13
JELLICOE GOES ON THE SICK LIST
Mike woke next morning with a confused memory of having listened to agreat deal of incoherent conversation from Jellicoe, and a painfullyvivid recollection of handing over the bulk of his worldly wealth tohim. The thought depressed him, though it seemed to please Jellicoe, forthe latter caroled in a gay undertone as he dressed, till Psmith, whohad a sensitive ear, asked as a favor that these farmyard imitationsmight cease until he was out of the room.
There were other things to make Mike low-spirited that morning. To beginwith, he was in detention, which in itself is enough to spoil a day. Itwas a particularly fine day, which made the matter worse. In addition tothis, he had never felt stiffer in his life. It seemed to him that thecreaking of his joints as he walked must be audible to everyone within aradius of several yards. Finally, there was the interview with Mr.Downing to come. That would probably be unpleasant. As Psmith had said,Mr. Downing was the sort of master who would be likely to make trouble.The great match had not been an ordinary match. Mr. Downing was acurious man in many ways, but he did not make a fuss on ordinaryoccasions when his bowling proved expensive. Yesterday's performance,however, stood in a class by itself. It stood forth without disguise asa deliberate rag. One side does not keep another in the field the wholeday in a one-day match except as a grisly kind of practical joke. AndMr. Downing and his house realized this. The house's way of signifyingits comprehension of the fact was to be cold and distant as far as theseniors were concerned, and abusive and pugnacious as regards thejuniors. Young blood had been shed overnight, and more flowed during theeleven-o'-clock interval that morning to avenge the insult.
Mr. Downing's methods of retaliation would have to be, of necessity,more elusive; but Mike did not doubt that in some way or other his formmaster would endeavor to get a bit of his own back.
As events turned out, he was perfectly right. When a master has got hisknife into a boy, especially a master who allows himself to beinfluenced by his likes and dislikes, he is inclined to single him outin times of stress, and savage him as if he were the officialrepresentative of the evildoers. Just as, at sea, the skipper when hehas trouble with the crew, works it off on the boy.
Mr. Downing was in a sarcastic mood when he met Mike. That is to say, hebegan in a sarcastic strain. But this sort of thing is difficult to keepup. By the time he had reached his peroration, the rapier had givenplace to the bludgeon. For sarcasm to be effective, the user of it mustbe met halfway. His hearer must appear to be conscious of the sarcasmand moved by it. Mike, when masters waxed sarcastic toward him, alwaysassumed an air of stolid stupidity, which was as a suit of mailagainst satire.
So Mr. Downing came down from the heights with a run, and began toexpress himself with a simple strength which it did his form good tolisten to. Veterans who had been in the form for terms said afterwardthat there had been nothing to touch it, in their experience of theorator, since the glorious day when Dunster, that prince of raggers, whohad left at Christmas to go to a crammer's, had introduced three livelygrass snakes into the room during a Latin lesson.
"You are surrounded," concluded Mr. Downing, snapping his pencil in twoin his emotion, "by an impenetrable mass of conceit and vanity andselfishness. It does not occur to you to admit your capabilities as acricketer in an open, straightforward way and place them at the disposalof the school. No, that would not be dramatic enough for you. It wouldbe too commonplace altogether. Far too commonplace!" Mr. Downing laughedbitterly. "No, you must conceal your capabilities. You must act a lie.You must--who is that shuffling his feet? I will not have it, I _will_have silence--you must hang back in order to make a more effectiveentrance, like some wretched actor who--I will _not_ have thisshuffling. I have spoken of this before. Macpherson, are you shufflingyour feet?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Please, sir."
"Well, Parsons?"
"I think it's the noise of the draft under the door, sir."
Instant departure of Parsons for the outer regions. And, in theexcitement of this side issue, the speaker lost his inspiration, andabruptly concluded his remarks by putting Mike on to translate inCicero. Which Mike, who happened to have prepared the first half-page,did with much success.
The Old Boys' match was timed to begin shortly after eleven o'clock.During the interval most of the school walked across the field to lookat the pitch. One or two of the Old Boys had already changed and werepracticing in front of the pavilion.
It was through one of these batsmen that an accident occurred which hada good deal of influence on Mike's affairs.
Mike had strolled out by himself. Halfway across the field Jellicoejoined him. Jellicoe was cheerful, and rather embarrassingly grateful.He was just in the middle of his harangue when the accident happened.
To their left, as they crossed the field, a long youth, with the faintbeginnings of a moustache and a blazer that lit up the surroundinglandscape like a glowing beacon, was lashing out recklessly at afriend's bowling. Already he had gone within an ace of slaying a smallboy. As Mike and Jellicoe proceeded on their way, there was a shoutof "Heads!"
The almost universal habit of batsmen of shouting "Heads!" at whateverheight from the ground the ball may be, is not a little confusing. Theaverage person, on hearing the shout, puts his hands over his skull,crouches down and trusts to luck. This is an excellent plan if the ballis falling, but is not much protection against a skimming drive alongthe ground.
When "Heads!" was called on the present occasion, Mike and Jellicoeinstantly assumed the crouching attitude.
Jellicoe was the first to abandon it. He uttered a yell and sprang intothe air. After which he sat down and began to nurse his ankle.
The bright-blazered youth walked up.
"Awfully sorry, you know. Hurt?"
Jellicoe was pressing the injured spot tenderly with his fingertips,uttering sharp howls whenever, zeal outrunning discretion, he proddedhimself too energetically.
"Silly ass, Dunster," he groaned, "slamming about like that."
"Awfully sorry. But I did yell."
"It's swelling up rather," said Mike. "You'd better get over to thehouse and have it looked at. Can you walk?"
Jellicoe tried, but sat down again with a loud "Ow!" At that moment thebell rang.
"I shall have to be going in," said Mike, "or I'd have helped you over."
"I'll give you a hand," said Dunster.
He helped the sufferer to his feet and they staggered off together,Jellicoe hopping, Dunster advancing with a sort of polka step. Mikewatched them start and then turned to go in.
Mike and Psmith Page 13