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>matters right, but he could not do the self-sacrificing young

hero business. It would not be in the picture. These things, if they

are to be done at school, have to be carried through stealthily, after

Mike’s fashion.

 

“I suppose you can’t very well, now it’s up. Tell you what, though, I

don’t see why I shouldn’t stand out of the team for the Ripton match.

I could easily fake up some excuse.”

 

“I do. I don’t know if it’s occurred to you, but the idea is rather to

win the Ripton match, if possible. So that I’m a lot keen on putting

the best team into the field. Sorry if it upsets your arrangements in

any way.”

 

“You know perfectly well Mike’s every bit as good as me.”

 

“He isn’t so keen.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Fielding. He’s a young slacker.”

 

When Burgess had once labelled a man as that, he did not readily let

the idea out of his mind.

 

“Slacker? What rot! He’s as keen as anything.”

 

“Anyhow, his keenness isn’t enough to make him turn out for

house-fielding. If you really want to know, that’s why you’ve

got your first instead of him. You sweated away, and improved

your fielding twenty per cent.; and I happened to be talking to

Firby-Smith and found that young Mike had been shirking his, so

out he went. A bad field’s bad enough, but a slack field wants

skinning.”

 

“Smith oughtn’t to have told you.”

 

“Well, he did tell me. So you see how it is. There won’t be any

changes from the team I’ve put up on the board.”

 

“Oh, all right,” said Bob. “I was afraid you mightn’t be able to do

anything. So long.”

 

“Mind the step,” said Burgess.

 

*

 

At about the time when this conversation was in progress, Wyatt,

crossing the cricket-field towards the school shop in search of

something fizzy that might correct a burning thirst acquired at the

nets, espied on the horizon a suit of cricket flannels surmounted by a

huge, expansive grin. As the distance between them lessened, he

discovered that inside the flannels was Neville-Smith’s body and

behind the grin the rest of Neville-Smith’s face. Their visit to the

nets not having coincided in point of time, as the Greek exercise

books say, Wyatt had not seen his friend since the list of the team

had been posted on the board, so he proceeded to congratulate him on

his colours.

 

“Thanks,” said Neville-Smith, with a brilliant display of front teeth.

 

“Feeling good?”

 

“Not the word for it. I feel like—I don’t know what.”

 

“I’ll tell you what you look like, if that’s any good to you. That

slight smile of yours will meet behind, if you don’t look out, and

then the top of your head’ll come off.”

 

“I don’t care. I’ve got my first, whatever happens. Little Willie’s

going to buy a nice new cap and a pretty striped jacket all for his

own self! I say, thanks for reminding me. Not that you did, but

supposing you had. At any rate, I remember what it was I wanted to

say to you. You know what I was saying to you about the bust I meant

to have at home in honour of my getting my first, if I did, which I

have—well, anyhow it’s to-night. You can roll up, can’t you?”

 

“Delighted. Anything for a free feed in these hard times. What time

did you say it was?”

 

“Eleven. Make it a bit earlier, if you like.”

 

“No, eleven’ll do me all right.”

 

“How are you going to get out?”

 

“‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.’ That’s what

the man said who wrote the libretto for the last set of Latin Verses

we had to do. I shall manage it.”

 

“They ought to allow you a latch-key.”

 

“Yes, I’ve often thought of asking my pater for one. Still, I get on

very well. Who are coming besides me?”

 

“No boarders. They all funked it.”

 

“The race is degenerating.”

 

“Said it wasn’t good enough.”

 

“The school is going to the dogs. Who did you ask?”

 

“Clowes was one. Said he didn’t want to miss his beauty-sleep. And

Henfrey backed out because he thought the risk of being sacked wasn’t

good enough.”

 

“That’s an aspect of the thing that might occur to some people. I

don’t blame him—I might feel like that myself if I’d got another

couple of years at school.”

 

“But one or two day-boys are coming. Clephane is, for one. And

Beverley. We shall have rather a rag. I’m going to get the things

now.”

 

“When I get to your place—I don’t believe I know the way, now I come

to think of it—what do I do? Ring the bell and send in my card? or

smash the nearest window and climb in?”

 

“Don’t make too much row, for goodness sake. All the servants’ll have

gone to bed. You’ll see the window of my room. It’s just above the

porch. It’ll be the only one lighted up. Heave a pebble at it, and

I’ll come down.”

 

“So will the glass—with a run, I expect. Still, I’ll try to do as

little damage as possible. After all, I needn’t throw a brick.”

 

“You will turn up, won’t you?”

 

“Nothing shall stop me.”

 

“Good man.”

 

As Wyatt was turning away, a sudden compunction seized upon

Neville-Smith. He called him back.

 

“I say, you don’t think it’s too risky, do you? I mean, you always are

breaking out at night, aren’t you? I don’t want to get you into a

row.”

 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Wyatt. “Don’t you worry about me. I

should have gone out anyhow to-night.”

CHAPTER XXIII

A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY

 

“You may not know it,” said Wyatt to Mike in the dormitory that night,

“but this is the maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year.”

 

Mike could not help thinking that for himself it was the very reverse,

but he did not state his view of the case.

 

“What’s up?” he asked.

 

“Neville-Smith’s giving a meal at his place in honour of his getting

his first. I understand the preparations are on a scale of the utmost

magnificence. No expense has been spared. Ginger-beer will flow like

water. The oldest cask of lemonade has been broached; and a sardine is

roasting whole in the market-place.”

 

“Are you going?”

 

“If I can tear myself away from your delightful society. The kick-off

is fixed for eleven sharp. I am to stand underneath his window and

heave bricks till something happens. I don’t know if he keeps a dog.

If so, I shall probably get bitten to the bone.”

 

“When are you going to start?”

 

“About five minutes after Wain has been round the dormitories to see

that all’s well. That ought to be somewhere about half-past ten.”

 

“Don’t go getting caught.”

 

“I shall do my little best not to be. Rather tricky work, though,

getting back. I’ve got to climb two garden walls, and I shall probably

be so full of Malvoisie that you’ll be able to hear it swishing about

inside me. No catch steeple-chasing if you’re like that. They’ve no

thought for people’s convenience here. Now at Bradford they’ve got

studies on the ground floor, the windows looking out over the

boundless prairie. No climbing or steeple-chasing needed at all. All

you have to do is to open the window and step out. Still, we must make

the best of things. Push us over a pinch of that tooth-powder of

yours. I’ve used all mine.”

 

Wyatt very seldom penetrated further than his own garden on the

occasions when he roamed abroad at night. For cat-shooting the Wain

spinneys were unsurpassed. There was one particular dustbin where one

might be certain of flushing a covey any night; and the wall by the

potting-shed was a feline club-house.

 

But when he did wish to get out into the open country he had a special

route which he always took. He climbed down from the wall that ran

beneath the dormitory window into the garden belonging to Mr. Appleby,

the master who had the house next to Mr. Wain’s. Crossing this, he

climbed another wall, and dropped from it into a small lane which

ended in the main road leading to Wrykyn town.

 

This was the route which he took to-night. It was a glorious July

night, and the scent of the flowers came to him with a curious

distinctness as he let himself down from the dormitory window. At any

other time he might have made a lengthy halt, and enjoyed the scents

and small summer noises, but now he felt that it would be better not

to delay. There was a full moon, and where he stood he could be seen

distinctly from the windows of both houses. They were all dark, it is

true, but on these occasions it was best to take no risks.

 

He dropped cautiously into Appleby’s garden, ran lightly across it,

and was in the lane within a minute.

 

There he paused, dusted his trousers, which had suffered on the

two walls, and strolled meditatively in the direction of the town.

Half-past ten had just chimed from the school clock. He was in plenty

of time.

 

“What a night!” he said to himself, sniffing as he walked.

 

*

 

Now it happened that he was not alone in admiring the beauty of that

particular night. At ten-fifteen it had struck Mr. Appleby, looking

out of his study into the moonlit school grounds, that a pipe in the

open would make an excellent break in his night’s work. He had

acquired a slight headache as the result of correcting a batch of

examination papers, and he thought that an interval of an hour in the

open air before approaching the half-dozen or so papers which still

remained to be looked at might do him good. The window of his study

was open, but the room had got hot and stuffy. Nothing like a little

fresh air for putting him right.

 

For a few moments he debated the rival claims of a stroll in the

cricket-field and a seat in the garden. Then he decided on the latter.

The little gate in the railings opposite his house might not be

open, and it was a long way round to the main entrance. So he took a

deck-chair which leaned against the wall, and let himself out of the

back door.

 

He took up his position in the shadow of a fir-tree with his back to

the house. From here he could see the long garden. He was fond of his

garden, and spent what few moments he could spare from work and games

pottering about it. He had his views as to what the ideal garden

should be, and he hoped in time to tinker his own three acres up to

the desired standard. At present there remained much to be done. Why

not, for instance, take away those laurels at the end of the lawn, and

have a flowerbed there instead? Laurels lasted all the year round,

true, whereas flowers died and left an empty brown bed in the winter,

but then laurels were nothing much to look at at any time, and a

garden always had a beastly appearance in winter, whatever you did to

it. Much better have flowers, and get a decent show for one’s money in

summer at any rate.

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