The Gold Bat

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THE GOLD BAT

by P. G. Wodehouse

1904

[Dedication]
To
THAT PRINCE OF SLACKERS,
HERBERT WESTBROOK

CONTENTS

Chapter

I THE FIFTEENTH PLACE

II THE GOLD BAT

III THE MAYOR'S STATUE

IV THE LEAGUE'S WARNING

V MILL RECEIVES VISITORS

VI TREVOR REMAINS FIRM

VII "WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE LEAGUE"

VIII O'HARA ON THE TRACK

IX MAINLY ABOUT FERRETS

X BEING A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

XI THE HOUSE-MATCHES

XII NEWS OF THE GOLD BAT

XIII VICTIM NUMBER THREE

XIV THE WHITE FIGURE

XV A SPRAIN AND A VACANT PLACE

XVI THE RIPTON MATCH

XVII THE WATCHERS IN THE VAULT

XVIII O'HARA EXCELS HIMSELF

XIX THE MAYOR'S VISIT

XX THE FINDING OF THE BAT

XXI THE LEAGUE REVEALED

XXII A DRESS REHEARSAL

XXIII WHAT RENFORD SAW

XXIV CONCLUSION

I

THE FIFTEENTH PLACE

"Outside!"

"Don't be an idiot, man. I bagged it first."

"My dear chap, I've been waiting here a month."

"When you fellows have _quite_ finished rotting about in front of
that bath don't let _me_ detain you."

"Anybody seen that sponge?"

"Well, look here"--this in a tone of compromise--"let's toss for it."

"All right. Odd man out."

All of which, being interpreted, meant that the first match of the
Easter term had just come to an end, and that those of the team who,
being day boys, changed over at the pavilion, instead of performing the
operation at leisure and in comfort, as did the members of houses, were
discussing the vital question--who was to have first bath?

The Field Sports Committee at Wrykyn--that is, at the school which
stood some half-mile outside that town and took its name from it--were
not lavish in their expenditure as regarded the changing accommodation
in the pavilion. Letters appeared in every second number of the
_Wrykinian_, some short, others long, some from members of the
school, others from Old Boys, all protesting against the condition of
the first, second, and third fifteen dressing-rooms. "Indignant" would
inquire acidly, in half a page of small type, if the editor happened to
be aware that there was no hair-brush in the second room, and only half
a comb. "Disgusted O. W." would remark that when he came down with the
Wandering Zephyrs to play against the third fifteen, the water supply
had suddenly and mysteriously failed, and the W.Z.'s had been obliged
to go home as they were, in a state of primeval grime, and he thought
that this was "a very bad thing in a school of over six hundred boys",
though what the number of boys had to do with the fact that there was
no water he omitted to explain. The editor would express his regret in
brackets, and things would go on as before.

There was only one bath in the first fifteen room, and there were on
the present occasion six claimants to it. And each claimant was of the
fixed opinion that, whatever happened subsequently, he was going to
have it first. Finally, on the suggestion of Otway, who had reduced
tossing to a fine art, a mystic game of Tommy Dodd was played. Otway
having triumphantly obtained first innings, the conversation reverted
to the subject of the match.

The Easter term always opened with a scratch game against a mixed team
of masters and old boys, and the school usually won without any great
exertion. On this occasion the match had been rather more even than the
average, and the team had only just pulled the thing off by a couple of
tries to a goal. Otway expressed an opinion that the school had played
badly.

"Why on earth don't you forwards let the ball out occasionally?" he
asked. Otway was one of the first fifteen halves.

"They were so jolly heavy in the scrum," said Maurice, one of the
forwards. "And when we did let it out, the outsides nearly always
mucked it."

"Well, it wasn't the halves' fault. We always got it out to the
centres."

"It wasn't the centres," put in Robinson. "They played awfully well.
Trevor was ripping."

"Trevor always is," said Otway; "I should think he's about the best
captain we've had here for a long time. He's certainly one of the best
centres."

"Best there's been since Rivers-Jones," said Clephane.

Rivers-Jones was one of those players who mark an epoch. He had been in
the team fifteen years ago, and had left Wrykyn to captain Cambridge
and play three years in succession for Wales. The school regarded the
standard set by him as one that did not admit of comparison. However
good a Wrykyn centre three-quarter might be, the most he could hope to
be considered was "the best _since_ Rivers-Jones". "Since"
Rivers-Jones, however, covered fifteen years, and to be looked on as
the best centre the school could boast of during that time, meant
something. For Wrykyn knew how to play football.

Since it had been decided thus that the faults in the school attack did
not lie with the halves, forwards, or centres, it was more or less
evident that they must be attributable to the wings. And the search for
the weak spot was even further narrowed down by the general verdict
that Clowes, on the left wing, had played well. With a beautiful
unanimity the six occupants of the first fifteen room came to the
conclusion that the man who had let the team down that day had been the
man on the right--Rand-Brown, to wit, of Seymour's.

"I'll bet he doesn't stay in the first long," said Clephane, who was
now in the bath, _vice_ Otway, retired. "I suppose they had to try
him, as he was the senior wing three-quarter of the second, but he's no
earthly good."

"He only got into the second because he's big," was Robinson's opinion.
"A man who's big and strong can always get his second colours."

"Even if he's a funk, like Rand-Brown," said Clephane. "Did any of you
chaps notice the way he let Paget through that time he scored for them?
He simply didn't attempt to tackle him. He could have brought him down
like a shot if he'd only gone for him. Paget was running straight along
the touch-line, and hadn't any room to dodge. I know Trevor was jolly
sick about it. And then he let him through once before in just the same
way in the first half, only Trevor got round and stopped him. He was
rank."

"Missed every other pass, too," said Otway.

Clephane summed up.

"He was rank," he said again. "Trevor won't keep him in the team long."

"I wish Paget hadn't left," said Otway, referring to the wing
three-quarter who, by leaving unexpectedly at the end of the Christmas
term, had let Rand-Brown into the team. His loss was likely to be felt.
Up till Christmas Wrykyn had done well, and Paget had been their scoring
man. Rand-Brown had occupied a similar position in the second fifteen.
He was big and speedy, and in second fifteen matches these qualities
make up for a great deal. If a man scores one or two tries in nearly
every match, people are inclined to overlook in him such failings as
timidity and clumsiness. It is only when he comes to be tried in
football of a higher class that he is seen through. In the second
fifteen the fact that Rand-Brown was afraid to tackle his man had
almost escaped notice. But the habit would not do in first fifteen
circles.

"All the same," said Clephane, pursuing his subject, "if they don't
play him, I don't see who they're going to get. He's the best of the
second three-quarters, as far as I can see."

It was this very problem that was puzzling Trevor, as he walked off the
field with Paget and Clowes, when they had got into their blazers after
the match. Clowes was in the same house as Trevor--Donaldson's--and
Paget was staying there, too. He had been head of Donaldson's up to
Christmas.

"It strikes me," said Paget, "the school haven't got over the holidays
yet. I never saw such a lot of slackers. You ought to have taken thirty
points off the sort of team you had against you today."

"Have you ever known the school play well on the second day of term?"
asked Clowes. "The forwards always play as if the whole thing bored
them to death."

"It wasn't the forwards that mattered so much," said Trevor. "They'll
shake down all right after a few matches. A little running and passing
will put them right."

"Let's hope so," Paget observed, "or we might as well scratch to Ripton
at once. There's a jolly sight too much of the mince-pie and Christmas
pudding about their play at present." There was a pause. Then Paget
brought out the question towards which he had been moving all the time.

"What do you think of Rand-Brown?" he asked.

It was pretty clear by the way he spoke what he thought of that player
himself, but in discussing with a football captain the capabilities of
the various members of his team, it is best to avoid a too positive
statement one way or the other before one has heard his views on the
subject. And Paget was one of those people who like to know the
opinions of others before committing themselves.

Clowes, on the other hand, was in the habit of forming his views on his
own account, and expressing them. If people agreed with them, well and
good: it afforded strong presumptive evidence of their sanity. If they
disagreed, it was unfortunate, but he was not going to alter his
opinions for that, unless convinced at great length that they were
unsound. He summed things up, and gave you the result. You could take
it or leave it, as you preferred.

"I thought he was bad," said Clowes.

"Bad!" exclaimed Trevor, "he was a disgrace. One can understand a chap
having his off-days at any game, but one doesn't expect a man in the
Wrykyn first to funk. He mucked five out of every six passes I gave
him, too, and the ball wasn't a bit slippery. Still, I shouldn't mind
that so much if he had only gone for his man properly. It isn't being
out of practice that makes you funk. And even when he did have a try at
you, Paget, he always went high."

"That," said Clowes thoughtfully, "would seem to show that he was
game."

Nobody so much as smiled. Nobody ever did smile at Clowes' essays in
wit, perhaps because of the solemn, almost sad, tone of voice in which
he delivered them. He was tall and dark and thin, and had a pensive
eye, which encouraged the more soulful of his female relatives to
entertain hopes that he would some day take orders.

"Well," said Paget, relieved at finding that he did not stand alone in
his views on Rand-Brown's performance, "I must say I thought he was
awfully bad myself."

"I shall try somebody else next match," said Trevor. "It'll be rather
hard, though. The man one would naturally put in, Bryce, left at
Christmas, worse luck."

Bryce was the other wing three-quarter of the second fifteen.

"Isn't there anybody in the third?" asked Paget.

"Barry," said Clowes briefly.

"Clowes thinks Barry's good," explained Trevor.

"He _is_ good," said Clowes. "I admit he's small, but he can
tackle."

"The question is, would he be any good in the first? A chap might do
jolly well for the third, and still not be worth trying for the first."

"I don't remember much about Barry," said Paget, "except being collared
by him when we played Seymour's last year in the final. I certainly
came away with a sort of impression that he could tackle. I thought he
marked me jolly well."

"There you are, then," said Clowes. "A year ago Barry could tackle
Paget. There's no reason for supposing that he's fallen off since then.
We've seen that Rand-Brown _can't_ tackle Paget. Ergo, Barry is
better worth playing for the team than Rand-Brown. Q.E.D."

"All right, then," replied Trevor. "There can't be any harm in trying
him. We'll have another scratch game on Thursday. Will you be here
then, Paget?"

"Oh, yes. I'm stopping till Saturday."

"Good man. Then we shall be able to see how he does against you. I wish
you hadn't left, though, by Jove. We should have had Ripton on toast,
the same as last term."

Wrykyn played five schools, but six school matches. The school that
they played twice in the season was Ripton. To win one Ripton match
meant that, however many losses it might have sustained in the other
matches, the school had had, at any rate, a passable season. To win two
Ripton matches in the same year was almost unheard of. This year there
had seemed every likelihood of it. The match before Christmas on the
Ripton ground had resulted in a win for Wrykyn by two goals and a try
to a try. But the calculations of the school had been upset by the
sudden departure of Paget at the end of term, and also of Bryce, who
had hitherto been regarded as his understudy. And in the first Ripton
match the two goals had both been scored by Paget, and both had been
brilliant bits of individual play, which a lesser man could not have
carried through.

The conclusion, therefore, at which the school reluctantly arrived, was
that their chances of winning the second match could not be judged by
their previous success. They would have to approach the Easter term
fixture from another--a non-Paget--standpoint. In these circumstances
it became a serious problem: who was to get the fifteenth place?
Whoever played in Paget's stead against Ripton would be certain, if the
match were won, to receive his colours. Who, then, would fill the
vacancy?

"Rand-Brown, of course," said the crowd.

But the experts, as we have shown, were of a different opinion.

II

THE GOLD BAT

Trevor did not take long to resume a garb of civilisation. He never
wasted much time over anything. He was gifted with a boundless energy,
which might possibly have made him unpopular had he not justified it by
results. The football of the school had never been in such a
flourishing condition as it had attained to on his succeeding to the
captaincy. It was not only that the first fifteen was good. The
excellence of a first fifteen does not always depend on the captain.
But the games, even down to the very humblest junior game, had woken up
one morning--at the beginning of the previous term--to find themselves,
much to their surprise, organised going concerns. Like the immortal
Captain Pott, Trevor was "a terror to the shirker and the lubber". And
the resemblance was further increased by the fact that he was "a
toughish lot", who was "little, but steel and india-rubber". At first
sight his appearance was not imposing. Paterfamilias, who had heard his
son's eulogies on Trevor's performances during the holidays, and came
down to watch the school play a match, was generally rather
disappointed on seeing five feet six where he had looked for at least
six foot one, and ten stone where he had expected thirteen. But then,
what there was of Trevor was, as previously remarked, steel and
india-rubber, and he certainly played football like a miniature
Stoddart. It was characteristic of him that, though this was the
first match of the term, his condition seemed to be as good as
possible. He had done all his own work on the field and most of
Rand-Brown's, and apparently had not turned a hair. He was one of
those conscientious people who train in the holidays.

When he had changed, he went down the passage to Clowes' study. Clowes was
in the position he frequently took up when the weather was good--wedged
into his window in a sitting position, one leg in the study, the other
hanging outside over space. The indoor leg lacked a boot, so that it was
evident that its owner had at least had the energy to begin to change.
That he had given the thing up after that, exhausted with the effort, was
what one naturally expected from Clowes. He would have made a splendid
actor: he was so good at resting.

"Hurry up and dress," said Trevor; "I want you to come over to the
baths."

"What on earth do you want over at the baths?"

"I want to see O'Hara."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Dexter's are camping out there, aren't they? I
heard they were. Why is it?"

"One of the Dexter kids got measles in the last week of the holidays,
so they shunted all the beds and things across, and the chaps went back
there instead of to the house."

In the winter term the baths were always boarded over and converted
into a sort of extra gymnasium where you could go and box or fence when
there was no room to do it in the real gymnasium. Socker and stump-cricket
were also largely played there, the floor being admirably suited to such
games, though the light was always rather tricky, and prevented heavy
scoring.

"I should think," said Clowes, "from what I've seen of Dexter's
beauties, that Dexter would like them to camp out at the bottom of the
baths all the year round. It would be a happy release for him if they
were all drowned. And I suppose if he had to choose any one of them for
a violent death, he'd pick O'Hara. O'Hara must be a boon to a
house-master. I've known chaps break rules when the spirit moved
them, but he's the only one I've met who breaks them all day long
and well into the night simply for amusement. I've often thought of
writing to the S.P.C.A. about it. I suppose you could call Dexter an
animal all right?"

"O'Hara's right enough, really. A man like Dexter would make any fellow
run amuck. And then O'Hara's an Irishman to start with, which makes a
difference."

There is usually one house in every school of the black sheep sort,
and, if you go to the root of the matter, you will generally find that
the fault is with the master of that house. A house-master who enters
into the life of his house, coaches them in games--if an athlete--or,
if not an athlete, watches the games, umpiring at cricket and
refereeing at football, never finds much difficulty in keeping order.
It may be accepted as fact that the juniors of a house will never be
orderly of their own free will, but disturbances in the junior day-room
do not make the house undisciplined. The prefects are the criterion.
If you find them joining in the general "rags", and even starting
private ones on their own account, then you may safely say that it is
time the master of that house retired from the business, and took to
chicken-farming. And that was the state of things in Dexter's. It was
the most lawless of the houses. Mr Dexter belonged to a type of master
almost unknown at a public school--the usher type. In a private school
he might have passed. At Wrykyn he was out of place. To him the whole
duty of a house-master appeared to be to wage war against his house.

When Dexter's won the final for the cricket cup in the summer term of
two years back, the match lasted four afternoons--four solid afternoons
of glorious, up-and-down cricket. Mr Dexter did not see a single ball of
that match bowled. He was prowling in sequestered lanes and broken-down
barns out of bounds on the off-chance that he might catch some member of
his house smoking there. As if the whole of the house, from the head to
the smallest fag, were not on the field watching Day's best bats collapse
before Henderson's bowling, and Moriarty hit up that marvellous and
unexpected fifty-three at the end of the second innings!

That sort of thing definitely stamps a master.

"What do you want to see O'Hara about?" asked Clowes.

"He's got my little gold bat. I lent it him in the holidays."

A remark which needs a footnote. The bat referred to was made of gold,
and was about an inch long by an eighth broad. It had come into
existence some ten years previously, in the following manner. The
inter-house cricket cup at Wrykyn had originally been a rather
tarnished and unimpressive vessel, whose only merit consisted in the
fact that it was of silver. Ten years ago an Old Wrykinian, suddenly
reflecting that it would not be a bad idea to do something for the
school in a small way, hied him to the nearest jeweller's and purchased
another silver cup, vast withal and cunningly decorated with filigree
work, and standing on a massive ebony plinth, round which were little
silver lozenges just big enough to hold the name of the winning house
and the year of grace. This he presented with his blessing to be
competed for by the dozen houses that made up the school of Wrykyn, and
it was formally established as the house cricket cup. The question now
arose: what was to be done with the other cup? The School House, who
happened to be the holders at the time, suggested disinterestedly that
it should become the property of the house which had won it last. "Not
so," replied the Field Sports Committee, "but far otherwise. We will
have it melted down in a fiery furnace, and thereafter fashioned into
eleven little silver bats. And these little silver bats shall be the
guerdon of the eleven members of the winning team, to have and to hold
for the space of one year, unless, by winning the cup twice in
succession, they gain the right of keeping the bat for yet another
year. How is that, umpire?" And the authorities replied, "O men of
infinite resource and sagacity, verily is it a cold day when _you_
get left behind. Forge ahead." But, when they had forged ahead, behold!
it would not run to eleven little silver bats, but only to ten little
silver bats. Thereupon the headmaster, a man liberal with his cash,
caused an eleventh little bat to be fashioned--for the captain of the
winning team to have and to hold in the manner aforesaid. And, to
single it out from the others, it was wrought, not of silver, but of
gold. And so it came to pass that at the time of our story Trevor was
in possession of the little gold bat, because Donaldson's had won the
cup in the previous summer, and he had captained them--and,
incidentally, had scored seventy-five without a mistake.

"Well, I'm hanged if I would trust O'Hara with my bat," said Clowes,
referring to the silver ornament on his own watch-chain; "he's probably
pawned yours in the holidays. Why did you lend it to him?"

"His people wanted to see it. I know him at home, you know. They asked
me to lunch the last day but one of the holidays, and we got talking
about the bat, because, of course, if we hadn't beaten Dexter's in the
final, O'Hara would have had it himself. So I sent it over next day
with a note asking O'Hara to bring it back with him here."

"Oh, well, there's a chance, then, seeing he's only had it so little
time, that he hasn't pawned it yet. You'd better rush off and get it
back as soon as possible. It's no good waiting for me. I shan't be
ready for weeks."

"Where's Paget?"

"Teaing with Donaldson. At least, he said he was going to."

"Then I suppose I shall have to go alone. I hate walking alone."

"If you hurry," said Clowes, scanning the road from his post of
vantage, "you'll be able to go with your fascinating pal Ruthven. He's
just gone out."

Trevor dashed downstairs in his energetic way, and overtook the youth
referred to.

Clowes brooded over them from above like a sorrowful and rather
disgusted Providence. Trevor's liking for Ruthven, who was a
Donaldsonite like himself, was one of the few points on which the two
had any real disagreement. Clowes could not understand how any person
in his senses could of his own free will make an intimate friend of
Ruthven.

"Hullo, Trevor," said Ruthven.

"Come over to the baths," said Trevor, "I want to see O'Hara about
something. Or were you going somewhere else."

"I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I never know what to do in
term-time. It's deadly dull."

Trevor could never understand how any one could find term-time dull.
For his own part, there always seemed too much to do in the time.

"You aren't allowed to play games?" he said, remembering something
about a doctor's certificate in the past.

"No," said Ruthven. "Thank goodness," he added.

Which remark silenced Trevor. To a person who thanked goodness that he
was not allowed to play games he could find nothing to say. But he
ceased to wonder how it was that Ruthven was dull.

They proceeded to the baths together in silence. O'Hara, they were
informed by a Dexter's fag who met them outside the door, was not
about.

"When he comes back," said Trevor, "tell him I want him to come to tea
tomorrow directly after school, and bring my bat. Don't forget."

The fag promised to make a point of it.

III

THE MAYOR'S STATUE

One of the rules that governed the life of Donough O'Hara, the
light-hearted descendant of the O'Haras of Castle Taterfields, Co.
Clare, Ireland, was "Never refuse the offer of a free tea". So, on
receipt--per the Dexter's fag referred to--of Trevor's invitation, he
scratched one engagement (with his mathematical master--not wholly
unconnected with the working-out of Examples 200 to 206 in Hall and
Knight's Algebra), postponed another (with his friend and ally Moriarty,
of Dexter's, who wished to box with him in the gymnasium), and made his
way at a leisurely pace towards Donaldson's. He was feeling particularly
pleased with himself today, for several reasons. He had begun the day
well by scoring brilliantly off Mr Dexter across the matutinal rasher
and coffee. In morning school he had been put on to translate the one
passage which he happened to have prepared--the first ten lines, in
fact, of the hundred which formed the morning's lesson. And in the
final hour of afternoon school, which was devoted to French, he had
discovered and exploited with great success an entirely new and original
form of ragging. This, he felt, was the strenuous life; this was living
one's life as one's life should be lived.

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