Mike by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
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“Two hundred and twenty-nine,” said Burgess, “and it’s ten past six.
No good trying for the runs now. Stick in,” he added to Mike. “That’s
all you’ve got to do.”
All!… Mike felt as if he was being strangled. His heart was racing
like the engines of a motor. He knew his teeth were chattering. He
wished he could stop them. What a time Bob was taking to get back to
the pavilion! He wanted to rush out, and get the thing over.
At last he arrived, and Mike, fumbling at a glove, tottered out into
the sunshine. He heard miles and miles away a sound of clapping, and a
thin, shrill noise as if somebody were screaming in the distance. As a
matter of fact, several members of his form and of the junior day-room
at Wain’s nearly burst themselves at that moment.
At the wickets, he felt better. 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.”
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 went in first. Wyatt made a few mighty hits, and was then caught
at cover. Mike went in first wicket.
For some ten minutes all was peace. Firby-Smith scratched away at his
end, getting here and there a single and now and then a two, and Mike
settled down at once to play what he felt was going to be the innings
of a lifetime. Appleby’s bowling was on the feeble side, with Raikes,
of the third eleven, as the star, supported by some small change. Mike
pounded it vigorously. To one who had been brought up on Saunders,
Raikes possessed few subtleties. He had made seventeen, and was
thoroughly set, when the Gazeka, who had the bowling, hit one in the
direction of cover-point. With a certain type of batsman a single is a
thing to take big risks for. And the Gazeka badly wanted that single.
“Come on,” he shouted, prancing down the pitch.
Mike, who had remained in his crease with the idea that nobody even
moderately sane would attempt a run for a hit like that, moved forward
in a startled and irresolute manner. Firby-Smith arrived, shouting
“Run!” and, cover having thrown the ball in, the wicket-keeper removed
the bails.
These are solemn moments.
The only possible way of smoothing over an episode of this kind is for
the guilty man to grovel.
Firby-Smith did not grovel.
“Easy run there, you know,” he said reprovingly.
The world swam before Mike’s eyes. Through the red mist he could see
Firby-Smith’s face. The sun glinted on his rather prominent teeth. To
Mike’s distorted vision it seemed that the criminal was amused.
“Don’t laugh, you grinning ape!” he cried. “It isn’t funny.”
[Illustration: “DON’T LAUGH, YOU GRINNING APE”]
He then made for the trees where the rest of the team were sitting.
Now Firby-Smith not only possessed rather prominent teeth; he was also
sensitive on the subject. Mike’s shaft sank in deeply. The fact that
emotion caused him to swipe at a straight half-volley, miss it, and be
bowled next ball made the wound rankle.
He avoided Mike on his return to the trees. And Mike, feeling now a
little apprehensive, avoided him.
The Gazeka brooded apart for the
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