspect the track, found him already on the spot, and in a very lowstate of mind.
'Hullo, you chaps,' he said dejectedly, as they came up.
'Hullo.'
'Our James is preoccupied,' said Charteris. 'Why this jaundiced air,Jim? Look at our other Thompson over there.'
'Our other Thompson' was at that moment engaged in conversation withthe Headmaster at the opposite side of the field.
'Look at him,' said Charteris, 'prattling away as merrily as a littleche-ild to the Old Man. You should take a lesson from him.'
'Look here, I say,' said Jim, after a pause, 'I believe there'ssomething jolly queer up between Thompson and the Old Man, and Ibelieve it's about me.'
'What on earth makes you think that?' asked Welch.
'It's his evil conscience,' said Charteris. 'No one who hadn'tcommitted the awful crime that Jim has, could pay the least attentionto anything Thompson said. What does our friend Thucydides remark onthe subject?--
'"_Conscia mens recti, nec si sinit esse dolorem Sed revocare gradum_."
Very well then.'
'But why should you think anything's up?' asked Tony.
'Perhaps nothing is, but it's jolly fishy. You see Thompson and the Old'Un pacing along there? Well, they've been going like that for abouttwenty minutes. I've been watching them.'
'But you can't tell they're talking about you, you rotter,' said Tony.'For all you know they may be discussing the exams.'
'Or why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings,' put inCharteris.
'Or anything,' added Welch profoundly.
'Well, all I know is that Thompson's been doing all the talking, andthe Old Man's been getting more and more riled.'
'Probably Thompson's been demanding a rise of screw or asking for asmall loan or something,' said Charteris. 'How long have you beenwatching them?'
'About twenty minutes.'
'From here?'
'Yes.'
'Why didn't you go and join them? There's nothing like tact. If youwere to go and ask the Old Man why the whale wailed or something afterthat style it 'ud buck him up like a tonic. I wish you would. And thenyou could tell him to tell you all about it and see if you couldn't dosomething to smooth the wrinkles from his careworn brow and let thesunshine of happiness into his heart. He'd like it awfully.'
'Would he!' said Jim grimly. 'Well, I got the chance just now. Thompsonsaid something to him, and he spun round, saw me, and shouted"Thomson". I went up and capped him, and he was starting to saysomething when he seemed to change his mind, and instead of confessingeverything, he took me by the arm, and said, "No, no, Thomson. Go away.It's nothing. I will send for you later."'
'And did you knock him down?' asked Charteris.
'What happened?' said Welch.
'He gave me a shove as if he were putting the weight, and said again,"It's no matter. Go away, Thomson, now." So I went.'
'And you've kept an eye on him ever since?' said Charteris. 'Didn't heseem at all restive?'
'I don't think he noticed me. Thompson had the floor and he was prettywell full up listening to him.'
'I suppose you don't know what it's all about?' asked Tony.
'Must be this Pavilion business.'
'Now, my dear, sweet cherub,' said Charteris, 'don't you go and make anutter idiot of yourself and think you're found out and all that sort ofthing. Even if they suspect you they've got to prove it. There's nosense in your giving them a helping hand in the business. What you'vegot to do is to look normal. Don't overdo it or you'll look like aswashbuckler, and that'll be worse than underdoing it. Can't you makeyourself look less like a convicted forger? For my sake?'
'You really do look a bit off it,' said Welch critically. 'As if youwere sickening for the flu., or something. Doesn't he, Tony?'
'Rather!' said that expert in symptoms. 'You simply must buck up, Jim,or Drake'll walk away from you.'
'It's disappointing,' said Charteris, 'to find a chap who can crack acrib as neatly as you can doubling up like this. Think how CharlesPeace would have behaved under the circs. Don't disgrace him, poorman.'
'Besides,' said Jim, with an attempt at optimism, 'it isn't as if I'dactually done anything, is it?'
'Just so,' said Charteris, 'that's what I've been trying to get you tosee all along. Keep that fact steadily before you, and you'll be allright.'
'There goes the lunch-bell,' said Tony. 'You can always tell Merevale'sbell in a crowd. William rings it as if he was doing it for hishealth.'
William, also known in criminal circles as the Moke, was the gentlemanwho served the House--in a perpetual grin and a suit of livery foursizes too large for him--as a sort of butler.
'He's an artist,' agreed Charteris, as he listened to the performance.'Does it as if he enjoyed it, doesn't he? Well, if we don't want tospoil Merevale's appetite by coming in at half-time, we might bemoving.' They moved accordingly.
The Sports were to begin at two o'clock with a series of hundred-yardsraces, which commenced with the 'under twelve' (Cameron of Prater's awarm man for this, said those who had means of knowing), and culminatedat about a quarter past with the open event, for which Welch was acertainty. By a quarter to the hour the places round the ropes werefilled, and more visitors were constantly streaming in at the twoentrances to the School grounds, while in the centre of the ring theband of the local police force--the military being unavailable owing toexigencies of distance--were seating themselves with the grimdetermination of those who know that they are going to play thesoldiers' chorus out of _Faust_. The band at the Sports had playedthe soldiers' chorus out of _Faust_ every year for decades past,and will in all probability play it for decades to come.
The Sports at St Austin's were always looked forward to by everyonewith the keenest interest, and when the day arrived, were as regularlyvoted slow. In all school sports there are too many foregoneconclusions. In the present instance everybody knew, and none betterthan the competitors themselves, that Welch would win the quarter andhundred. The high jump was an equal certainty for a boy named Reece inHalliday's House. Jackson, unless he were quite out of form, would winthe long jump, and the majority of the other events had already beendecided. The gem of the afternoon would be the mile, for not even theshrewdest judge of form could say whether Jim would beat Drake, orDrake Jim. Both had done equally good times in practice, and both wereknown to be in the best of training. The adherents of Jim pointed tothe fact that he had won the half off Drake--by a narrow margin, true,but still he had won it. The other side argued that a half-mile is nocriterion for a mile, and that if Drake had timed his sprint better hewould probably have won, for he had finished up far more strongly thanhis opponent. And so on the subject of the mile, public opinion was foronce divided.
The field was nearly full by this time. The only clear space outsidethe ropes was where the Headmaster stood to greet and talk about theweather to such parents and guardians and other celebrities as mightpass. This habit of his did not greatly affect the unattached membersof the School, those whose parents lived in distant parts of the worldand were not present on Sports Day, but to St Jones Brown (forinstance) of the Lower Third, towing Mr Brown, senior, round the ring,it was a ne
rvous ordeal to have to stand by while his father and theHead exchanged polite commonplaces. He could not help feeling thatthere was _just a chance_ (horrible thought) that the Head,searching for something to say, might seize upon that little matter ofbroken bounds or shaky examination papers as a subject for discussion.He was generally obliged, when the interview was over, to conduct hisparent to the shop by way of pulling his system together again, thelatter, of course, paying.
At intervals round the ropes Old Austinian number one was meeting OldAustinian number two (whom he emphatically detested, and had hoped toavoid), and was conversing with him in a nervous manner, the clearnessof his replies being greatly handicapped by a feeling, which grew withthe minutes, that he would never be able to get rid of him and go insearch of Old Austinian number three, his bosom friend.
At other intervals, present Austinians of tender years were manoeuvringhalf-companies of sisters, aunts, and mothers, and trying without muchsuccess to pretend that they did not belong to them. A pretence whichcame down heavily when one of the aunts addressed them as 'Willie' or'Phil', and wanted to know audibly if 'that boy who had just passed'(_the_ one person in the School whom they happened to hate anddespise) was their best friend. It was a little trying, too, to have toexplain in the middle of a crowd that the reason why you were notrunning in 'that race' (the 'under thirteen' hundred, by Jove, whichought to have been a gift to you, only, etc.) was because you had beenignominiously knocked out in the trial heats.
In short, the afternoon wore on. Welch won the hundred by two yards andthe quarter by twenty, and the other events fell in nearly every caseto the favourite. The hurdles created something of a surprise--Jackson,who ought to have won, coming down over the last hurdle but two,thereby enabling Dallas to pull off an unexpected victory by a coupleof yards. Vaughan's enthusiastic watch made the time a little undersixteen seconds, but the official timekeeper had other views. Therewere no instances of the timid new boy, at whom previously the worldhad scoffed, walking away with the most important race of the day.
And then the spectators were roused from a state of coma by the soundof the bell ringing for the mile. Old Austinian number one gratefullyseized the opportunity to escape from Old Austinian number two, andlose himself in the crowd. Young Pounceby-Green with equal gratitudeleft his father talking to the Head, and shot off without ceremony toget a good place at the ropes. In fact, there was a general stir ofanticipation, and all round the ring paterfamilias was asking his sonand heir which was Drake and which Thomson, and settling his glassesmore firmly on the bridge of his nose.
The staff of _The Glow Worm_ conducted Jim to the starting-place,and did their best to relieve his obvious nervousness with lightconversation.
'Eh, old chap?' said Jim. He had been saying 'Eh?' to everythingthroughout the afternoon.
'I said, "Is my hat on straight, and does it suit the colour of myeyes?"' said Charteris.
'Oh, yes. Yes, rather. Ripping,' in a far-off voice.
'And have you a theory of the Universe?'
'Eh, old chap?'
'I said, "Did you want your legs rubbed before you start?" I believeit's an excellent specific for the gout.'
'Gout? What? No, I don't think so, thanks.'
'And you'll write to us sometimes, Jim, and give my love to littleHenry, and _always_ wear flannel next your skin, my dear boy?'said Charteris.
This seemed to strike even Jim as irrelevant.
'Do shut up for goodnesssake, Alderman,' he said irritably. 'Why can't you go and rag somebodyelse?'
'My place is by your side. Go, my son, or else they'll be startingwithout you. Give us your blazer. And take my tip, the tip of an oldrunner, and don't pocket your opponent's ball in your own twenty-five.And come back victorious, or on the shields of your soldiers. Allright, sir (to the starter), he's just making his will. Good-bye Jim.Buck up, or I'll lynch you after the race.'
Jim answered by muffling him in his blazer, and walking to the line.There were six competitors in all, each of whom owned a name rankingalphabetically higher than Thomson. Jim, therefore, had the outsideberth. Drake had the one next to the inside, which fell to Adamson, thevictim of the lost two pounds episode.
Both Drake and Jim got off well at the sound of the pistol, and thepace was warm from the start. Jim evidently had his eye on the insideberth, and, after half a lap had been completed, he got it, Drakefalling back. Jim continued to make the running, and led at the end ofthe first lap by about five yards. Then came Adamson, followed by abatch of three, and finally Drake, taking things exceedingly coolly, acouple of yards behind them. The distance separating him from Jim waslittle over a dozen yards. A roar of applause greeted the runners asthey started on the second lap, and it was significant that while Jim'ssupporters shouted, 'Well run', those of Drake were fain to substituteadvice for approval, and cry 'Go it'. Drake, however, had not the leastintention of 'going it' in the generally accepted meaning of thephrase. A yard or two to the rear meant nothing in the first lap, andhe was running quite well enough to satisfy himself, with a nice,springy stride, which he hoped would begin to tell soon.
With the end of the second lap the real business of the race began, forthe survival of the fittest had resulted in eliminations and changes oforder. Jim still led, but now by only eight or nine yards. Drake hadcome up to second, and Adamson had dropped to a bad third. Two of therunners had given the race up, and retired, and the last man was a longway behind, and, to all practical purposes, out of the running. Therewere only three laps, and, as the last lap began, the pace quickened,fast as it had been before. Jim was exerting every particle of hisstrength. He was not a runner who depended overmuch on his final dash.He hoped to gain so much ground before Drake made his sprint as toneutralize it when it came. Adamson he did not fear.
And now they were in the last two hundred yards, Jim by this time somethirty yards ahead, but in great straits. Drake had quickened his pace,and gained slowly on him. As they rounded the corner and came into thestraight, the cheers were redoubled. It was a great race. Then, fiftyyards from the tape, Drake began his final sprint. If he had savedhimself before, he made up for it now. The gap dwindled and dwindled.Neither could improve his pace. It was a question whether there wasenough of the race left for Drake to catch his man, or whether he hadonce more left his sprint till too late. Jim could hear the roars ofthe spectators, and the frenzied appeals of Merevale's House to him tosprint, but he was already doing his utmost. Everything seemed black tohim, a black, surging mist, and in its centre a thin white line, thetape. Could he reach it before Drake? Or would he collapse before hereached it? There were only five more yards to go now, and still heled. Four. Three. Two. Then something white swept past him on theright, the white line quivered, snapped, and vanished, and he pitchedblindly forward on to the turf at the track-side. Drake had won by afoot.
The Pothunters Page 11