CHAPTER IIComing Events
AT six next morning my man found me in pyjamas, flourishing a bat up and down a chalk line on the bedroom carpet.
“Are you quite sure it’s perfectly straight, William?”
“Quite straight, sir; but mind the wardrobe door, sir!”
“I think I’ll try that blind hit of Gunn’s between point and cover.”
“All right, sir; if you’ll just wait while I move the water-jug. Your left leg a little more across—just a little; and how’s the late cut this morning, sir?”
“Never healthier in its life. Here you are. Look out!”
Crash! Plop! The glass in the wardrobe door had met the fate of its predecessors. The aggravating thing about the wardrobe door is that if you have it of glass you must inevitably break it;yet should you have a plain panel you can’t see what angle your bat’s at and where your feet are.
“I was hoping all the time that you’d smash it, sir,” said William in a confidential tone. “It’s a strange thing, sir, but every time you smash the wardrobe door you never get less than 50. If you remember, when you got that 82 last year against the Free Foresters you smashed it the morning of the match. Then that 61 against M.C.C. (O’Halloran and Roche an’ all), same thing occurred, if you recollect. And it’s my belief that you’ve smashed it worse this morning, sir, than you’ve ever done before. Itmightbe the century to-day, sir.”
“I wonder if the water-jug or washhand-stand would help it,” said I reflectively; “because, William, if you really think they would——”
“Somehow,” said William hastily, “I haven’t quite the same faith in that there water-jug. I remember once you cracked it right across the spout and got ‘run out 3’ on that particular mornin’. Captain Cooper called you, and then sent you back, if you remember, sir, when you was halfway down the pitch.”
“I remember,” I groaned. “Those are the tragedies of which our little life is made!”
“And the washhand-stand ain’t no good at all, sir. Why, when you knocked the leg off it ingiving Mold the wood, you bagged a brace at Pigeon Hill that day on what they called a wicket, but what was really a hornamental lake.”
“Spare me the horrible details, William,” I said. A cold sensation was creeping down my spine.
Having tubbed and shaved I felt so fit as I walked down to have a look at the ground before breakfast that I had to restrain myself from jumping five-barred gates. It was a perfect morning, flushed with summer. The birds on the boughs were welcoming the young sun; the mists were running before him; the dew on the trees was dancing to him; whilst the drenched meadows and the cool haze receding to the hills promised ninety in the shade to follow. Evidently Nature, like a downright good sportsman, was going to let us have a real cricketers’ day for a true cricketing occasion. Such fragrance made the blood leap. Every muscle seemed electric. To snuff the chill airs was to feel as fit and full of devil as a racehorse. By Jove, I felt like getting ’em! There were clean off-drives in the eager brooks, clipping cuts for four in the sparkling grass, sweet leg glances in the singing hedgerows, inimitable hooks and behind-the-wicket strokes in the cheerful field noises and the bird-thrilled branches; and when the sun burst out more fully in premonition of what was to be his magnificentdisplay at Little ClumptonversusHickory later in the day, I said to an unresponsive cow, “How do you like that, H. C.?” for I had just lifted the best bowler at either ’Varsity since Sammy Woods, clean out of the ground for six. And having begun to this tune, of course I went on getting ’em. I continued cutting, driving, and leg hitting at such a pace, that by the time I had made the half-mile to the ground that morning, a mere five minutes’ walk, I was rapidly approaching my century. They may talk of Jessop, but I think this gives a long start to any performances of his, although it is possible that he may have had to meet bowling rather more “upon the spot.” I was in great form though.
I found the ground-man standing beside the wicket, looking at it lovingly. He had his head on one side, as he gazed with an air as of Michael Angelo surveying his masterpiece.
“Mornin’ to you, sir!”
“Mornin’ Wiggles. How’s the wicket?”
“This ain’t no wicket, sir. It’s a bloomin’ billiard-table wot Dawson’s a’ inviting of Roberts to come and play on. And Lord, sir, have you seed the side that Hickory’s a-bringing—a bloomin’ county team. There’s them there Trenthams, all the boiling of ’em, and Carteret and Elphinstone of Kent. They do say as how Francis Ford andFry’s a-coming, too, as Hickory’s a bit weak in batting like, seeing as how Billy Thumbs the cobbler’s short o’ practice. Well, sir, I on’y hopes they comes, and Ranjy with ’em, because, if you come to think on it, Hickory ain’t got no side at all. And such a piece of concrete wot’s awaiting ’em! ’Tween you and me, sir, I think if I was a bowler I should take to batting for to-day.”
“We had better win the toss then,” I said gloomily.
“That’s a very good idea, sir, for I’m thinking whoever gets in on this, somebody’ll be so tired afore six-thirty.”
Looking at that wicket and brooding on the awful array of batsmen Hickory was bringing, and what the result must be if they only got in first, I was tempted of the devil. The turf was soft with dew. I had merely to press my heel once into that billiard-table to nip some of their prospective centuries in the bud. And who shall say whether human frailty had prevailed against the wiles of evil had it not remembered that Hickory were notobligedto go in first.
I went home to breakfast trying to restrain my excess of “fitness.” For cricket is cussedness incarnate. You rise in the morning like a giant refreshed: your blood is jumping, the ball looks as big as a balloon, and you have a go at one youought to let alone, and spoon it up to cover. Excess of “fitness” gets more wickets than Lohmann ever took.
I was in the middle of theSportsmanand my fourth egg when William appeared with a countenance of tragedy.
“I can’t find it, sir; it’s clean gone!” he said.
“Not the bat with the wrapping at the bottom?” I gasped, turning pale.
“No, sir; worse than that,” he said.
“Speak!” I cried; “what is it?”
“Your cap,” he said. “The one you made the 82, the 61, and 67 not out in.”
“What, the Authentics! It must be found, or I don’t go in to-day. Couldn’t get a run without that cap.”
The sweat stood on my brow.
“It’s my belief, sir,” said William darkly, “that this here’s a bit O’ Hickory. They knows how, like W. G., its always one particular cap you gets your runs in, and they’ve had it took according.”
This was very nice of William. His tact was charming. But the idea of my facing Hickory without my lucky cap was as monstrous as the captain going out to toss without his George II. shilling.
“William,” I said, “if you have to take thecarpets up and have the chimneys swept, that cap must be found.”
William returned disconsolately to his search, whilst I fell into a train of dismal speculation. Falling to theSportsmanin despair my eye fell on a few items of a cheerful and peculiar interest:—
“Kentv.Notts.—Rev. E. J. H. Elphinstone, c Jones, b Attewell, 172; J. P. Carteret, b Dixon, 103.“This brilliant pair of amateurs completely collared the Notts attack at Canterbury yesterday, and in the course of two hours and a quarter helped themselves to 254 for the second wicket.
“Kentv.Notts.—Rev. E. J. H. Elphinstone, c Jones, b Attewell, 172; J. P. Carteret, b Dixon, 103.
“This brilliant pair of amateurs completely collared the Notts attack at Canterbury yesterday, and in the course of two hours and a quarter helped themselves to 254 for the second wicket.
“Middlesexv.Yorkshire.—A. H. Trentham, run out, 97.“Yesterday, at Lord’s, that delightful batsman, A. H. Trentham, reduced the resourceful Yorkshire bowling to something that bore a family resemblance to common piffle. To the great disappointment of the enthusiastic company[B]he had the misfortune to be beautifully thrown out by F. S. Jackson when within three of the coveted threefigures. Among his strokes were seventeen fours, including a couple of remarkable drives off Rhodes into the pavilion seats. Had he topped the century yesterday it would have been his fifth this season in county cricket. As it is, he is still second in the first-class averages; and we certainly think that the Old Country is to be congratulated on having A. H. Trentham to represent her in the forthcoming test games in Australia. His absolute confidence and his fine forcing method, it is not premature to say, will be seen to singular advantage on the fast and true colonial grounds.”
“Middlesexv.Yorkshire.—A. H. Trentham, run out, 97.
“Yesterday, at Lord’s, that delightful batsman, A. H. Trentham, reduced the resourceful Yorkshire bowling to something that bore a family resemblance to common piffle. To the great disappointment of the enthusiastic company[B]he had the misfortune to be beautifully thrown out by F. S. Jackson when within three of the coveted threefigures. Among his strokes were seventeen fours, including a couple of remarkable drives off Rhodes into the pavilion seats. Had he topped the century yesterday it would have been his fifth this season in county cricket. As it is, he is still second in the first-class averages; and we certainly think that the Old Country is to be congratulated on having A. H. Trentham to represent her in the forthcoming test games in Australia. His absolute confidence and his fine forcing method, it is not premature to say, will be seen to singular advantage on the fast and true colonial grounds.”
Reader (loquitur): “Damn his fine forcing method! I wonder why Wiggles hadn’t the sense to water that wicket. Anyway, I wish Jacker had let him have his fling. They’re always worse when they’ve been run out.”
“Household Brigadev.Royal Artillery.—Captain Trentham, c Wolseley, b Kitchener, 150.“Playing for C.U.L.V.C.v.N. F. Druce’s XI. yesterday, H. C. Trentham, the crack Cambridge bowler, took nine wickets for eight runs. His performance included the ‘hat trick.’ The ball with which he bowled Prince Ranjitsinhji knocked one bail a distance of fifty-nine yards five and half inches. We believe we are correct in saying thatthis is a world’s record, providing that ‘up country in Australia,’ that home of the cricket miracle, is unable to furnish anything to beat it.
“Household Brigadev.Royal Artillery.—Captain Trentham, c Wolseley, b Kitchener, 150.
“Playing for C.U.L.V.C.v.N. F. Druce’s XI. yesterday, H. C. Trentham, the crack Cambridge bowler, took nine wickets for eight runs. His performance included the ‘hat trick.’ The ball with which he bowled Prince Ranjitsinhji knocked one bail a distance of fifty-nine yards five and half inches. We believe we are correct in saying thatthis is a world’s record, providing that ‘up country in Australia,’ that home of the cricket miracle, is unable to furnish anything to beat it.
“Harrow Wanderersv.Gentlemen of Cheshire.—T. S. M. Trentham, not out, 205.”“We have it from a reliable source,” says theAthletic News, “that the authorities at Old Trafford are making strenuous efforts to induce Mr. T. S. M. Trentham, this year’s captain at Harrow, and the youngest member of the famous brotherhood whose name he bears, to qualify for Lancashire. As doubtless our readers are aware, the authorities at Old Trafford have always been justly celebrated for their generous appreciation and encouragement of the cricketing talent ofothercounties, and in the case of young Mr. Trentham there is something peculiarly appropriate in the benevolence of their present attitude, as it is rumoured that Mr. Trentham once had an aunt who lived near Bootle.”
“Harrow Wanderersv.Gentlemen of Cheshire.—T. S. M. Trentham, not out, 205.”
“We have it from a reliable source,” says theAthletic News, “that the authorities at Old Trafford are making strenuous efforts to induce Mr. T. S. M. Trentham, this year’s captain at Harrow, and the youngest member of the famous brotherhood whose name he bears, to qualify for Lancashire. As doubtless our readers are aware, the authorities at Old Trafford have always been justly celebrated for their generous appreciation and encouragement of the cricketing talent ofothercounties, and in the case of young Mr. Trentham there is something peculiarly appropriate in the benevolence of their present attitude, as it is rumoured that Mr. Trentham once had an aunt who lived near Bootle.”
I could read no more. TheSportsmandropped from my unheeding hands, and I had just begun to whistle the opening bars of the “Dead March,” when two brown boots and the lower parts of a pair of grey flannel trousers wriggled from the lawn through the open window. They were surmountedtwo seconds later by a straw hat, a straw-coloured moustache, and an aquiline nose, which I identified as belonging to the General Nuisance. He had an exquisitely neat brown paper parcel under his arm, and a smile of fifty candle-power illuminating his classic features. I was horrified to see it.
“You’re early this morning,” I said resignedly. “It wants a quarter to eight yet. Have some breakfast?”
“Tha-anks,” he drawled, “but I’ve had my milk. I’ve called round to bring you yours.”
As he spoke he removed the string from the parcel in the most leisurely manner and disclosed a pile of carefully folded newspapers with names pencilled on the corners. Having discovered mine, he handed it to me with that air of benevolent condescension that head masters wear on speech day.
“How nice of you!” I said. However, I’m afraid this irony was so delicate that he didn’t feel it.
“My dear fellow, not at all,” he said. “There’s one for everybody. I’m delivering ’em to the whole team, don’t you know.”
Needless to say, he had presented me with an immaculate copy of theSportsman. I picked up my own discarded sheet from under the table.
“Awf’ly obliged, old chap, but I’ve got one, thank you,” I said, pleasantly.
“That’s lucky,” said he, “you can give one to your friends. Rather pretty reading, isn’t it? Awf’ly decent set, Trenthams, Elphinstone, etcetera.”
“Git!” I said, gazing round for a boot-jack or a poker, or something equally likely to debase his physical beauty.
“Ta-ta then, see you later!”
To my infinite joy he appeared to be taking the hint. But he had only just conducted his infernal smile to the right side of the window, when he jerked it back again, and said:—
“Oh, I forgot! I say, Dimsdale, I ought to tell you this. I rather think Billywasdrunk last night. His eyes are as red as a ferret’s this morning, and his housekeeper told me in confidence that when she got up this morning and went to call him she found master’s umbrella in bed and master sleeping in the umbrella-stand.”
“No, don’t say that,” I gasped, with a sinking at the heart. Alas! we’d only got two bowlers, and Billy was the one on whom we depended most.
“Fact!” said the General Nuisance cheerfully; “wouldn’t trouble you with it if I thought it wasn’t true. Lawson drove up with the Doctor as I cameaway. I implored our gentle secretary not to mourn, since a few Seidlitzs and a stomach-pump can do a lot in a very little time. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but it is generally slow bowlers who resort to intemperance, because as they’ve only got to lose their perfect length to embitter the lives of others, their possibilities become quite unbearable on a big occasion. At the M.C.C. match Lawson sat beside him at lunch both days counting his liqueurs. Poor old Lawson! I felt it my duty to assure him just now that it really took very little to make Billy lose his length. I also took the liberty of reminding him of what happened when he lost it once before, against Emeriti,—
5 overs.0 maidens.51 runs.0 wickets.
and Emeriti had got quite an ordinary side.”
Just as the muffineer arrived at the head of the General Nuisance, the General Nuisance was mean enough to duck. This act enabled the muffineer to crash through the plate-glass window.
“Timed that to a ‘T,’” said he. “Can see absolutely anything this morning. Certain to book fifty if I once get in, which I take to be a strong enough reason why an inscrutable Providence will cause us to lose the toss and keep me in the field all day.”
“Hope you will be there,” said I savagely, “and I’d like to see you taking long-field on both ends. And I hope you’ll drop a catch in front of the ladies’ tent. And I hope when you come racing round the corner to make that magnificent one-hand dive to save the four, the bally thing’ll jump and hit you in the teeth. And if you do go in to bat I hope you’ll be bowled neck and heels first ball.”
Ignoring this peroration he again appeared to be at the point of withdrawing his hateful presence. But too well did I know the General Nuisance to anticipate such a consummation. He merely seated himself on the sill in an attitude that would enable him to cope with sudden emergencies, and then said:—
“Oh, by the way, the youngest Gunter girl; you know, the little one with the green eyes and the freckles—just got engaged they say.”
“Who to?” I said fiercely. The General Nuisance certainly plumbed the depths of human fiendishness, but in conversation he had a command of topics that were irresistible.
“Who to?” I said.
“One of the Trenthams,” he smiled. “Ta-ta! See you ten-thirty.”
He was gone at last, and I had barely time to praise Heaven’s clemency that this was even so,when William entered with the face of an undertaker out of work.
“Clean gone, sir,” he said. “Abso-blooming-lutely! Looked high and low, and Mrs. Jennings ain’t no notion.”
“Looked in the lining of the bag?”
“Everywhere,” said the miserable William.
“Well,” said I, “unless it’s found I don’t get a run to-day.”
“I can tell you, sir,” said William, “that I’d rather lose my perquisites than that this should have ’appened at Little Clumptonv.Hickory. But there’s the Winchester, and the Magdalen, and the M.C.C. Couldn’t you get some in one of them, sir?”
“Daren’t risk it,” I said, “not at Little Clumptonv.Hickory. Yet, let me see, hasn’t Mr. Thornhill one of the Authentics?”
“Why, Lor’ bless me, that he ’ave, sir!”
“Well, get your bike at once, give my compliments and kind regards to Mr. Thornhill and tell him I’ve lost my Authentics and will he lend me his. Explain that it’s Little Clumptonv.Hickory, and that I can only get runs in the Authentics. It’s now eight-twenty, and it’s eighteen miles to Mr. Thornhill’s place. Can you bring it to me by eleven?”
“Well, sir, if I don’t, you’ll know I’ve burst a tyre.”
Within five minutes William was riding to Thornhill’s as if his life depended on it, with the stable-boy to pace him.