Psmith Series. P. G. Wodehouse
Bob had fallen to the last ball of the over, and Morris, standing ready for Saunders’s delivery, looked so calm and certain of himself that it was impossible to feel entirely without hope and self-confidence. Mike knew that Morris had made ninety-eight, and he supposed that Morris knew that he was very near his century; yet he seemed to be absolutely undisturbed. Mike drew courage from his attitude.
Morris pushed the first ball away to leg. Mike would have liked to have run two, but short leg had retrieved the ball as he reached the crease.
The moment had come, the moment which he had experienced only in dreams. And in the dreams he was always full of confidence, and invariably hit a boundary. Sometimes a drive, sometimes a cut, but always a boundary.
“To leg, sir,” said the umpire.
“Don’t be in a funk,” said a voice. “Play straight, and you can’t get out.”
It was Joe, who had taken the gloves when the wicket-keeper went on to bowl.
Mike grinned, wryly but gratefully.
Saunders was beginning his run. It was all so home-like that for a moment Mike felt himself again. How often he had seen those two little skips and the jump. It was like being in the paddock again, with Marjory and the dogs waiting by the railings to fetch the ball if he made a drive.
Saunders ran to the crease, and bowled.
Now, Saunders was a conscientious man, and, doubtless, bowled the very best ball that he possibly could. On the other hand, it was Mike’s first appearance for the school, and Saunders, besides being conscientious, was undoubtedly kind-hearted. It is useless to speculate as to whether he was trying to bowl his best that ball. If so, he failed signally. It was a half-volley, just the right distance away from the off-stump; the sort of ball Mike was wont to send nearly through the net at home....
The next moment the dreams had come true. The umpire was signalling to the scoring-box, the school was shouting, extra-cover was trotting to the boundary to fetch the ball, and Mike was blushing and wondering whether it was bad form to grin.
From that ball onwards all was for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Saunders bowled no more half-volleys; but Mike played everything that he did bowl. He met the lobs with a bat like a barn-door. Even the departure of Morris, caught in the slips off Saunders’s next over for a chanceless hundred and five, did not disturb him. All nervousness had left him. He felt equal to the situation. Burgess came in, and began to hit out as if he meant to knock off the runs. The bowling became a shade loose. Twice he was given full tosses to leg, which he hit to the terrace bank. Half-past six chimed, and two hundred and fifty went up on the telegraph board. Burgess continued to hit. Mike’s whole soul was concentrated on keeping up his wicket. There was only Reeves to follow him, and Reeves was a victim to the first straight ball. Burgess had to hit because it was the only game he knew; but he himself must simply stay in.
The hands of the clock seemed to have stopped. Then suddenly he heard the umpire say “Last over,” and he settled down to keep those six balls out of his wicket.
The lob bowler had taken himself off, and the Oxford Authentic had gone on, fast left-hand.
The first ball was short and wide of the off-stump. Mike let it alone. Number two: yorker. Got him! Three: straight half-volley. Mike played it back to the bowler. Four: beat him, and missed the wicket by an inch. Five: another yorker. Down on it again in the old familiar way.
All was well. The match was a draw now whatever happened to him. He hit out, almost at a venture, at the last ball, and mid-off, jumping, just failed to reach it. It hummed over his head, and ran like a streak along the turf and up the bank, and a great howl of delight went up from the school as the umpire took off the bails.
Mike walked away from the wickets with Joe and the wicket-keeper.
“I’m sorry about your nose, Joe,” said the wicket-keeper in tones of grave solicitude.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“At present,” said the wicket-keeper, “nothing. But in a few years I’m afraid it’s going to be put badly out of joint.”
CHAPTER XIV
A SLIGHT IMBROGLIO
Mike got his third eleven colours after the M.C.C. match.; As he had made twenty-three not out in a crisis in a first eleven match, this may not seem an excessive reward.; But it was all that he expected.; One had to take the rungs of the ladder singly at Wrykyn.; First one was given one’s third eleven cap.; That meant, “You are a promising man, and we have our eye on you.”; Then came the second colours.; They might mean anything from “Well, here you are.; You won’t get any higher, so you may as well have the thing now,” to “This is just to show that we still have our eye on you.”
Mike was a certainty now for the second.; But it needed more than one performance to secure the first cap.
“I told you so,” said Wyatt, naturally, to Burgess after the match.
“He’s not bad,” said Burgess.; “I’ll give him another shot.”
But Burgess, as has been pointed out, was not a person who ever became gushing with enthusiasm.
* * * * *
So Wilkins, of the School House, who had played twice for the first eleven, dropped down into the second, as many a good man had done before him, and Mike got his place in the next match, against the Gentlemen of the County.; Unfortunately for him, the visiting team, however gentlemanly, were not brilliant cricketers, at any rate as far as bowling was concerned.; The school won the toss, went in first, and made three hundred and sixteen for five wickets, Morris making another placid century.; The innings was declared closed before Mike had a chance of distinguishing himself.; In an innings which lasted for one over he made two runs, not out; and had to console himself for the cutting short of his performance by the fact that his average for the school was still infinity.; Bob, who was one of those lucky enough to have an unabridged innings, did better in this match, making twenty-five.; But with Morris making a hundred and seventeen, and Berridge, Ellerby, and Marsh all passing the half-century, this score did not show up excessively.
We now come to what was practically a turning-point in Mike’s career at Wrykyn.; There is no doubt that his meteor-like flights at cricket had an unsettling effect on him.; He was enjoying life amazingly, and, as is not uncommon with the prosperous, he waxed fat and kicked.; Fortunately for him—though he did not look upon it in that light at the time—he kicked the one person it was most imprudent to kick.; The person he selected was Firby-Smith.; With anybody else the thing might have blown over, to the detriment of Mike’s character; but Firby-Smith, having the most tender affection for his dignity, made a fuss.
It happened in this way.; The immediate cause of the disturbance was a remark of Mike’s, but the indirect cause was the unbearably patronising manner which the head of Wain’s chose to adopt towards him.; The fact that he was playing for the school seemed to make no difference at all.; Firby-Smith continued to address Mike merely as the small boy.
The following, verbatim, was the tactful speech which he addressed to him on the evening of the M.C.C. match, having summoned him to his study for the purpose.
“Well,” he said, “you played a very decent innings this afternoon, and I suppose you’re frightfully pleased with yourself, eh?; Well, mind you don’t go getting swelled head.; See?; That’s all.; Run along.”
Mike departed, bursting with fury.
The next link in the chain was forged a week after the Gentlemen of the County match.; House matches had begun, and Wain’s were playing Appleby’s.; Appleby’s made a hundred and fifty odd, shaping badly for the most part against Wyatt’s slows.; Then Wain’s opened their innings.; The Gazeka, as head of the house, was captain of the side, and he and Wyatt