The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines (книги бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

And thus Willoughby returned once more to her right mind.

Chapter Thirty Six

Willoughby herself again

It was the day of the Templeton match, and all Willoughby had once more turned out into the Big to watch the achievements of its heroes.

Yet it was not so much the cricket that fellows crowded out to see. Of course, the contest between the second-eleven and Templeton was moderately interesting. But it was not of the first importance, and Willoughby might have survived had it been deprived of the pleasure of witnessing it.

But the pleasure of witnessing old Wyndham umpiring for the old school in the very Big where his own mighty victories had been achieved, was quite another matter; and in honour of this event it was that Willoughby turned out in a body and watched the Templeton match.

The old captain had not much altered in the few weeks since he had left Willoughby. His whiskers had not had time to grow, and he even wore the same flannel jacket he had on at the athletic sports in May. But in the eyes of the boys he might have been no longer a man, but a demi-god, with such awe and reverence did they behold him.

He had lately scored one hundred and five for the Colts of his county, and had even been selected to play in the eleven against M.C.C. next week. What he might not achieve when he went up to Oxford in the autumn no one could say, but that he would be stroke of the eight and captain of the fifteen, and carry off all the events in the next University athletics, no one at the school ventured to doubt for a moment.

The Templeton boys hardly knew what to make of all this demonstration in favour of their opponents’ umpire, and it added considerably to their nervousness to hear loud cries of “Well umpired, sir!” when any one was given out.

Parson and Telson, having taken the precaution to send Bosher and Lawkins early in the day to keep seats for them on the round bench under the schoolhouse elms, viewed the match luxuriously, and not a little to the envy of other juniors, who had to stand or sit on the ground where they could.

“Boshy play, you know,” says Telson, helping himself to monkey-nuts out of Parson’s hospitable pocket; “but it’s stunning to see the way old Wynd. gives middle. Any one else would take double the time over it.”

“Right you are! And he’s awfully fair too. See the neat way he gave Forbes out leg before, just now!”

“There’s another two for Tedbury. We’ll cheer him next time. Hullo, Bosher, old man! you needn’t be coming here. There’s no room; we’re full up.”

“You might let us sit down a bit,” says Bosher; “I kept the seat from half-past ten to twelve for you.”

“Jolly muff not to sit down, then, when you had the chance. Jolly gross conduct of the evil Bosher, eh, Telson?”

“Rather! He’s small in the world, but he’d better get out of the light, my boy, or he’ll catch it!”

Bosher subsides at this point, and the two friends resume their divided interest in the match, and old Wyndham, and the monkey-nuts.

Presently two familiar forms saunter past, arm-in-arm.

“There go Riddell and Bloomfield,” says Parson. “Awfully chummy they’ve got, haven’t they? Different from what it used to be!”

“So it is,” says Parson. “Not nearly as much chance of a lark. But perhaps it’s no harm; it keeps those Welcher kids quiet.”

“More than it’s doing just now! Look at the way young Cusack is bellowing over there! He’s as mad on this match as if he was in the eleven.”

“So he expects to be, some day. But they’re not going to have it all their own way in Welch’s again. Our club’s going ahead like blazes now, and we’ve challenged them for a return match the day before break-up.”

“There’s Tedbury out,” says Telson. “Twenty runs he’s made — not a bad score. We’d better cheer him, I say.”

And the two grandees suit the action to the word, and rejoice the heart of Tedbury as he retires to the tent, by their lusty applause.

The Willoughbites do not do badly as a whole. A few of them, either through incompetence or terror at the presence of old Wyndham, fail to break their duck’s-eggs, but the others among them put together the respectable score of one hundred and five — the identical figures, by the way, which Wyndham scored off his own bat the other day in the Colts’ match of his county.

During the interval there is a general incursion of spectators into the ground, and a stampede by the more enthusiastic to the tent where the great umpire is known to be “on show” for a short time.

Amongst others, Parson and Telson incautiously quit their seats, which are promptly “bagged” by Bosher and Lawkins, who have had their eyes on them all the morning, and are determined now, at any rate, to take the reward of their patience, and hold them against all comers.

The crowd in the tent has not a long time wherein to feast its eyes on the old captain, for Willoughby goes out to field almost at once, and Templeton’s innings begins. Whatever may have been the case with the school, Templeton seems quite unable to perform under the eyes of the great “M.C.C.” man, and wicket after wicket falls in rapid succession, until with the miserable total of fifty-one they finally retire for this innings.

“A follow-on,” says Game, who from near the tent is patronisingly looking on, in company with Ashley, Tipper, and Wibberly. “I suppose they ought to do them in one innings now?”

“Ought to try,” says Tipper. “Some of these kids play fairly well.”

“They get well coached, that’s what it is. What with Bloomfield, and Fairbairn, and Mr Parrett, they’ve been drilled, and no mistake.”

“Let’s see,” says Wibberly, “there are five Parretts in the eleven, aren’t there.”

Ashley laughs.

“I don’t fancy any one thought of counting,” says he. “Perhaps we’d better not, or it may turn out as bad for us as in the Rockshire match.”

“After all,” says Tipper, “I’m just as glad those rows are over. We’re none the worse off now.”

“No, I suppose not,” says Game, a little doubtfully; “and Bloomfield and he are such friends. It’s just as well to keep in with the captain.”

“Not very difficult either,” says Ashley.

“He’s friendly enough, and doesn’t seem to have any grudge. He told me he hoped I’d be on the monitors’ list again next term.”

“Ah, I’m having a shot at that too,” says Game. “Ah, it is a follow-on, then. There go our fellows to field again.”

Just as the second innings of Templeton is half-over, a melancholy figure crosses the Big from the school and makes its way to the tent. It is young Wyndham, whose half-hour’s liberty has come round at last, and who now has come to witness the achievements of that second-eleven in which, alas! he may not play.

However, he does not waste his time in growling, but cheers vociferously every piece of good fielding, and his voice becomes an inspiriting feature of the innings. But you can see, by the way he is constantly looking at his watch, that his liberty is limited, and that soon, like Cinderella at midnight, he must vanish once more into obscurity. He knows to half a second how long it takes him to run from the tent to the schoolhouse, and at one minute and twelve seconds to six, whatever he is doing, he will bolt like mad to his quarters.

Before, however, his time is half-over the captain joins him.

“Well, old man,” says the latter, “I wish you were playing. It’s hard lines for you.”

“Not a bit — (Well thrown up, Gamble!) — not a bit hard lines,” says the boy. “Lucky for me I’m here at all to see the match.”

“Well, it’ll be all right next term,” says the captain. “I say, it would have done you good to see the cheer your brother got when he turned up.”

“Oh, I heard it,” said the boy. “Fairbairn lets me stick in his study — that window there, that looks right through the gap in the elms, so I can see most of what’s going on — (Now then, sir, pick it up there; fielded indeed!)”