Tales of St. Austin's

by P. G. Wodehouse

  [7]

  THE BABE AND THE DRAGON

  The annual inter-house football cup at St Austin's lay between Dacre's,who were the holders, and Merevale's, who had been runner-up in theprevious year, and had won it altogether three times out of the lastfive. The cup was something of a tradition in Merevale's, but of lateDacre's had become serious rivals, and, as has been said before, werethe present holders.

  This year there was not much to choose between the two teams. Dacre'shad three of the First Fifteen and two of the Second; Merevale's two ofthe First and four of the Second. St Austin's being not altogether aboarding-school, many of the brightest stars of the teams were dayboys, and there was, of course, always the chance that one of thesewould suddenly see the folly of his ways, reform, and become a memberof a House.

  This frequently happened, and this year it was almost certain to happenagain, for no less a celebrity than MacArthur, commonly known as theBabe, had been heard to state that he was negotiating with his parentsto that end. Which House he would go to was at present uncertain. Hedid not know himself, but it would, he said, probably be one of the twofavourites for the cup. This lent an added interest to the competition,for the presence of the Babe would almost certainly turn the scale. TheBabe's nationality was Scots, and, like most Scotsmen, he could playfootball more than a little. He was the safest, coolest centrethree-quarter the School had, or had had for some time. He shone in allbranches of the game, but especially in tackling. To see the Babespring apparently from nowhere, in the middle of an inter-school match,and bring down with violence a man who had passed the back, was anintellectual treat. Both Dacre's and Merevale's, therefore, yearned forhis advent exceedingly. The reasons which finally decided his choicewere rather curious. They arose in the following manner:

  The Babe's sister was at Girton. A certain Miss Florence Beezley wasalso at Girton. When the Babe's sister revisited the ancestral home atthe end of the term, she brought Miss Beezley with her to spend a week.What she saw in Miss Beezley was to the Babe a matter for wonder, butshe must have liked her, or she would not have gone out of her way toseek her company. Be that as it may, the Babe would have gone a verylong way out of his way to avoid her company. He led a fine, healthy,out-of-doors life during that week, and doubtless did himself a lot ofgood. But times will occur when it is imperative that a man shall beunder the family roof. Meal-times, for instance. The Babe could notsubsist without food, and he was obliged, Miss Beezley or no MissBeezley, to present himself on these occasions. This, by the way, wasin the Easter holidays, so that there was no school to give him anexcuse for absence.

  Breakfast was a nightmare, lunch was rather worse, and as for dinner,it was quite unspeakable. Miss Beezley seemed to gather force duringthe day. It was not the actual presence of the lady that revolted theBabe, for that was passable enough. It was her conversation thatkilled. She refused to let the Babe alone. She was intensely learnedherself, and seemed to take a morbid delight in dissecting hisignorance, and showing everybody the pieces. Also, she persisted incalling him Mr MacArthur in a way that seemed somehow to point out andemphasize his youthfulness. She added it to her remarks as a sort ofafter-thought or echo.

  'Do you read Browning, Mr MacArthur?' she would say suddenly, havingapparently waited carefully until she saw that his mouth was full.

  The Babe would swallow convulsively, choke, blush, and finally say--

  'No, not much.'

  'Ah!' This in a tone of pity not untinged with scorn.

  'When you say "not much", Mr MacArthur, what exactly do you mean? Haveyou read any of his poems?'

  'Oh, yes, one or two.'

  'Ah! Have you read "Pippa Passes"?'

  'No, I think not.'

  'Surely you must know, Mr MacArthur, whether you have or not. Have youread "Fifine at the Fair"?'

  'No.'

  'Have you read "Sordello"?'

  'No.'

  'What _have_ you read, Mr MacArthur?'

  Brought to bay in this fashion, he would have to admit that he had read'The Pied Piper of Hamelin', and not a syllable more, and Miss Beezleywould look at him for a moment and sigh softly. The Babe's subsequentshare in the conversation, provided the Dragon made no furtheronslaught, was not large.

  One never-to-be-forgotten day, shortly before the end of her visit, aseries of horrible accidents resulted in their being left to lunchtogether alone. The Babe had received no previous warning, and when hewas suddenly confronted with this terrible state of affairs he almostswooned. The lady's steady and critical inspection of his style ofcarving a chicken completed his downfall. His previous experience ofcarving had been limited to those entertainments which went by the nameof 'study-gorges', where, if you wanted to help a chicken, you tookhold of one leg, invited an accomplice to attach himself to the other,and pulled.

  But, though unskilful, he was plucky and energetic. He lofted the birdout of the dish on to the tablecloth twice in the first minute.Stifling a mad inclination to call out 'Fore!' or something to thateffect, he laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh, and replaced the errantfowl. When a third attack ended in the same way, Miss Beezley askedpermission to try what she could do. She tried, and in two minutes thechicken was neatly dismembered. The Babe re-seated himself in anover-wrought state.

  'Tell me about St Austin's, Mr MacArthur,' said Miss Beezley, as theBabe was trying to think of something to say--not about the weather.'Do you play football?'

  'Yes.'

  'Ah!'

  A prolonged silence.

  'Do you--' began the Babe at last.

  'Tell me--' began Miss Beezley, simultaneously.

  'I beg your pardon,' said the Babe; 'you were saying--?'

  'Not at all, Mr MacArthur. _You_ were saying--?'

  'I was only going to ask you if you played croquet?'

  'Yes; do you?'

  'No.'

  'Ah!'

  'If this is going to continue,' thought the Babe, 'I shall bereluctantly compelled to commit suicide.'

  There was another long pause.

  'Tell me the names of some of the masters at St Austin's, MrMacArthur,' said Miss Beezley. She habitually spoke as if she were anexamination paper, and her manner might have seemed to some to vergeupon the autocratic, but the Babe was too thankful that the questionwas not on Browning or the higher algebra to notice this. He reeled offa list of names.

  '... Then there's Merevale--rather a decent sort--and Dacre.'

  'What sort of a man is Mr Dacre?'

  'Rather a rotter, I think.'

  'What is a rotter, Mr MacArthur?'

  'Well, I don't know how to describe it exactly. He doesn't play cricketor anything. He's generally considered rather a crock.'

  'Really! This is very interesting, Mr MacArthur. And what is a crock? Isuppose what it comes to,' she added, as the Babe did his best to finda definition, 'is this, that you yourself dislike him.' The Babeadmitted the impeachment. Mr Dacre had a finished gift of sarcasm whichhad made him writhe on several occasions, and sarcastic masters arerarely very popular.

  'Ah!' said Miss Beezley. She made frequent use of that monosyllable. Itgenerally gave the Babe the same sort of feeling as he had beenaccustomed to experience in the happy days of his childhood when he hadbeen caught stealing jam.

  Miss Beezley went at last, and the Babe felt like a convict who hasjust received a free pardon.

  One afternoon in the following term he was playing fives withCharteris, a prefect in Merevale's House. Charteris was remarkable fromthe fact that he edited and published at his own expense an unofficialand highly personal paper, called _The Glow Worm_, which was agreat deal more in demand than the recognized School magazine, _TheAustinian_, and always paid its expenses handsomely.

  Charteris had the journalistic taint very badly. He was always thefirst to get wind of any piece of School news. On this occasion he wasin possession of an exclusive item. The Babe was the first person towhom he communicated it.

  'Have you heard the latest romance in high life
, Babe?' he observed, asthey were leaving the court. 'But of course you haven't. You never dohear anything.'

  'Well?' asked the Babe, patiently.

  'You know Dacre?'

  'I seem to have heard the name somewhere.'

  'He's going to be married.'

  'Yes. Don't trouble to try and look interested. You're one of thoseoffensive people who mind their own business and nobody else's. Only Ithought I'd tell you. Then you'll have a remote chance of understandingmy quips on the subject in next week's _Glow Worm_. You laddiesfrae the north have to be carefully prepared for the subtler flights ofwit.'

  'Thanks,' said the Babe, placidly. 'Good-night.'

  The Headmaster intercepted the Babe a few days after he was going homeafter a scratch game of football. 'MacArthur,' said he, 'you pass MrDacre's House, do you not, on your way home? Then would you mind askinghim from me to take preparation tonight? I find I shall be unable to bethere.' It was the custom at St Austin's for the Head to preside atpreparation once a week; but he performed this duty, like thecelebrated Irishman, as often as he could avoid it.

  The Babe accepted the commission. He was shown into the drawing-room.To his consternation, for he was not a society man, there appeared tobe a species of tea-party going on. As the door opened, somebody wasjust finishing a remark.

  '... faculty which he displayed in such poems as "Sordello",' said thevoice.

  The Babe knew that voice.

  He would have fled if he had been able, but the servant was alreadyannouncing him. Mr Dacre began to do the honours.

  'Mr MacArthur and I have met before,' said Miss Beezley, for it wasshe. 'Curiously enough, the subject which we have just been discussingis one in which he takes, I think, a great interest. I was saying, MrMacArthur, when you came in, that few of Tennyson's works show thepoetic faculty which Browning displays in "Sordello".'

  The Babe looked helplessly at Mr Dacre.

  'I think you are taking MacArthur out of his depth there,' said MrDacre. 'Was there something you wanted to see me about, MacArthur?'

  The Babe delivered his message.

  'Oh, yes, certainly,' said Mr Dacre. 'Shall you be passing the SchoolHouse tonight? If so, you might give the Headmaster my compliments, andsay I shall be delighted.'

  The Babe had had no intention of going out of his way to that extent,but the chance of escape offered by the suggestion was too good to bemissed. He went.

  On his way he called at Merevale's, and asked to see Charteris.

  'Look here, Charteris,' he said, 'you remember telling me that Dacrewas going to be married?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, do you know her name by any chance?'

  'I ken it weel, ma braw Hielander. She is a Miss Beezley.'

  'Great Scott!' said the Babe.

  'Hullo! Why, was your young heart set in that direction? You amaze andpain me, Babe. I think we'd better have a story on the subject in_The Glow Worm_, with you as hero and Dacre as villain. It shallend happily, of course. I'll write it myself.'

  'You'd better,' said the Babe, grimly. 'Oh, I say, Charteris.'

  'Well?'

  'When I come as a boarder, I shall be a House-prefect, shan't I, as I'min the Sixth?'

  'Yes.'

  'And prefects have to go to breakfast and supper, and that sort ofthing, pretty often with the House-beak, don't they?'

  'Such are the facts of the case.'

  'Thanks. That's all. Go away and do some work. Good-night.'

  The cup went to Merevale's that year. The Babe played a singularlybrilliant game for them.

  [8]

  THE MANOEUVRES OF CHARTERIS