Tales of St. Austin's

by P. G. Wodehouse

  _Chapter 4_

  'I shall go, Babe,' said Charteris on the following night.

  The Sixth Form had a slack day before them on the morrow, there being atemporary lull in the form-work which occurred about once a week, whenthere was no composition of any kind to be done. The Sixth did fourcompositions a week, two Greek and two Latin, and except for these didnot bother themselves very much about overnight preparation. The Latinauthors which the form were doing were Livy and Virgil, and when eitherof these were on the next day's programme, most of the Sixth consideredthat they were justified in taking a night off. They relied on theirability to translate both authors at sight and without previousacquaintance. The popular notion that Virgil is hard rarely appeals toa member of a public school. There are two ways of translating Virgil,the conscientious and the other. He prefers the other.

  On this particular night, therefore, work was 'off'. Merevale was overat the Great Hall, taking preparation, and the Sixth-Form Merevalianshad assembled in Charteris's study to talk about things in general. Itwas after a pause of some moments, that had followed upon a livelydiscussion of the House's prospects in the forthcoming final, thatCharteris had spoken.

  'I shall go, Babe,' said he.

  'Go where?' asked Tony, from the depths of a deck-chair.

  'Babe knows.'

  The Babe turned to the company and explained.

  'The lunatic's going in for the strangers' mile at some sports atRutton next week. He'll get booked for a cert. He can't see that. Inever saw such a man.'

  'Rally round,' said Charteris, 'and reason with me. I'll listen. Tony,what do you think about it?'

  Tony expressed his opinion tersely, and Charteris thanked him. Welch,who had been reading, now awoke to the fact that a discussion was inprogress, and asked for details. The Babe explained once more, andWelch heartily corroborated Tony's remarks. Charteris thanked him too.

  'You aren't really going, are you?' asked Welch.

  'Rather,' said Charteris.

  'The Old Man won't give you leave.'

  'Shan't worry the poor man with such trifles.'

  'But it's miles out of bounds. Stapleton station is out of bounds tostart with. It's against rules to go in a train, and Rutton's even moreout of bounds than Stapleton.'

  'And as there are sports there,' said Tony, 'the Old Man is certain toput Rutton specially out of bounds for that day. He always bars a StAustin's chap going to a place when there's anything going on there.'

  'I don't care. What have I to do with the Old Man's petty prejudices?Now, let me get at my time-table. Here we are. Now then.'

  'Don't be a fool,' said Tony,

  'Certainly not. Look here, there's a train starts from Stapleton atthree. I can catch that all right. Gets to Rutton at three-twenty.Sports begin at three-fifteen. At least, they are supposed to. Overbefore five, I should think. At least, my race will be, though I muststop to see the Oldest Inhabitant's nevvy win the egg and spoon canter.But that ought to come on before the strangers' race. Train back at aquarter past five. Arrives at a quarter to six. Lock up six-fifteen.That gives me half an hour to get here from Stapleton. What more do youwant? I shall do it easily, and ... the odds against my being bookedare about twenty-five to one. At which price if any gent present caresto deposit his money, I am willing to take him. Now I'll treat you to atune, if you're good.'

  He went to the cupboard and produced his gramophone. Charteris'smusical instruments had at one time been strictly suppressed by theauthorities, and, in consequence, he had laid in a considerable stockof them. At last, when he discovered that there was no rule against theuse of musical instruments in the House, Merevale had yielded. Thestipulation that Charteris should play only before prep. was rigidlyobserved, except when Merevale was over at the Hall, and the Sixth hadno work. On such occasions Charteris felt justified in breaking throughthe rule. He had a gramophone, a banjo, a penny whistle, and a mouthorgan. The banjo, which he played really well, was the most in request,but the gramophone was also popular.

  'Turn on "Whistling Rufus",' observed Thomson.

  'Whistling Rufus' was duly turned on, giving way after an encore to'Bluebells'.

  'I always weep when I hear this,' said Tony.

  'It _is_ beautiful, isn't it?' said Charteris.

  I'll be your sweetheart, if you--will be--mine, All my life, I'll be your valentine. Bluebells I've gathered--grrhhrh.

  The needle of the gramophone, after the manner of its kind, slippedraspingly over the surface of the wax, and the rest of the ballad waslost.

  'That,' said Charteris, 'is how I feel with regard to the Old Man. I'dbe his sweetheart, if he'd be mine. But he makes no advances, and thestain on my scutcheon is not yet wiped out. I must say I haven't triedgathering bluebells for him yet, nor have I offered my services as aperpetual valentine, but I've been very kind to him in other ways.'

  'Is he still down on you?' asked the Babe.

  'He hasn't done much lately. We're in a state of truce at present. DidI tell you how I scored about Stapleton?'

  'You've only told us about a hundred times,' said the Babe brutally. 'Itell you what, though, he'll score off you if he finds you going toRutton.'

  'Let's hope he won't.'

  'He won't,' said Welch suddenly.

  'Why?'

  'Because you won't go. I'll bet you anything you like that you won'tgo.'

  That settled Charteris. It was the sort of remark that always acted onhim like a tonic. He had been intending to go all the time, but it wasthis speech of Welch's that definitely clinched the matter. One of hismottoes for everyday use was 'Let not thyself be scored off by Welch.'

  'That's all right,' he said. 'Of course I shall go. What's the nextitem you'd like on this machine?'

  The day of the sports arrived, and the Babe, meeting Charteris atMerevale's gate, made a last attempt to head him off from his purpose.

  'How are you going to take your things?' he asked. 'You can't carry abag. The first beak you met would ask questions.'

  If he had hoped that this would be a crushing argument, he wasdisappointed.

  Charteris patted a bloated coat pocket.

  'Bags,' he said laconically. 'Vest,' he added, doing the same to hisother pocket. 'Shoes,' he concluded, 'you will observe I am carrying ina handy brown paper parcel, and if anybody wants to know what's in it,I shall tell them it's acid drops. Sure you won't come, too?'

  'Quite, thanks.'

  'All right. So long then. Be good while I'm gone.'

  And he passed on down the road that led to Stapleton.

  The Rutton Recreation Ground presented, as the _Stapleton Herald_justly remarked in its next week's issue, 'a gay and animatedappearance'. There was a larger crowd than Charteris had expected. Hemade his way through them, resisting without difficulty the entreatiesof a hoarse gentleman in a check suit to have three to two on 'Enerysomething for the hundred yards, and came at last to the dressing-tent.

  At this point it occurred to him that it would be judicious to find outwhen his race was to start. It was rather a chilly day, and the lesstime he spent in the undress uniform of shorts the better. He bought acorrect card for twopence, and scanned it. The strangers' mile was downfor four-fifty. There was no need to change for an hour yet. He wishedthe authorities could have managed to date the event earlier.

  Four-fifty was running it rather fine. The race would be over by aboutfive to five, and it was a walk of some ten minutes to the station,less if he hurried. That would give him ten minutes for recovering fromthe effects of the race, and changing back into his ordinary clothesagain. It would be quick work. But, having come so far, he was notinclined to go back without running in the race. He would never be ableto hold his head up again if he did that. He left the dressing-tent,and started on a tour of the field.

  The scene was quite different from anything he had ever witnessedbefore in the way of sports. The sports at St Austin's were decorous toa degree. These leaned more to the rollickingly convivial. I
t was likean ordinary race-meeting, except that men were running instead ofhorses. Rutton was a quiet little place for the majority of the year,but it woke up on this day, and was evidently out to enjoy itself. TheRural Hooligan was a good deal in evidence, and though he wascomparatively quiet just at present, the frequency with which hevisited the various refreshment stalls that dotted the ground gavepromise of livelier times in the future. Charteris felt that theafternoon would not be dull.

  The hour soon passed, and Charteris, having first seen the OldestInhabitant's nevvy romp home in the egg and spoon event, took himselfoff to the dressing-tent, and began to get into his running clothes.The bell for his race was just ringing when he left the tent. Hetrotted over to the starting place.

  Apparently there was not a very large 'field'. Two weedy-looking youthsof about Charteris's age, dressed in blushing pink, put in anappearance, and a very tall, thin man came up almost immediatelyafterwards. Charteris had just removed his coat, and was about to getto his place on the line, when another competitor arrived, and, tojudge by the applause that greeted his appearance, he was evidently afavourite in the locality. It was with shock that Charteris recognizedhis old acquaintance, the Bargees' secretary.

  He was clad in running clothes of a bright orange and a smile ofconscious superiority, and when somebody in the crowd called out 'Goit, Jarge!' he accepted the tribute as his due, and waved acondescending hand in the speaker's direction.

  Some moments elapsed before he recognized Charteris, and the latter hadtime to decide upon his line of action. If he attempted concealment inany way, the man would recognize that on this occasion, at any rate, hehad, to use an adequate if unclassical expression, got the bulge, andthen there would be trouble. By brazening things out, however, therewas just a chance that he might make him imagine that there was more inthe matter than met the eye, and that, in some mysterious way, he hadactually obtained leave to visit Rutton that day. After all, the mandidn't know very much about School rules, and the recollection of therecent fiasco in which he had taken part would make him think twiceabout playing the amateur policeman again, especially in connectionwith Charteris.

  So he smiled genially, and expressed a hope that the man enjoyed robusthealth.

  The man replied by glaring in a simple and unaffected manner.

  'Looked up the Headmaster lately?' asked Charteris.

  'What are you doing here?'

  'I'm going to run. Hope you don't mind.'

  'You're out of bounds.'

  'That's what you said before. You'd better enquire a bit before youmake rash statements. Otherwise, there's no knowing what may happen.Perhaps Mr Dacre has given me leave.'

  The man said something objurgatory under his breath, but forbore tocontinue the discussion. He was wondering, as Charteris had expectedthat he would, whether the latter had really got leave or not. It was adifficult problem.

  Whether such a result was due to his mental struggles, or whether itwas simply to be attributed to his poor running, is open to question,but the fact remains that the secretary of the Old Crockfordians didnot shine in the strangers' mile. He came in last but one, vanquishingthe pink sportsman by a foot. Charteris, after a hot finish, was beatenon the tape by one of the weedy youths, who exhibited astoundingsprinting powers in the last two hundred yards, overhauling Charteris,who had led all the time, in fine style, and scoring what the_Stapleton Herald_ described as a 'highly popular victory'.

  As soon as he had recovered his normal stock of wind--which was notimmediately--it was borne in upon Charteris that if he wanted to catchthe five-fifteen back to Stapleton, he had better be beginning tochange. He went to the dressing-tent, and on examining his watch washorrified to find that he had just ten minutes in which to doeverything, and the walk to the station, he reflected, was a long fiveminutes. He literally hurled himself into his clothes, and,disregarding the Bargee, who had entered the tent and seemed to wish tocontinue the discussion at the point where they had left off, shot offtowards the gate nearest the station. He had exactly four minutes andtwenty-five seconds in which to complete the journey, and he had justrun a mile.