The Pothunters, P. G. Wodehouse [digital book reader .TXT] 📗

lot of valuable prizes in should be allowed at large. Why couldn’t they keep them in the board room as they used to?”

“Thought it ’ud save trouble, I suppose. Save them carting the things over to the Pav. on Sports Day,” hazarded Tony.

“Saved the burglar a lot of trouble, I should say,” observed Jackson. “I could break into the Pav. myself in five minutes.”

“Good old Jackson,” said Charteris, “have a shot tonight. I’ll hold the watch. I’m doing a leader on the melancholy incident for next month’s Glow Worm. It appears that Master Reginald Robinson, a member of Mr. Merevale’s celebrated boarding establishment, was passing by the Pavilion at an early hour on the morning of the second of April⁠—that’s today⁠—when his eye was attracted by an excavation or incision in one of the windows of that imposing edifice. His narrative appears on another page. Interviewed by a Glow Worm representative, Master Robinson, who is a fine, healthy, bronzed young Englishman of some thirteen summers, with a delightful, boyish flow of speech, not wholly free from a suspicion of cheek, gave it as his opinion that the outrage was the work of a burglar⁠—a remarkable display of sagacity in one so young. A portrait of Master Robinson appears on another page.”

“Everything seems to appear on another page,” said Jim. “Am I to do the portrait?”

“I think it would be best. You can never trust a photo to caricature a person enough. Your facial H.B.’s the thing.”

“Have you heard whether anything else was bagged besides the cups?” asked Welch.

“Not that I know of,” said Jim.

“Yes there was,” said Jackson. “It further appears that that lunatic, Adamson, had left some money in the pocket of his blazer, which he had left in the Pav. overnight. On enquiry it was found that the money had also left.”

Adamson was in the same House as Jackson, and had talked of nothing else throughout the whole of lunch. He was an abnormally wealthy individual, however, and it was generally felt, though he himself thought otherwise, that he could afford to lose some of the surplus.

“How much?” asked Jim.

“Two pounds.”

At this Jim gave vent to the exclamation which Mr. Barry Pain calls the Englishman’s shortest prayer.

“My dear sir,” said Charteris. “My very dear sir. We blush for you. Might I ask why you take the matter to heart so?”

Jim hesitated.

“Better have it out, Jim,” said Tony. “These chaps’ll keep it dark all right.” And Jim entered once again upon the recital of his doings on the previous night.

“So you see,” he concluded, “this two pound business makes it all the worse.”

“I don’t see why,” said Welch.

“Well, you see, money’s a thing everybody wants, whereas cups wouldn’t be any good to a fellow at school. So that I should find it much harder to prove that I didn’t take the two pounds, than I should have done to prove that I didn’t take the cups.”

“But there’s no earthly need for you to prove anything,” said Tony. “There’s not the slightest chance of your being found out.”

“Exactly,” observed Charteris. “We will certainly respect your incog. if you wish it. Wild horses shall draw no evidence from us. It is, of course, very distressing, but what is man after all? Are we not as the beasts that perish, and is not our little life rounded by a sleep? Indeed, yes. And now⁠—with full chorus, please.

“We-e take him from the city or the plough.
We-e dress him up in uniform so ne-e-e-at.”

And at the third line some plaster came down from the ceiling, and Merevale came up, and the meeting dispersed without the customary cheers.

VII Barrett Explores

Barrett stood at the window of his study with his hands in his pockets, looking thoughtfully at the football field. Now and then he whistled. That was to show that he was very much at his ease. He whistled a popular melody of the day three times as slowly as its talented composer had originally intended it to be whistled, and in a strange minor key. Some people, when offended, invariably whistle in this manner, and these are just the people with whom, if you happen to share a study with them, it is rash to have differences of opinion. Reade, who was deep in a book⁠—though not so deep as he would have liked the casual observer to fancy him to be⁠—would have given much to stop Barrett’s musical experiments. To ask him to stop in so many words was, of course, impossible. Offended dignity must draw the line somewhere. That is one of the curious results of a polite education. When two gentlemen of Hoxton or the Borough have a misunderstanding, they address one another with even more freedom than is their usual custom. When one member of a public school falls out with another member, his politeness in dealing with him becomes so Chesterfieldian, that one cannot help being afraid that he will sustain a strain from which he will never recover.

After a time the tension became too much for Barrett. He picked up his cap and left the room. Reade continued to be absorbed in his book.

It was a splendid day outside, warm for April, and with just that freshness in the air which gets into the blood and makes spring the best time of the whole year. Barrett had not the aesthetic soul to any appreciable extent, but he did know a fine day when he saw one, and even he realised that a day like this was not to be wasted in pottering about the School grounds watching the “under thirteen” hundred yards (trial heats) and the “under fourteen” broad jump, or doing occasional exercises in the gymnasium. It was a day for going far afield and not returning till lockup. He had an object, too. Everything seemed to shout “eggs” at him, to remind him that he was an enthusiast on the subject and had a collection to which he ought