A Prefect's Uncle

by P. G. Wodehouse

  [2]

  INTRODUCES AN UNUSUAL UNCLE

  On the following day, at nine o'clock, the term formally began. Thereis nothing of Black Monday about the first day of term at a publicschool. Black Monday is essentially a private school institution.

  At Beckford the first day of every term was a half holiday. During themorning a feeble pretence of work was kept up, but after lunch theschool was free, to do as it pleased and to go where it liked. The netswere put up for the first time, and the School professional emerged atlast from his winter retirement with his, 'Coom _right_ out to'em, sir, right forward', which had helped so many Beckford cricketersto do their duty by the School in the field. There was one net for theelect, the remnants of last year's Eleven and the 'probables' for thisseason, and half a dozen more for lesser lights.

  At the first net Norris was batting to the bowling of Gosling, a long,thin day boy, Gethryn, and the professional--as useful a trio as anyschool batsman could wish for. Norris was captain of the team thisyear, a sound, stylish bat, with a stroke after the manner of Tyldesleybetween cover and mid-off, which used to make Miles the professionalalmost weep with joy. But today he had evidently not quite got intoform. Twice in successive balls Gosling knocked his leg stump out ofthe ground with yorkers, and the ball after that, Gethryn upset hismiddle with a beauty.

  'Hat-trick, Norris,' shouted Gosling.

  'Can't see 'em a bit today. Bowled, Bishop.'

  A second teaser from Gethryn had almost got through his defence. TheBishop was undoubtedly a fine bowler. Without being quite so fast asGosling, he nevertheless contrived to work up a very considerable speedwhen he wished to, and there was always something in every ball hebowled which made it necessary for the batsman to watch it all the way.In matches against other schools it was generally Gosling who took thewickets. The batsmen were bothered by his pace. But when the M.C.C. orthe Incogniti came down, bringing seasoned county men who knew whatfast bowling really was, and rather preferred it on the whole to slow,then Gethryn was called upon.

  Most Beckfordians who did not play cricket on the first day of termwent on the river. A few rode bicycles or strolled out into the countryin couples, but the majority, amongst whom on this occasion wasMarriott, sallied to the water and hired boats. Marriott was one of thesix old cricket colours--the others were Norris, Gosling, Gethryn,Reece, and Pringle of the School House--who formed the foundation ofthis year's Eleven. He was not an ornamental bat, but stood quite alonein the matter of tall hitting. Twenty minutes of Marriott when in formwould often completely alter the course of a match. He had been givenhis colours in the previous year for making exactly a hundred insixty-one minutes against the Authentics when the rest of the team hadcontributed ninety-eight. The Authentics made a hundred andeighty-four, so that the School just won; and the story of how therewere five men out in the deep for him, and how he put the slow bowlerover their heads and over the ropes eight times in three overs, hadpassed into a school legend.

  But today other things than cricket occupied his attention. He had runWilson to earth, and was engaged in making his acquaintance, accordingto instructions received.

  'Are you Wilson?' he asked. 'P.V. Wilson?'

  Wilson confirmed the charge.

  'My name's Marriott. Does that convey any significance to your youngmind?'

  'Oh, yes. My mater knows somebody who knows your aunt.'

  'It is a true bill.'

  'And she said you would look after me. I know you won't have time, ofcourse.'

  'I expect I shall have time to give you all the looking after you'llrequire. It won't be much, from all I've heard. Was all that true aboutyou and young Skinner?'

  Wilson grinned.

  'I did have a bit of a row with a chap called Skinner,' he admitted.

  'So Skinner seems to think,' said Marriott. 'What was it all about?'

  'Oh, he made an ass of himself,' said Wilson vaguely.

  Marriott nodded.

  'He would. I know the man. I shouldn't think you'd have much troublewith Skinner in the future. By the way, I've got you for a fag thisterm. You don't have to do much in the summer. Just rot around, youknow, and go to the shop for biscuits and things, that's all. And,within limits of course, you get the run of the study.'

  'I see,' said Wilson gratefully. The prospect was pleasant.

  'Oh yes, and it's your privilege to pipe-clay my cricket bootsoccasionally before First matches. You'll like that. Can you steer aboat?'

  'I don't think so. I never tried.'

  'It's easy enough. I'll tell you what to do. Anyhow, you probably won'tsteer any worse than I row, so let's go and get a boat out, and I'lltry and think of a few more words of wisdom for your benefit.'

  At the nets Norris had finished his innings, and Pringle was batting inhis stead. Gethryn had given up his ball to Baynes, who bowled slowleg-breaks, and was the most probable of the probables above-mentioned.He went to where Norris was taking off his pads, and began to talk tohim. Norris was the head of Jephson's House, and he and the Bishop werevery good friends, in a casual sort of way. If they did not see oneanother for a couple of days, neither of them broke his heart.Whenever, on the other hand, they did meet, they were always glad, andalways had plenty to talk about. Most school friendships are of thatdescription.

  'You were sending down some rather hot stuff,' said Norris, as Gethrynsat down beside him, and began to inspect Pringle's performance with acritical eye.

  'I did feel rather fit,' said he. 'But I don't think half those thatgot you would have taken wickets in a match. You aren't in form yet.'

  'I tell you what it is, Bishop,' said Norris, 'I believe I'm going tobe a rank failure this season. Being captain does put one off.'

  'Don't be an idiot, man. How can you possibly tell after one day's playat the nets?'

  'I don't know. I feel so beastly anxious somehow. I feel as if I waspersonally responsible for every match lost. It was all right last yearwhen John Brown was captain. Good old John! Do you remember his runningyou out in the Charchester match?'

  'Don't,' said Gethryn pathetically. 'The only time I've ever felt as ifI really was going to make that century. By Jove, see that drive?Pringle seems all right.'

  'Yes, you know, he'll simply walk into his Blue when he goes up to theVarsity. What do you think of Baynes?'

  'Ought to be rather useful on his wicket. Jephson thinks he's good.'

  Mr Jephson looked after the School cricket.

  'Yes, I believe he rather fancies him,' said Norris. 'Says he ought todo some big things if we get any rain. Hullo, Pringle, are you comingout? You'd better go in, then, Bishop.'

  'All right. Thanks. Oh, by Jove, though, I forgot. I can't. I've got togo down to the station to meet an uncle of mine.'

  'What's he coming up today for? Why didn't he wait till we'd got amatch of sorts on?'

  'I don't know. The man's probably a lunatic. Anyhow, I shall have to goand meet him, and I shall just do it comfortably if I go and changenow.'

  'Oh! Right you are! Sammy, do you want a knock?'

  Samuel Wilberforce Gosling, known to his friends and admirers as Sammy,replied that he did not. All he wanted now, he said, was a drink, orpossibly two drinks, and a jolly good rest in the shade somewhere.Gosling was one of those rare individuals who cultivate bowling at theexpense of batting, a habit the reverse of what usually obtains inschools.

  Norris admitted the justice of his claims, and sent in a Second Elevenman, Baker, a member of his own House, in Pringle's place. Pringle andGosling adjourned to the School shop for refreshment.

  Gethryn walked with them as far as the gate which opened on to the roadwhere most of the boarding Houses stood, and then branched off in thedirection of Leicester's. To change into everyday costume took him aquarter of an hour, at the end of which period he left the House, andbegan to walk down the road in the direction of the station.

  It was an hour's easy walking between Horton, the nearest station toBeckford, and the College. Gethryn, who
was rather tired after hisexertions at the nets, took it very easily, and when he arrived at hisdestination the church clock was striking four.

  'Is the three-fifty-six in yet?' he asked of the solitary porter whoministered to the needs of the traveller at Horton station.

  'Just a-coming in now, zur,' said the porter, adding, in a sort ofinspired frenzy: ''Orton! 'Orton stertion! 'Orton!' and ringing a bellwith immense enthusiasm and vigour.

  Gethryn strolled to the gate, where the station-master's son stood atthe receipt of custom to collect the tickets. His uncle was to arriveby this train, and if he did so arrive, must of necessity pass this waybefore leaving the platform. The train panted in, pulled up, whistled,and puffed out again, leaving three people behind it. One of these wasa woman of sixty (approximately), the second a small girl of ten, thethird a young gentleman in a top hat and Etons, who carried a bag, andlooked as if he had seen the hollowness of things, for his face wore abored, supercilious look. His uncle had evidently not arrived, unlesshe had come disguised as an old woman, an act of which Gethryn refusedto believe him capable.

  He enquired as to the next train that was expected to arrive fromLondon. The station-master's son was not sure, but would ask theporter, whose name it appeared was Johnny. Johnny gave the correctanswer without an effort. 'Seven-thirty it was, sir, except onSaturdays, when it was eight o'clock.'

  'Thanks,' said the Bishop. 'Dash the man, he might at least havewired.'

  He registered a silent wish concerning the uncle who had brought him along three miles out of his way with nothing to show at the end of it,and was just turning to leave the station, when the top-hatted smallboy, who had been hovering round the group during the conversation,addressed winged words to him. These were the winged words--

  'I say, are you looking for somebody?' The Bishop stared at him as anaturalist stares at a novel species of insect.

  'Yes,' he said. 'Why?'

  'Is your name Gethryn?'

  This affair, thought the Bishop, was beginning to assume an uncannyaspect.

  'How the dickens did you know that?' he said.

  'Oh, then you are Gethryn? That's all right. I was told you were goingto be here to meet this train. Glad to make your acquaintance. Myname's Farnie. I'm your uncle, you know.'

  'My what?' gurgled the Bishop.

  'Your uncle. U-n, un; c-l-e--kul. Uncle. Fact, I assure you.'