The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe day's playThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The day's playAuthor: A. A. MilneRelease date: September 13, 2023 [eBook #71638]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, 1910Credits: Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY'S PLAY ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The day's playAuthor: A. A. MilneRelease date: September 13, 2023 [eBook #71638]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, 1910Credits: Al Haines
Title: The day's play
Author: A. A. Milne
Author: A. A. Milne
Release date: September 13, 2023 [eBook #71638]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, 1910
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY'S PLAY ***
BY
A. A. MILNE
THIRD EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.36 ESSEX STREET W.C.LONDON
First Published ... September 22nd 1910Second Edition ... December 1910Third Edition ... January 1921
TOR. C. LEHMANNMY CHIEF CREDITORTHISTRIFLE ON ACCOUNT
[Transcriber's note: The main headings below were in the source book. The secondary ones were added for reader convenience.]
CONTENTS
THE RABBITSPart IPart II
MARGERYTo Margery—from her UncleMargery's SockHow to Play the PianolaThe Knight of the Chimney-pieceThe Art of ConversationAfternoon Sleep
JOCK
MORE CRICKETTo an Old BatA Scratch LotEx Nihilo fit MultumAn Average Man
SMALL GAMESPhysical CultureCroquetGardeningGolfStump CricketExploringShoppingChessProgressive BridgeDressing UpAfter Dinner
BACHELOR DAYSThe ButterThe WashingTaking StockMedes and PersiansThe CupboardThe Post BagGoing OutThe SidesmanAn Awkward CaseReverieRetrospect
LETTERS TO CHARLES
NOTE.—All the Articles and Verses in this book have previously appeared inPunch. To the Editor for printing them, and the Proprietors for permitting me to reprint them, I shall always be grateful.
A. A. M.
THE RABBITS
PART I
"By Hobbs," cried Archie, as he began to put away the porridge, "I feel as fit as anything this morning. I'm absolutely safe for a century."
"You shouldn't boast with your mouth full," Myra told her brother.
"It wasn't quite full," pleaded Archie, "and I really am good for runs to-day."
"You will make," I said, "exactly fourteen."
"Hallo, good-morning. Didn't see you were there."
"I have been here all the time. Fourteen."
"It seems a lot," said Myra doubtfully.
Archie laughed in scorn.
"The incoming batsman," I began, "who seemed in no way daunted by the position of affairs——"
"Five hundred for nine," put in Myra.
"—reached double figures for the fourth time this season, with a lofty snick to the boundary. Then turning his attention to the slow bowler he despatched him between his pads and the wicket for a couple. This, however, was his last scoring stroke, as in the same over he played forward to a long hop and fell a victim to the vigilance of the wicket-keeper."
"For nearly a quarter of an hour," continued Myra, "he had defied the attack, and the character of his batting may be easily judged from the fact that his score included one five——"
"Four from an overthrow," I added in parenthesis.
"And one four. Save for a chance to mid-on before he had scored, and another in the slips when seven, his innings was almost entirely free from blemish——"
"Although on one occasion he had the good fortune, when playing back to a half-volley, to strike the wicket without dislodging the bails."
"See to-morrow'sSportsman," concluded Myra.
"Oh, you children," laughed Archie, as he walked over to inspect the ham. "Bless you."
Miss Fortescue gave a little cough and began to speak. Miss Fortescue is one of those thoroughly good girls who take an interest in everything. A genuine trier. On this occasion she said: "I often wonder who it is who writes those accounts inThe Sportsman."
"It is believed to be Mr Simpson," said Archie.
Simpson looked up with a start, and jerked his glasses into his tea. He fished them out and wiped them thoughtfully.
"The credible," he began, "is rarely——"
"Gentlemen, I pray you silence for Mr Simpson's epigram," cried Archie.
"Oh, I always thought Mr Simpson wrote verses inThe Saturday Review," said Miss Fortescue in the silence which followed.
"As a relaxation only," I explained. "The other is his life-work. We read him with great interest; that bit about the heavy roller being requisitioned is my favourite line."
"Mr Simpson and Killick and Crawford all play in glasses," put in Myra eagerly, across the table.
"That is their only point in common," added Archie.
"Oh, isn't he a very good player?"
"Well, he's a thoroughly honest and punctual and sober player," I said, "but—the fact is, he and I and the Major don't make many runs nowadays. We generally give, as he has said in one of his less popular poems, a local habitation to the—er—airy nothing."
"I thought it was Shakespeare said that."
"Shakespeare or Simpson. Hallo, there's Thomas at last."
Thomas is in the Admiralty, which is why he is always late. It is a great pity that he was christened Thomas; he can never rise to the top of his profession with a name like that. You couldn't imagine a Thomas McKenna—or even a Thomas Nelson, but he doesn't seem to mind somehow.
"Morning, everybody," said Thomas. "Isn't it a beastly day?"
"We'll hoist the south cone for you," said Archie, and he balanced a mushroom upside down on the end of his fork.
"What's the matter with the day?" asked our host, the Major, still intent on his paper.
"It's so early."
"When I was a boy——"
"My father, Major Mannering," said Archie, "will now relate an anecdote of Waterloo."
But the Major was deep in his paper. Suddenly he—there is only one word for it—snorted.
"The Budget," said Myra and Archie, exchanging anxious glances.
"Ha, that's good," he said, "that's very good! 'If the Chancellor of the Exchequer imagines that he can make his iniquitous Budget more acceptable to a disgusted public by treating it in a spirit of airy persiflage he is at liberty to try. But airy persiflage, when brought into contact with the determined temper of a nation——'"
"Who is the hairy Percy, anyhow?" said Thomas to himself.
The Major glared at the interrupter for a moment. Then—for he knows his weakness, and is particularly fond of Thomas—he threw his paper down and laughed. "Well," he said, "are we going to win to-day?" And while he and Archie talked about the wicket his daughter removedThe Timesto a safe distance.
"But there aren't eleven of you, here," said Miss Fortescue to me, "and if you and Mr Simpson and Major Mannering aren't very good you'll be beaten. It's against the village the first two days, isn't it?"
"When I said we weren't very good, I only meant we didn't make many runs. Mr Simpson is a noted fast bowler, the Major has a M.C.C. scarf, which can be seen quite easily at point, and I keep wicket. Between us we dismiss many a professor. Just as they are shaping for a cut, you know, they catch sight of the Major's scarf, lose their heads and give me an easy catch. Then Archie and Thomas take centuries, one of the gardeners bends them from the off and makes them swim a bit, the Vicar of his plenty is lending us two sons, Tony and Dahlia Blair come down this morning, and there is a chauffeur who plays for keeps. How many is that?"
"Eleven, isn't it?"
"It ought only to be ten," said Myra, who had overheard.
"Oh yes, I was counting Miss Blair," said Miss Fortescue.
"We never play more than ten a side," said Archie.
"Oh, why?"
"So as to give the scorer an extra line or two for the byes."
Myra laughed; then, catching my eye, looked preternaturally solemn.
"If you've quite finished breakfast, Mr Gaukrodger," she said, "there'll be just time for me to beat you at croquet before the Rabbits take the field."
"Right O," I said.
Of course, you know, my name isn't really Gaukrodger.
The Major has taken a great deal of trouble with his ground, and the result pleases everybody. If you are a batsman you applaud the short boundaries; if you are a wicket-keeper (as I am), and Thomas is bowling what he is pleased to call googlies, you have leisure to study some delightful scenery; and if you are a left-handed bowler, with a delivery outside the screen, there is behind you a belt of trees which you cannot fail to admire. When Archie was born, and they announced the fact to the Major, his first question was (so I understand), "Right or left handed?" They told him "Left" to quiet him, and he went out and planted a small forest, so that it should be ready for Archibald's action when he grew up. Unfortunately, Archie turned out to be no bowler at all (in my opinion)—and right-handed at that. Nemesis, as the ha'penny papers say.
"Well?" we all asked, when Archie came back from tossing.
"They lost, and put us in."
"Good man."
"May I have my sixpence back?" I said. "You haven't bent it or anything, have you? Thanks."
As the whole pavilion seemed to be full of people putting on their pads in order to go in first, I wandered outside. There I met Myra.
"Hallo, we're in," I said. "Come and sit on the roller with me, and I'll tell you all about Jayes."
"Can't for a moment. Do go and make yourself pleasant to Dahlia Blair. She's just come."
"Do you think she'd be interested in Jayes? I mean the Leicestershire cricketer, not the disinfectant. Oh, all right, then, I won't."
I wandered over to the deck-chairs, and exchanged greetings with Miss Blair.
"I have been asked to make myself pleasant," I said. "I suppose that means telling you all about everybody, doesn't it?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, we're in, as you see. That's the Vicar leading his team out. He's no player really—one of the 'among others we noticed.' But he's a good father, and we've borrowed two offsprings from him. Here comes Archie and Wilks. Wilks drove you from the station, I expect?"
"He did. And very furiously."
"Well, he hardly drives at all, when he's in. He's terribly slow—what they call Nature's reaction. Archie, you will be sorry to hear, has just distinguished himself by putting me in last. He called it ninth wicket down, but I worked it out, and there doesn't seem to be anybody after me. It's simply spite."
"I hope Mr Archie makes some runs," said Dahlia. "I don't mind so much about Wilks, you know."
"I'm afraid he is only going to make fourteen to-day. That's the postman going to bowl to him. He has two deliveries, one at eight A.M. and one at twelve-thirty P.M.—the second one is rather doubtful. Archie always takes guard with the bail, you observe, and then looks round to see if we're all watching."
"Don't be so unkind."
"I'm annoyed," I said, "and I intensely dislike the name Archibald. Ninth wicket down!"
The umpire having called "Play," Joe, the postman, bounded up to the wicket and delivered the ball. Archie played forward with the easy confidence of a school professional when nobody is bowling to him. And then the leg-bail disappeared.
"Oh!" cried Dahlia. "He's out!"
I looked at her, and I looked at Archie's disconsolate back as he made for the pavilion; and I knew what he would want. I got up.
"I must go now," I said. "I've promised to sit on the heavy roller for a bit. Archie will be here in a moment. Will you tell him from me that we both thought he wasn't quite ready for that one, and that it never rose an inch? Thank you very much."
I discovered Myra, and we sat on the roller together.
"Well, I've been making myself pleasant," I said. "And then when Archie got out I knew he'd want to sit next to her, so I came away. That is what they call tact inThe Lady."
"Archie is rather fond of her," said Myra. "I don't know if——"
"Yes, yes, I understand. Years ago——"
"Let's see. Are you ninety or ninety-one? I always forget."
"Ninety-one next St Crispin's Day. I'm sorry Archie's out. 'The popular cricketer was unfortunate enough to meet a trimmer first ball, and the silent sympathy of the Bank Holiday crowd went out to him as he wended his way to the Pavilion.' Extract from 'Pavilions I have wended to, by Percy Benskin.' Help! There goes Blair!"
After this the situation became very serious. In an hour seven of us had got what I might call the postman's knock. Wilks was still in, but he had only made nine. The score was fifty-two, thanks entirely to Simpson, who had got thirty-five between first and second slip in twenty minutes. This stroke of his is known as the Simpson upper cut, and is delivered straight from the shoulder and off the edge of the bat.
"This is awful," said Myra. "You'll simply have to make some now."
"I think it's time Wilks got on to his second speed. Why doesn't somebody tell him? Hallo, there goes John. I knew there wasn't a run there. Where are my gloves?"
"You mustn't be nervous. Oh,domake some."
"The condemned man walked firmly to the wickets. 'What is that, umpire?' he asked in his usual cool voice. 'Houtside the leg stump, sir,' said the man in white. 'Good,' he replied.... What an ass your second gardener is. Fancy being potted out like that, just as if he were a geranium. I ought to wear a cap, oughtn't I, in case I want to bow when I come in. Good-bye; I shall be back for lunch, I expect."
I passed Joe on my way to the wickets, and asked pleasantly after his wife and family. He was rather brusque about it, and sent down a very fast half-volley which kept low. Then Wilks and I returned to the pavilion together amid cheers. On the whole, the Rabbits had lived up to their reputation.
"Well, wearea lot of bunnies," said Archie at lunch. "Joe simply stands there looking like a lettuce and out we all trot. We shall have to take to halma or something. Simpson, you swim, don't you?"
"You don't have to swim at halma," said Simpson.
"Anyhow," said Blair, "we can't blame the Selection Committee."
"I blame Thomas," I said. "He would have eight, and he wouldn't wait. I don't blame myself, because my average is now three spot five, and yesterday it was only three spot one."
"That is impossible, if you made nought to-day," said Simpson eagerly.
"Not if I divided it wrong yesterday."
"Averages," said the Major to the Vicar, catching the last sentence but two, "are the curse of modern cricket. When I was a boy——"
"This," Archie explained to us, "takes us back to the thirties, when Felix Mynn bowled Ensign Mannering with a full pilch."
"Dear old Fuller Pilch. Ah! what do they know of England, who only King and Jayes?" I declaimed. "Libretto by Simpson."
"Who's finished?" said Archie, getting up. "Come out and smoke. Now, we simply must buck up and out the opposition. Simpson ought to bump them at Joe's end, and Thomas——"
"I always swerve after lunch," said Thomas.
"I don't wonder. What I was going to say was that you would box them in the slips. You know, if we all buck up——"
We bucked up and outed them by the end of the day for two hundred and fifty.
"Will somebody give me a cigarette," said Myra, stretching out a hand.
"I fancy not," I said. "Thomas and I both feel that you are too young."
"I don't really want one, but when I'm locked up in the billiard-room with two dumb men——"
"We were reflecting on our blessed victory."
"Were you thinking of Archie's century or John's bowling?"
"Neither, oddly enough. I was recalling my own catch which won the match. Poetry; let's go and tell Simpson."
"It was a skier," said Myra. "I thought it was never coming down. What did you think of all the time?"
"Everything. All my past life flashed before my eyes. I saw again my happy childhood's days, when I played innocently in the—er—pantry. I saw myself at school, sl—working. I saw——"
"Did you happen," interrupted Thomas, when we both thought he was fast asleep, "to see yourself being badly taken on by me at billiards?"
"Thomas, you're not properly awake, old friend. I know that feeling. Turn over on the other side and take a deep breath."
Thomas rose and stretched himself, and went over to the cue rack. "You should have heard him siding about his blessed billiards this morning," he told Myra.
"I didn't side. I simply said that anybody could beat Thomas. Do they play billiards much at the Admiralty? I should have thought the motion——"
"Take a cue. Myra will mark."
"Rather; I can mark like anything."
"Once upon a time," I said, "there was a lad who wanted to get into the Admiralty. But his mother said, 'Not until you have learnt to swim, Thomas.' So he had a set of six private lessons for one guinea before he went in for the examination. He came out thirty-eight, and was offered a lucrative appointment in the post office.... Hence his enormous skill at billiards. Thick or clear?"
"I will adventure half-a-crown upon the game," said Thomas, giving a miss.
"Right O, Rothschild. Now, are you ready, marker? I'm spot. Hadn't you better oil the board a bit? Well, as long as you can work it quickly enough."
I took careful aim, and my ball went up the table and back again, with the idea, I imagine, of inspecting the wicket. It seemed quite fast.
"One all," said Myra, and Thomas kindly brought his ball and mine to the top of the table.
"I fancy I shall be able to swerve from this end," I said. I tried a delicate cannon, and just missed the object ball. "I shall find a spot directly—there's one under the red ball, I believe."
"Do try and hit something," said Myra.
"The marker is not allowed to give advice," I said sternly. "What's the matter, Thomas?"
"I'm not quite sure what to do."
"I think you ought to chalk your cue here," I said, after examining the position.
"I've done that."
"Then ram the red."
Thomas rammed and all but sank it in the left-hand pocket.
"I am now," I said, "going to do a cannon off the cushion. Marker, what is my score?"
"One, sir."
"Then kindly get ready to put it up to three.... Rotten luck."
"Wrong side," said Myra judicially.
"No, I meant to hit it that side."
"I mean you wanted a little running side."
"This isn't Queen's Club. Go on, Thomas."
Thomas, who had been chalking his cue, advanced to the table. "Hallo," he said, "where's the other ball?"
I looked at the table, and there were only two balls on it!
"That's an extraordinary thing," I said in amazement. "I'm almost certain we started with three."
"Did you put me down?"
"Certainly not; I shouldn't dream of doing such a thing. I don't say I mayn't have slipped down myself when nobody was looking. Myra, did you notice which pocket I was trying for that time?"
We felt in all of them, and at last found my ball in one of the bottom ones. It must have gone there very quietly.
"Score, marker?" I asked confidently, as I prepared to continue my break.
"Oh, you're going over the crease," cried Myra.
I took my ball back an inch. "Willyou tell me the score?" I said.
"Stevenson (in play) three; Inman, two. Inman's two were both wides."
Barely were the words out of her mouth when Inman's score was increased by a no-ball. A miss-cue they call it technically.
"Three all," said Myra. "This is awfully exciting. First one is ahead, and then the other."
"By the way, how many up are we playing?"
"Five, aren't you?" said Myra.
This roused Thomas. He had played himself in, and now proceeded to make a pretty break of seventeen. I followed. There was a collision off the middle pocket between spot and red, and both went down. Then plain was unintentionally sunk as the result of a cannon shot, and spot and red sailed into harbour. With Thomas's miss I scored eleven. Unfortunately, off my next stroke, Thomas again went down.
"Billiards," he said.
"You don't think I want to put the rotten thing down, do you? It's such a blessed rabbit. Directly it sees a hole anywhere it makes for it. Hallo, six more. I shall now give what they call a miss in baulk."
"Oh, good miss," cried Myra, as spot rested over the middle pocket.
"That was a googly. You both thought it would break the other way."
The game went on slowly. When Thomas was ninety and I was ninety-nine, there was a confused noise without, and Archie and Miss Blair burst into the room. At least only Archie actually burst; Miss Blair entered sedately.
"Who's winning?" cried Archie.
"What an absurd question," I said. "As if we should tell you."
"All right. Dahl—Miss Blair, have you ever seen billiards played really well?"
"Never."
"Then now's your chance. Ninety, ninety-nine—they've only just begun. This is Thomas's first break, I expect. There—he's got a clear board. You get five extra for that, and the other man is rubiconed. Ninety-nine all. Now, it is only a question of who misses first."
I put down my cue.
"Thomas," I began, "we have said some hard things about each other to-night, but when I listen to Archie I feel very friendly towards you."
"Archibald," said Thomas, "is a beastly name."
"So I told Miss Blair. For a man who was, so to speak, born with a silver billiard-table in his mouth to come here and make fun of two persevering and, in my case, promising players, is——"
"You'll never finish that sentence," said Myra. "Try some more billiards."
"It was almost impossible to say what I wanted to say grammatically," I answered, and I hit my ball very hard up the table at the white.
"It's working across," said Archie, after the second bounce; "it must hit the red soon. I give it three more laps."
"It's going much more slowly now," said Miss Blair.
"Probably it's keeping a bit of a sprint for the finish. Wait till it gets its second wind. No, I'm afraid it's no good; it ought to have started sooner. Hallo, yes, it's—— Got him!"
"It hasn't finished yet," I said calmly. "Look—there!"
"Jove!" said Archie, shaking my hand, "that's the longest loser I've ever seen. My dear old man, what a performer. The practice you must have had. The years you must have devoted to the game. I wonder—could youpossiblyspare an hour or two to-morrow to play cricket for us?"
A hundred and eighty for none. The umpire waved his lily hand, and the scorer entered one more "four" in his book. Seeing that the ball had gone right through a bicycle which was leaning up against the pavilion, many people (the owner of the bicycle, anyhow) must have felt that the actual signalling of a boundary was unnecessary; but our umpire is a stickler for the etiquette of the game. Once when—— But no, on second thoughts, I sha'n't tell you that story. You would say it was a lie—as indeed it is.
"Rotten," said Archie to me, as we crossed over. (A good captain always confides in his wicket-keeper.)
"Don't take Simpson off," I said. "I like watching him."
"I shall go on again myself soon."
"Oh, it's not so bad as that. Don't lose heart."
The score was two hundred when we met again.
"I once read a book by a lady," I said, "in which the hero started the over with his right hand and finished it with his left. I suppose Simpson couldn't do that?"
"He's a darned rotten bowler, anyway."
"His direction is all right, but his metre is so irregular."
At the end of the next over, "What shall I do?" asked Archie in despair.
"Put the wicket-keeper on," I said at once.
The idea was quite a new one to him. He considered it for a moment.
"Can you bowl?" he said at last.
"No."
"Then what on earth——"
"Look here; you've tried 'em with people who can bowl, and they've made two hundred and twenty in an hour and a half; somebody who can't bowl will be a little change for them. That's one reason. The second is that we shall all have a bit of a rest while I'm taking my things off. The third is that I bet Myra a shilling——"
Archie knelt down, and began to unbuckle my pads. "I'll 'keep' myself," he said. "Are you fast or slow?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Just as it occurs to me at the moment, I expect."
"Well, you're quite right; you can't be worse than some of us. Will you have a few balls down first?"
"No, thanks; I should like to come as a surprise to them."
"Well, pitch 'em up anyhow."
"I shall probably vary my length—if possible without any alteration of action."
I am now approaching the incredible. The gentle reader, however, must not be nasty about it; he should at least pretend to believe, and his best way of doing this is to listen very silently to what follows. When he has heard my explanation I shall assume that he understands.
Bowling is entirely a question of when you let go of the ball. If you let go too soon the result is a wide over the batsman's head; if too late, a nasty crack on your own foot. Obviously there are spaces in between. By the law of averages one must let go at the right moment at least once. Why not then at the first ball? And in the case of a person like myself, who has a very high action and a good mouth—I mean who has a very high delivery, such a ball (after a week of Simpsons and Archies) would be almost unplayable.
Very well then; I did let go at the right moment, but, unfortunately, I took off from the wrong crease. The umpire's cry of "No-ball" and the shattering of the Quidnunc's wicket occurred simultaneously.
"Good ball," said Archie. "Oh, bad luck!"
I tried to look as though, on the whole, I preferred it that way—as being ultimately more likely to inspire terror in the batsman at my end. Certainly, it gave me confidence; made me over-confident in fact, so that I held on to the next ball much too long, and it started bouncing almost at once.
The Quidnunc, who was convinced by this that he had been merely having a go at the previous ball, shouldered his bat and sneered at it. He was still sneering when it came in very quickly, and took the bottom of the leg stump. (Finger spin, chiefly.)
Archie walked up slowly, and gazed at me.
"Well?" I said jauntily.
"No, don't speak. I just want to look, and look, and look. It's wonderful. No elastic up the sleeve, or anything."
"This is where it first pitched," said the Major, as he examined the ground.
"Did you think of letting in a brass tablet?" I inquired shortly.
"He is quite a young man," went on Archie dreamily, "and does not care to speak about his plans for the future. But he is of opinion that——"
"Break, break, break," said Simpson. "Three altogether."
"Look here, is there anybody else who wants to say anything? No? Then I'll go on with my over."
Archie, who had begun to walk back to his place, returned thoughtfully to me.
"I just wanted to say, old chap, that if you're writing home to-night about it, you might remember me to your people."
Blair was about the only person who didn't insult me. This was because he had been fielding long-on; and as soon as the wicket fell he moved round about fifty yards to talk to Miss Fortescue. What people can see in her—— Well, directly my next ball was bowled he started running as hard as he could to square leg, and brought off one of the finest catches I've ever seen.
"The old square-leg trap," said Archie. "But you cut it rather fine, didn't you? I suppose you knew he was a sprinter?"
"I didn't cut it at all—I was bowling. Go away."
Yes, I confess it. I did the hat trick. It was a good length half-volley, and the batsman, who had watched my first three balls, was palpably nervous. Archie walked round and round me in silence for some time, and then went over to Thomas.
"He's playing tennis with me this evening," he began.
"I was beaten at billiards by him last night," said Thomas proudly.
"He's going to let me call him by his Christian name."
"They say he's an awfully good chap when you know him," replied Thomas.
I got another wicket with the last ball of the over, and then we had lunch. Myra was smiling all over her face when we came in, but beyond a "Well bowled, Walter" (which I believe to be Brearley's name), would have nothing to do with me. Instead she seized Archie, and talked long and eagerly to him. And they both laughed a good deal.
"Arkwright," I heard Archie say at the end. "He's sure to be there, and would do it like a shot."
Like a wise captain Archie did not put me on after lunch, and Simpson soon began to have the tail in difficulties. Just after the eighth wicket fell a telegram came out. Archie took it and handed it to me. "From Maclaren, I expect," he said with a grin.
"You funny ass; I happen to know it's from Dick. I asked him for a wire about the Kent match."
"Oh, did Kent win?" said Archie, looking over my shoulder. As I opened it, the others came up, and I read—
"Please be in attendance for next Test Match.""HAWKE"
I got three more that afternoon. One from Fry, one from Leveson-Gower, and one from Maclaren. They all came from Lord's, and I've half a mind to take my telegrams with me, and go. Then Myra would probably get six months in the second division.
"But I shouldn't mind that," said Myra. "You could easily bowl—I mean bail—me out."
A silly joke, I call it.
I selected a handkerchief, gave a last look at the weather, which was beastly, and went down (very late) to breakfast. As I opened the door there was a sudden hush. Everybody looked eagerly at me. Then Miss Fortescue tittered.
Well, you know how one feels when that happens. I put my hand quickly to my tie—it was still there. I squinted down my nose, but there was no smut. To make quite sure I went over to the glass. Then Simpson exploded.
Yet nobody spoke. They all sat there watching me, and at last I began to get nervous. I opened my mouth to say "Good-morning," but before I got it out Miss Blair gave a little shriek of excitement. That upset me altogether. I walked up to the tea-pot, and pouring myself out a cup said, with exaggerated carelessness, "Rotten day, isn't it?"
And then came the laughter—shout after shout.
I held out my hand to Myra. "Good-bye," I said, "I'm going home. Thank you for a very jolly time, but I'm not going to be bullied."
"Oh, you dear," she gurgled.
"I am rather sweet before breakfast," I admitted, "but how——"
"It was too heavenly of you. I never thought you would."
"I think I shall go back to bed."
"It was rather rough luck," said Archie, "but of course the later you are the worse it is for you."
"And the higher the fewer. Quite so. If this is from Breakfast Table Topics inThe Daily Mirror, I haven't seen them to-day; but I'll do my best."
"Archie, explain."
Archie took up a piece of paper from the table, and explained. "It's like this," he said. "I came down first and looked at the weather, and said——"
"Anyone would," I put in quickly.
"Well, then, Blair came in and said, 'Beastly day,' and then Simpson—— Well, I thought I'd write down everybody's first remark, to see if anybody let the weather alone. Here they are."
"It's awful," put in Myra, "to have one's remarks taken down straight off. I've quite forgotten what I said."
This was the list:
Archie: "Bother." (So he says.)
Blair: "What a beastly day!"
Simpson: "What a jolly day!"
The Major: "Well, not much cricket to-day, hey?"
Myra: "Oh dear, what a day!"
Miss Blair: "What a terrible day!"
Miss Fortescue: "Oh, you poor men—what a day!"
Thomas: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
Me: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
"I don't think much of Thomas's remark," I said.
Later on in the morning we met (all except the Major, that is) in the room which Myra calls hers and Archie calls the nursery, and tried to think of something to do.
"I'm not going to play bridge all day for anyone," said Archie.
"The host should lay himself out to amuse his guests," said Myra.
"Otherwise, his guests will lay him out," I warned him, "to amuse themselves."
"Well, what do you all want to do?"
"I should like to look at a photograph album," said Thomas.
"Stump cricket."
"What about hide-and-seek?"
"No, I've got it," cried Archie; "we'll be boy scouts."
"Hooray!" cried everybody else.
Archie was already on his hands and knees. "Ha!" he said, "is that the spoor of the white ant that I see before me? Spoorly not. I have but been winded by the water-beetle.
"Sound, sound the trumpet, beat the drum,To all the scouting world proclaimOne crowded stalk upon the turnIs worth an age without a name."
"Archie!" shrieked Myra in horror. "It is too late," she added, "all the ladies have swooned."
We arranged sides. Myra and I and Simpson and Thomas against the others. They were to start first.
"This isn't simply hide-and-seek," said Archie, as they went off. "You've got to track us fairly. We shall probably 'blaze' door-posts. When you hear the bleat of a tinned sardine that means we're ready. Keep your eyes skinned, my hearties, and heaven defend the right."
"We ought to have bare knees really," said Myra, when they'd gone. "Boy scouts always do. So that when they go through a bed of nettles they know they've been."
"I shall stalk the stairs to begin with," I said. "Simpson, you go down the back way and look as much like a vacuum-cleaner as possible. Then they won't notice you. Thomas and Myra—— Hush! Listen! Was that the bleat of a fresh sardine or the tinned variety?"
"Tinned," said Myra. "Let's go."
We went. I took the Queen Anne staircase on my—in the proper stalking position. I moved very slowly, searching for spoor. Half-way down the stairs my back fin slipped and I shot over the old oak at a tremendous pace, landing in the hall like a Channel swimmer. Looking up, I saw Thomas in front of me. He was examining the door for "blazes." Myra was next to him, her ear to the ground, listening for the gallop of horses' hoofs. I got up and went over to them.
"Hast seen aught of a comely wench in parlous case, hight Mistress Dahlia?" I asked Thomas.
"Boy scouts don't talk like that," he said gruffly.
"I beg your pardon. I was thinking that I was a Cavalier and you were a Roundhead. Now I perceive that you are just an ordinary fathead."
"Why," said Myra at the foot of the stairs, "what does this button mean? Have I found a clue?"
I examined it, and then I looked at my own coat.
"You have," I said. "Somebody has been down those stairs quite recently, for the button is still warm."
"Where is Scout Simpson?"
At that moment he appeared breathless with excitement.
"I have had an adventure," he said hurriedly, without saluting. "I was on the back stairs looking like a vacuum-cleaner when suddenly Archie and Miss Blair appeared. They looked right at me, but didn't seem to penetrate my disguise. Archie, in fact, leant against me, and said to Miss Blair: 'I will now tell you of my secret mission. I carry caviare—I mean despatches—to the general. Breathe but a word of this to the enemy, and I miss the half-holiday on Saturday. Come, let us be going, but first to burn the secret code.' And—and then he struck a match on me, and burned it."
Myra gurgled and hastily looked solemn again. "Proceed, Scout Simpson," she said, "for the night approaches apace."
"Well, then they started down the stairs, and I went after them on my—scouting, you know. I made rather a noise at one corner, and Archie looked round at me, and said to Miss Blair: 'The tadpoles are out full early. See yonder where one lies basking.' And he came back, and put his foot on me and said, 'Nay, 'tis but a shadow. Let us return right hastily. Yet tarry a moment, what time I lay a false trail.' So they tarried and he wrote a note and dropped it on me. And, afterwards, I got up and here it is."
"The secret despatch," cried Myra.
"It's addressed to the Scoutmistress, and it says outside: 'Private, not to be opened till Christmas Day.'"
Myra opened it and read: "Your blessed scouts are everywhere. Let me just have five minutes with her in the nursery, there's a dear. I'd do as much for you."
But she didn't read it aloud, and I didn't see it till some time afterwards. She simply put it away, and smiled, and announced that the scouts would now adjourn to the billiard-room for pemmican and other refreshments; which they did. The engagement was announced that evening.
"Well," said Thomas, "how are we going to celebrate the joyful event?"
We were sitting on the lawn, watching Blair and Miss Fortescue play croquet. Archie and Dahlia were not with us; they had (I suppose) private matters to discuss. Our match did not begin for another hour, happily for the lovers; happily also for the croquet-players, who had about fifty-six more hoops, posts, flags and what not to negotiate.
"It's awfully difficult to realise it," said Myra. "My own brother! Just fancy—I can hardly believe it."
"I don't think there can be any doubt," I said. "Something's happened to him, anyhow—he's promised to put me in first to-day."
"Let's have a dance to-morrow night," continued Thomas, relentlessly pursuing his original idea. "And we'll all dance with Miss Blair."
"Yes. Archie would like that."
"I remember, some years ago, when I was in Spain," said Simpson——
"This," I murmured appreciatively, "is how all the best stories begin." And I settled myself more comfortably in my chair.
"No," said Simpson, "I'm wrong there. It was in Hampstead." And he returned to his meditations.
"Tell you what," said Thomas, "you ought to write 'em an ode, Simpson."
"There's nothing that rhymes with the lady."
"There's hair," I said quite unintentionally.
"I meant with Dahlia."
"My dear man, there are heaps. Why, there's azalea."
"That's only one."
"Well, there are lots of different kinds of azalea."
"Any rhymes for Archie and Mannering?" said Simpson scornfully.
"Certainly. And Simpson. You might end with him—
"'Forgive the way the metre limps on,It's always like that with Samuel Simpson.'
You get the idea?"
"Hush," said Myra, "Miss Fortescue has passed under a hoop."
But it is time that we got on to my innings. Archie managed to win the toss, and, as he had promised, took me in with him. It was the proudest and most nervous moment of my life.
"I've never been in first before," I said, as we walked to the wickets. "Is there any little etiquette to observe?"
"Oh, rather. Especially, if you're going to take first ball."
"Oh, there's no doubt about my taking thefirstball."
"In that case the thing to remember is, that when the umpire calls 'play' the side refusing to play loses the match."
"Then it all rests on me? Your confidence in me must be immense. I think I shall probably consent to play."
I obtained guard and took my stand at the wicket. Most cricketers nowadays, I am told, adopt the "two-eyed stance," but for myself I still stick to the good old two-legged one. It seems to me to be less wearing. My style, I should observe, blends happily the dash of a Joseph Vine with the patience of a Kenneth Hutchings; and after a long innings I find a glass of—— I've forgotten the name of it now, but I know I find it very refreshing.
Being the hero (you will admit that—after my hat trick) of this true story, I feel I must describe my innings carefully. Though it only totalled seventeen, there was this to be said for it: it is the only innings of less than a hundred ever made by a hero.
It began with a cut to square leg, for which we ran a forced single, and followed on with a brace of ones in the direction of fine slip. After that, I stopped the bowler in the middle of his run-up, and signalled to a spectator to move away from the screen. This was a put-up job with Myra, and I rather hoped they would give me something for it, but apparently they didn't. At the end of the over, I went up and talked to Archie. In first-class cricket, the batsmen often do this, and it impresses the spectators immensely.
I said, "I bet you a shilling I'm out next over."
He said, "I won't take you."
I said, "Then I huff you," and went back to my crease.
My next scoring stroke was a two-eyed hook over point's head, and then Archie hit three fours running. I had another short conversation with him, in the course of which I recited two lines from Shakespeare and asked him a small but pointed conundrum, and afterwards I placed the ball cleverly to mid-off, the agility of the fieldsman, however, preventing any increment, unearned or otherwise. Finally, I gave my cap to the umpire, made some more ones, changed my bat, and was caught at the wicket.
"I hit it," I said, as I walked away. I said it to nobody in particular, but the umpire refused to alter his decision.
"I congratulate you," said Miss Blair, when I was sitting down again.
"I was just going to do that to you," I said.
"Oh, but you were kind enough to do that last night."
"Ah, this is extra. I've just been batting out there with your young man. Perhaps you noticed?"
"Well, I think I must have."
"Yes. Well, I wanted to tell you that I think he has quite an idea of the game, and that with more experience he would probably be good enough to play for—for Surrey. Second eleven. Yes. At hockey."
"Thank you so much. You've known him a long time, haven't you?"
"We were babes together, madam. At least, simultaneously. We actually met at school. He had blue eyes and curly hair, and fought the captain on the very first day. On the second day his hair was still curly, but he had black eyes. On the third day he got into the cricket eleven, and on the fourth he was given his footer cap. Afterwards he sang in the choir, and won the competition for graceful diving. It was not until his second term that the headmaster really began to confide in him. By the way, is this the sort of thing you want?"
"Yes," smiled Dahlia. "Something like that."
"Well, then we went to Cambridge together. He never did much work, but his algebra paper in the Little Go was so brilliant that they offered him the Senior Wranglership. He refused on the ground that it might interfere with his training for the tug of war, for which he had just obtained his blue—and—— It's a great strain making all this up. Do you mind if I stop now?"
"Of course I know that isn't all true, but he is like that, isn't he?"
"He is. He put me in first to-day."
"I know you really are fond of him."
"Lorblessyou—yes."
"That makes you my friend, too."
"Of course." I patted her hand. "That reminds me—as a friend I feel bound to warn you that there is a person about in the neighbourhood called Samuel Simpson who meditates an evil design upon you and yours. In short, a poem. In this he will liken you to the azalea, which I take to be a kind of shrubby plant."
"Yes?"
"Yes, well, all I want to say is, if he comes round with the hat afterwards, don't put anything in."
"Poor man," smiled Dahlia. "That's his living, isn't it?"
"Yes. That's why I say don't put anything in."
"I see. Oh, there—he's out. Poor Archie."
"Are you very sorry?" I said, smiling at her. "I'm just going, you know."
"Between ourselves," I said later to Myra, "that isn't at all a bad girl."
"Oh, fancy!"
"But I didn't come to talk about her. I came to talk about my seventeen."
"Yes, do let's."
"Yes. Er—you begin."
"May I have a dance?" I asked Miss Blair.
She put her head on one side and considered.
"One, two, three—the next butfive," she said.
"Thank you. That sounds a lot; is it only one?"
"You may have two running then, if you like."
"What about two running, and one hopping, and one really gliding? Four altogether."
"We'll see," said Miss Blair gravely.
Myra, who was being very busy, came up and dragged me away.
"I want to introduce you to somebody. I say, have you seen Thomas?"
"It's no earthly good introducing me to Thomas again."
"He's so important because he thinks the dance was his idea; of course I'd meant to have it all along. There she is—her name's Dora Dalton. I think it's Dora."
"I shall call her Dora, anyhow."
I was introduced, and we had a very jolly waltz together. She danced delightfully; and when we had found a comfortable corner she began to talk.
She said, "Do you play cricket?"
I was rather surprised, but I kept quite cool, and said, "Yes."
"My brother's very fond of it. He is very good too. He was playing here yesterday against Mr Mannering's team, and made six, and then the umpire gave him out; but he wasn't out really, and he was very angry. I don't wonder, do you?"
I had a sudden horrible suspicion.
"Did you say your name was Dora—I mean his name was Dalton?"
"Yes. And just because he was angry, which anybody would be, the wicket-keeper was very rude, and told him to go home and—and bake his head."
"Not bake," I said gently, my suspicion having now become almost a certainty. "Boil."
"Go home, and boil his head," she repeated indignantly.
"And did he?"
"Did he what?"
"Er—did he understand—I mean, don't you think your brother may have misunderstood? I can't believe that a wicket-keeper would ever demean himself by using the word 'boil.' Not as you might say boil. 'Cool his head' was probably the expression—it was a very hot day, I remember. And ... ah, there's the music beginning again. Shall we go back?"
I am afraid Miss Dalton's version of the incident was not quite accurate.
What had happened was this: I had stumped the fellow, when he was nearly a mile and a half outside his crease; and when he got back to it some minutes later, and found the umpire's hand up, he was extremely indignant and dramatic about it. Quite to myself,sotto voceas it were, I murmured, "Oh, go home!" and I may have called attention in some way to the "bails." But as to passing any remarks about boiling heads—well, it simply never occurred to me.
I had a dance with Myra shortly after this. She had been so busy and important that I felt quite a stranger. I adapted my conversation accordingly.
"It's a very jolly floor, isn't it?" I said, as I brought her an ice.
"Oh yes!" said Myra in the same spirit.
"Have you been to many floors—I mean dances, lately?"
"Oh yes!"
"So have I. I think dances have been very late lately. I think when the floor's nice it doesn't matter about the ices. Don't you think the band is rather too elastic—I mean keeps very good time? I think so long as the time is good it doesn't matter about the floor."
"Oh,isn'tit?" said Myra enthusiastically.
There was a pleasant pause while we both thought of something else to say.
"Have you," we began.
"I beg your pardon," we said at once.
"I was going to say," Myra went on, "have you read any nice books lately, or are you fonder of tennis?"
"I like reading nice booksabouttennis," I said. "If theyarenice books, and are really about tennis. Er—do you live in London?"
"Yes. It is so handy for the theatres, isn't it? There is no place exactly like London, is there? I mean it's so different."
"Well, of course, up in Liverpool we do get the trams, you know, now.... I say, I'm tired of pretending I've only just met you. Let's talk properly."
At this moment we heard a voice say, "Let's try in here," and Archie and Dahlia appeared.
"Hallo! here's the happy pair," said Myra.
They came in and looked at us diffidently. I leant back and gazed at the ceiling.
"Were you just going?" said Archie.
"We were not," I said.
"Then we'll stay and talk to you."
"We were in the middle of an important conversation."
"Oh, don't mind us."
"Thank you. It's really for your benefit, so you'd better listen. Let me see, where were we? Oh yes, 'One pound of beef, ninepence; three pounds of potatoes, fourpence; one piece of emery paper for the blanc-mange, tuppence; one pound of india-rubber——'"
"'Dahliadarling,'" interrupted Myra, in a fair imitation of Archie's voice, "'how often have I told you that wecan'tafford india-rubber in the cake? Just a few raisins and a cherry is really all you want. Youmustn'tbe so extravagant.'"
"'Dearest, I do try; and after all, love, it wasn'tIwho fell into the cocoa last night.'"
"'I didn't fall in, I simply dropped my pipe in, and it was you insisted on pouring it away afterwards. And then, look at this—One yard, of lace, 4s. 6d. That's for the cutlets, I suppose. For people in our circumstances paper frillings arequitesufficient.'"
Archie and Dahlia listened to us with open mouths. Then they looked at each other, and then at us again.
"Is there any more?" asked Archie.
"There's lots more, but we've forgotten it."
"You aren't ill or anything?"
"We are both perfectly well."
"How's Miss Dalton?"
"Dora," I said, "is also well. So is Miss Fortescue and so is Thomas. We are all well."
"I thought, perhaps——"
"No, there you are wrong."
"I expect it's just the heat and the excitement," said Dahlia, with a smile. "It takes some people like that."
"I'm afraid you miss our little parable," said Myra.
"We do. Come on, Dahlia."
"You'll pardon me, Archibald, but Miss Blair is dancing this with me."
Archie objected strongly, but I left, him with Myra, and took Miss Blair away. We sat on the stairs and thought.
"It has been a lovely week," said Dahlia.
"It has," I agreed.
"Perhaps more lovely for me than for you."
"That's just where I don't agree with you. You know, we think it's greatly over-rated. Falling in love, I mean."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Myra and I. We've been talking it over. That's why we rather dwelt upon the sordid side of it just now. I suppose we didn't move you at all?"
"No," said Dahlia, "we're settled."
"That's exactly it," I said. "I should hate to be settled. It's so much more fun like this. Myra quite agrees with me."
Dahlia smiled to herself. "But perhaps some day," she began.
"I don't know. I never look more than a week ahead. 'It has been great fun this week, and it will probably be great fun next week.' That's my motto."
"Well, ye—es," said Miss Blair doubtfully.
PART II