The Gold Bat by P. G. Wodehouse (best book reader .txt) 📖

the room they had left.  “By the way, what did you do with that card?”

“Here it is.  Want it?”

“You can keep it.  I don’t want it.”

“Thanks.  If this sort of things goes on, I shall get quite a nice collection of these cards.  Start an album some day.”

“You know,” said Trevor, “this is getting serious.”

“It always does get serious when anything bad happens to one’s self.  It always strikes one as rather funny when things happen to other people.  When Mill’s study was wrecked, I bet you regarded it as an amusing and original ‘turn’.  What do you think of the present effort?”

“Who on earth can have done it?”

“The Pres—­”

“Oh, dry up.  Of course it was.  But who the blazes is he?”

“Nay, children, you have me there,” quoted Clowes.  “I’ll tell you one thing, though.  You remember what I said about it’s probably being Rand-Brown.  He can’t have done this, that’s certain, because he was out in the fields the whole time.  Though I don’t see who else could have anything to gain by Barry not getting his colours.”

“There’s no reason to suspect him at all, as far as I can see.  I don’t know much about him, bar the fact that he can’t play footer for nuts, but I’ve never heard anything against him.  Have you?”

“I scarcely know him myself.  He isn’t liked in Seymour’s, I believe.”

“Well, anyhow, this can’t be his work.”

“That’s what I said.”

“For all we know, the League may have got their knife into Barry for some reason.  You said they used to get their knife into fellows in that way.  Anyhow, I mean to find out who ragged my room.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Clowes.

* * * * *

O’Hara came round to Donaldson’s before morning school next day to tell Trevor that he had not yet succeeded in finding the lost bat.  He found Trevor and Clowes in the former’s den, trying to put a few finishing touches to the same.

“Hullo, an’ what’s up with your study?” he inquired.  He was quick at noticing things.  Trevor looked annoyed.  Clowes asked the visitor if he did not think the study presented a neat and gentlemanly appearance.

“Where are all your photographs, Trevor?” persisted the descendant of Irish kings.

“It’s no good trying to conceal anything from the bhoy,” said Clowes.  “Sit down, O’Hara—­mind that chair; it’s rather wobbly—­and I will tell ye the story.”

“Can you keep a thing dark?” inquired Trevor.

O’Hara protested that tombs were not in it.

“Well, then, do you remember what happened to Mill’s study?  That’s what’s been going on here.”

O’Hara nearly fell off his chair with surprise.  That some philanthropist should rag Mill’s study was only to be expected.  Mill was one of the worst.  A worm without a saving grace.  But Trevor!  Captain of football!  In the first eleven!  The thing was unthinkable.

“But who—?” he began.

“That’s just what I want to know,” said Trevor, shortly.  He did not enjoy discussing the affair.

“How long have you been at Wrykyn, O’Hara?” said Clowes.

O’Hara made a rapid calculation.  His fingers twiddled in the air as he worked out the problem.

“Six years,” he said at last, leaning back exhausted with brain work.

“Then you must remember the League?”

“Remember the League?  Rather.”

“Well, it’s been revived.”

O’Hara whistled.

“This’ll liven the old place up,” he said.  “I’ve often thought of reviving it meself.  An’ so has Moriarty.  If it’s anything like the Old League, there’s going to be a sort of Donnybrook before it’s done with.  I wonder who’s running it this time.”

“We should like to know that.  If you find out, you might tell us.”

“I will.”

“And don’t tell anybody else,” said Trevor.  “This business has got to be kept quiet.  Keep it dark about my study having been ragged.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Not even Moriarty.”

“Oh, hang it, man,” put in Clowes, “you don’t want to kill the poor bhoy, surely?  You must let him tell one person.”

“All right,” said Trevor, “you can tell Moriarty.  But nobody else, mind.”

O’Hara promised that Moriarty should receive the news exclusively.

“But why did the League go for ye?”

“They happen to be down on me.  It doesn’t matter why.  They are.”

“I see,” said O’Hara.  “Oh,” he added, “about that bat.  The search is being ’vigorously prosecuted’—­that’s a newspaper quotation—­”

“Times?” inquired Clowes.

“Wrykyn Patriot,” said O’Hara, pulling out a bundle of letters.  He inspected each envelope in turn, and from the fifth extracted a newspaper cutting.

“Read that,” he said.

It was from the local paper, and ran as follows:—­

“Hooligan Outrage—­A painful sensation has been caused in the town by a deplorable ebullition of local Hooliganism, which has resulted in the wanton disfigurement of the splendid statue of Sir Eustace Briggs which stands in the New Recreation Grounds.  Our readers will recollect that the statue was erected to commemorate the return of Sir Eustace as member for the borough of Wrykyn, by an overwhelming majority, at the last election.  Last Tuesday some youths of the town, passing through the Recreation Grounds early in the morning, noticed that the face and body of the statue were completely covered with leaves and some black substance, which on examination proved to be tar.  They speedily lodged information at the police station.  Everything seems to point to party spite as the motive for the outrage.  In view of the forth-coming election, such an act is highly significant, and will serve sufficiently to indicate the tactics employed by our opponents.  The search for the perpetrator (or perpetrators) of the dastardly act is being vigorously prosecuted, and we learn with satisfaction that the police have already several clues.”

“Clues!” said Clowes, handing back the paper, “that means the bat.  That gas about ‘our opponents’ is all a blind to put you off your guard.  You wait.  There’ll be more painful sensations before you’ve finished with this business.”

“They can’t have found the bat, or why did they not say so?” observed O’Hara.

“Guile,” said Clowes, “pure guile.  If I were you, I should escape while I could.  Try Callao.  There’s no extradition there.

    ’On no petition
     Is extradition
     Allowed in Callao.’

Either of you chaps coming over to school?”

VIII O’HARA ON THE TRACK

Tuesday mornings at Wrykyn were devoted—­up to the quarter to eleven interval—­to the study of mathematics.  That is to say, instead of going to their form-rooms, the various forms visited the out-of-the-way nooks and dens at the top of the buildings where the mathematical masters were wont to lurk, and spent a pleasant two hours there playing round games or reading fiction under the desk.  Mathematics being one of the few branches of school learning which are of any use in after life, nobody ever dreamed of doing any work in that direction, least of all O’Hara.  It was a theory of O’Hara’s that he came to school to enjoy himself.  To have done any work during a mathematics lesson would have struck him as a positive waste of time, especially as he was in Mr Banks’ class.  Mr Banks was a master who simply cried out to be ragged.  Everything he did and said seemed to invite the members of his class to amuse themselves, and they amused themselves accordingly.  One of the advantages of being under him was that it was possible to predict to a nicety the moment when one would be sent out of the room.  This was found very convenient.

O’Hara’s ally, Moriarty, was accustomed to take his mathematics with Mr Morgan, whose room was directly opposite Mr Banks’.  With Mr Morgan it was not quite so easy to date one’s expulsion from the room under ordinary circumstances, and in the normal wear and tear of the morning’s work, but there was one particular action which could always be relied upon to produce the desired result.

In one corner of the room stood a gigantic globe.  The problem—­how did it get into the room?—­was one that had exercised the minds of many generations of Wrykinians.  It was much too big to have come through the door.  Some thought that the block had been built round it, others that it had been placed in the room in infancy, and had since grown.  To refer the question to Mr Morgan would, in six cases out of ten, mean instant departure from the room.  But to make the event certain, it was necessary to grasp the globe firmly and spin it round on its axis.  That always proved successful.  Mr Morgan would dash down from his dais, address the offender in spirited terms, and give him his marching orders at once and without further trouble.

Moriarty had arranged with O’Hara to set the globe rolling at ten sharp on this particular morning.  O’Hara would then so arrange matters with Mr Banks that they could meet in the passage at that hour, when O’Hara wished to impart to his friend his information concerning the League.

O’Hara promised to be at the trysting-place at the hour mentioned.

He did not think there would be any difficulty about it.  The news that the League had been revived meant that there would be trouble in the very near future, and the prospect of trouble was meat and drink to the Irishman in O’Hara.  Consequently he felt in particularly good form for mathematics (as he interpreted the word).  He thought that he would have no difficulty whatever in keeping Mr Banks bright and amused.  The first step had to be to arouse in him an interest in life, to bring him into a frame of mind which would induce him to look severely rather than leniently on the next offender.  This was effected as follows:—­

It was Mr Banks’ practice to set his class sums to work out, and, after some three-quarters of an hour had elapsed, to pass round the form what he called “solutions”.  These were large sheets of paper, on which he had worked out each sum in his neat handwriting to a happy ending.  When the head of the form, to whom they were passed first, had finished with them, he would make a slight tear in one corner, and, having done so, hand them on to his neighbour.  The neighbour, before giving them to his neighbour, would also tear them slightly.  In time they would return to their patentee and proprietor, and it was then that things became exciting.

“Who tore these solutions like this?” asked Mr Banks, in the repressed voice of one who is determined that he will be calm.

No answer.  The tattered solutions waved in the air.

He turned to Harringay, the head of the form.

“Harringay, did you tear these solutions like this?”

Indignant negative from Harringay.  What he had done had been to make the small tear in the top left-hand corner.  If Mr Banks had asked, “Did you make this small tear in the top left-hand corner of these solutions?” Harringay would have scorned to deny the impeachment.  But to claim the credit for the whole work would, he felt, be an act of flat dishonesty, and an injustice to his gifted collaborateurs.

“No, sir,” said Harringay.

“Browne!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you tear these solutions in this manner?”

“No, sir.”

And so on through the form.

Then Harringay rose after the manner of the debater who is conscious that he is going to say the popular thing.

“Sir—­” he began.

“Sit down, Harringay.”

Harringay gracefully waved aside the absurd command.

“Sir,” he said, “I think I am expressing the general consensus of opinion among my—­ahem—­fellow-students, when I say that this class sincerely regrets the unfortunate state the solutions have managed to get themselves into.”

“Hear, hear!” from a back bench.

“It is with—­”

“Sit down, Harringay.”

“It is with heartfelt—­”

“Harringay, if you do not sit down—­”

“As your ludship pleases.”  This sotto voce.

And Harringay resumed his seat amidst applause.  O’Hara got up.

“As me frind who has just sat down was about to observe—­”

“Sit down, O’Hara.  The whole form will remain after the class.”

“—­the unfortunate state the solutions have managed to get thimsilves into is sincerely regretted by this class.  Sir, I think I am ixprissing the general consensus of opinion among my fellow-students whin I say that it is with heart-felt sorrow—­”

“O’Hara!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Leave the room instantly.”

“Yes, sir.”

From the tower across the gravel came the melodious sound of chimes.  The college clock was beginning to strike ten.  He had scarcely got into the passage, and closed the door after him, when a roar as of a bereaved spirit rang through the room opposite, followed by a string of words, the only intelligible one being the noun-substantive “globe”, and the next moment the door opened and Moriarty came out.  The last stroke of ten was just booming from the clock.

There was a large cupboard in the passage, the top of which made a very comfortable seat.  They climbed on to this, and began to talk business.

“An’ what was it ye wanted to tell me?” inquired Moriarty.

O’Hara related what he had learned from Trevor that morning.

“An’ do ye know,” said Moriarty, when he had finished, “I half suspected, when I heard that Mill’s study had been ragged, that it might be the League that had done it.  If ye remember, it was what they enjoyed doing, breaking up a man’s happy home.  They did it frequently.”

“But I can’t understand them doing it to Trevor at all.”

“They’ll do it to anybody they choose till they’re caught at it.”

“If they are caught, there’ll be a row.”

“We must catch ’em,” said Moriarty.  Like O’Hara, he revelled in the prospect