Mike

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XVI

  AN EXPERT EXAMINATION

  Mike's Uncle John was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He had beenan army surgeon in the days of his youth, and, after an adventurouscareer, mainly in Afghanistan, had inherited enough money to keep himin comfort for the rest of his life. He had thereupon left theservice, and now spent most of his time flitting from one spot ofEurope to another. He had been dashing up to Scotland on the day whenMike first became a Wrykynian, but a few weeks in an uncomfortablehotel in Skye and a few days in a comfortable one in Edinburgh hadleft him with the impression that he had now seen all that there wasto be seen in North Britain and might reasonably shift his camp again.

  Coming south, he had looked in on Mike's people for a brief space,and, at the request of Mike's mother, took the early express to Wrykynin order to pay a visit of inspection.

  His telegram arrived during morning school. Mike went down to thestation to meet him after lunch.

  Uncle John took command of the situation at once.

  "School playing anybody to-day, Mike? I want to see a match."

  "They're playing Geddington. Only it's away. There's a second matchon."

  "Why aren't you--Hullo, I didn't see. What have you been doing toyourself?"

  "Crocked my wrist a bit. It's nothing much."

  "How did you do that?"

  "Slipped while I was changing after cricket."

  "Hurt?"

  "Not much, thanks."

  "Doctor seen it?"

  "No. But it's really nothing. Be all right by Monday."

  "H'm. Somebody ought to look at it. I'll have a look later on."

  Mike did not appear to relish this prospect.

  "It isn't anything, Uncle John, really. It doesn't matter a bit."

  "Never mind. It won't do any harm having somebody examine it who knowsa bit about these things. Now, what shall we do. Go on the river?"

  "I shouldn't be able to steer."

  "I could manage about that. Still, I think I should like to see theplace first. Your mother's sure to ask me if you showed me round. It'slike going over the stables when you're stopping at a country-house.Got to be done, and better do it as soon as possible."

  It is never very interesting playing the part of showman at school.Both Mike and his uncle were inclined to scamp the business. Mikepointed out the various landmarks without much enthusiasm--it is onlyafter one has left a few years that the school buildings take tothemselves romance--and Uncle John said, "Ah yes, I see. Very nice,"two or three times in an absent voice; and they passed on to thecricket field, where the second eleven were playing a neighbouringengineering school. It was a glorious day. The sun had never seemed toMike so bright or the grass so green. It was one of those days whenthe ball looks like a large vermilion-coloured football as it leavesthe bowler's hand. If ever there was a day when it seemed to Mike thata century would have been a certainty, it was this Saturday. A sudden,bitter realisation of all he had given up swept over him, but hechoked the feeling down. The thing was done, and it was no goodbrooding over the might-have-beens now. Still--And the Geddingtonground was supposed to be one of the easiest scoring grounds of allthe public schools!

  "Well hit, by George!" remarked Uncle John, as Trevor, who had gone infirst wicket for the second eleven, swept a half-volley to leg roundto the bank where they were sitting.

  "That's Trevor," said Mike. "Chap in Donaldson's. The fellow at theother end is Wilkins. He's in the School House. They look as if theywere getting set. By Jove," he said enviously, "pretty good funbatting on a day like this."

  Uncle John detected the envious note.

  "I suppose you would have been playing here but for your wrist?"

  "No, I was playing for the first."

  "For the first? For the school! My word, Mike, I didn't know that. Nowonder you're feeling badly treated. Of course, I remember your fathersaying you had played once for the school, and done well; but Ithought that was only as a substitute. I didn't know you were aregular member of the team. What bad luck. Will you get anotherchance?"

  "Depends on Bob."

  "Has Bob got your place?"

  Mike nodded.

  "If he does well to-day, they'll probably keep him in."

  "Isn't there room for both of you?"

  "Such a lot of old colours. There are only three vacancies, andHenfrey got one of those a week ago. I expect they'll give one of theother two to a bowler, Neville-Smith, I should think, if he does wellagainst Geddington. Then there'll be only the last place left."

  "Rather awkward, that."

  "Still, it's Bob's last year. I've got plenty of time. But I wish Icould get in this year."

  After they had watched the match for an hour, Uncle John's restlessnature asserted itself.

  "Suppose we go for a pull on the river now?" he suggested.

  They got up.

  "Let's just call at the shop," said Mike. "There ought to be atelegram from Geddington by this time. I wonder how Bob's got on."

  Apparently Bob had not had a chance yet of distinguishing himself. Thetelegram read, "Geddington 151 for four. Lunch."

  "Not bad that," said Mike. "But I believe they're weak in bowling."

  They walked down the road towards the school landing-stage.

  "The worst of a school," said Uncle John, as he pulled up-stream withstrong, unskilful stroke, "is that one isn't allowed to smoke on thegrounds. I badly want a pipe. The next piece of shade that you see,sing out, and we'll put in there."

  "Pull your left," said Mike. "That willow's what you want."

  Uncle John looked over his shoulder, caught a crab, recovered himself,and steered the boat in under the shade of the branches.

  "Put the rope over that stump. Can you manage with one hand? Here, letme--Done it? Good. A-ah!"

  He blew a great cloud of smoke into the air, and sighed contentedly.

  "I hope you don't smoke, Mike?"

  "No."

  "Rotten trick for a boy. When you get to my age you need it. Boysought to be thinking about keeping themselves fit and being good atgames. Which reminds me. Let's have a look at the wrist."

  A hunted expression came into Mike's eyes.

  "It's really nothing," he began, but his uncle had already removed thesling, and was examining the arm with the neat rapidity of one who hasbeen brought up to such things.

  To Mike it seemed as if everything in the world was standing still andwaiting. He could hear nothing but his own breathing.

  His uncle pressed the wrist gingerly once or twice, then gave it alittle twist.

  "That hurt?" he asked.

  "Ye--no," stammered Mike.

  Uncle John looked up sharply. Mike was crimson.

  "What's the game?" inquired Uncle John.

  Mike said nothing.

  There was a twinkle in his uncle's eyes.

  "May as well tell me. I won't give you away. Why this wounded warriorbusiness when you've no more the matter with you than I have?"

  Mike hesitated.

  "I only wanted to get out of having to write this morning. There wasan exam, on."

  The idea had occurred to him just before he spoke. It had struck himas neat and plausible.

  To Uncle John it did not appear in the same light.

  "Do you always write with your left hand? And if you had gone with thefirst eleven to Geddington, wouldn't that have got you out of yourexam? Try again."

  When in doubt, one may as well tell the truth. Mike told it.

  "I know. It wasn't that, really. Only----"

  "Well?"

  "Oh, well, dash it all then. Old Bob got me out of an awful row theday before yesterday, and he seemed a bit sick at not playing for thefirst, so I thought I might as well let him. That's how it was. Lookhere, swear you won't tell him."

  Uncle John was silent. Inwardly he was deciding that the fiveshillings which he had intended to bestow on Mike on his departureshould become a sovereign. (This, it may be mentioned as aninteresting biographical
fact, was the only occasion in his lifeon which Mike earned money at the rate of fifteen shillings ahalf-minute.)

  "Swear you won't tell him. He'd be most frightfully sick if he knew."

  "I won't tell him."

  Conversation dwindled to vanishing-point. Uncle John smoked on inweighty silence, while Mike, staring up at the blue sky through thebranches of the willow, let his mind wander to Geddington, where hisfate was even now being sealed. How had the school got on? What hadBob done? If he made about twenty, would they give him his cap?Supposing....

  A faint snore from Uncle John broke in on his meditations. Then therewas a clatter as a briar pipe dropped on to the floor of the boat, andhis uncle sat up, gaping.

  "Jove, I was nearly asleep. What's the time? Just on six? Didn't knowit was so late."

  "I ought to be getting back soon, I think. Lock-up's at half-past."

  "Up with the anchor, then. You can tackle that rope with two handsnow, eh? We are not observed. Don't fall overboard. I'm going to shoveher off."

  "There'll be another telegram, I should think," said Mike, as theyreached the school gates.

  "Shall we go and look?"

  They walked to the shop.

  A second piece of grey paper had been pinned up under the first. Mikepushed his way through the crowd. It was a longer message this time.

  It ran as follows:

  "Geddington 247 (Burgess six wickets, Neville-Smith four). Wrykyn 270 for nine (Berridge 86, Marsh 58, Jackson 48)."

  Mike worked his way back through the throng, and rejoined his uncle.

  "Well?" said Uncle John.

  "We won."

  He paused for a moment.

  "Bob made forty-eight," he added carelessly.

  Uncle John felt in his pocket, and silently slid a sovereign intoMike's hand.

  It was the only possible reply.