Ernest Hornung.

Fathers of Men

The office was usually held by a member of the Eleven or of the Fifteen. Evan was in neither yet, though on the edge of both. On the other hand, he was very high in the Upper Sixth; for he had lost neither his facility for acquiring knowledge, nor his inveterate horror of laying himself open to rebuke.

It is at first sight a little odd that such a blameless boy should ever have made a friend of one Sandham, a big fellow low down in the school, and in another house. Sandham, however, was a handsome daredevil of strong but questionable character, and it suited him to have a leading pr?postor for his friend. One hesitates to add that he was a younger son of a rather prominent peer, lest the statement be taken as in any way accounting for Evans side of the friendship. It is only the thousandth boy, however, who troubles himself to think twice about anothers fellows people, high or low. Of all beings boys are in this respect the least snobbish, and Evan Devereux was of all schoolboys the last to embody an exception to that or any other general rule. Sandham was not the only fellow whose hereditary quality was denoted by a Mr. in the list; the others were nobodies in the school, and neither Evan nor anybody else made up to them. But to the aristocracy of athletics he could bow as low as his neighbour, and his friend Sandham was an athlete of the first water. Half-back in the fifteen, as good a bat as there was in the Eleven, and a conjuror at extra cover, the gifted youth must needs signalise his friends Captaincy of Games by adding the Athletic Championship to his bag of honours. Winner of the Steeplechase, Hurdles, Hundred-yards, Quarter-mile and Wide-jump, not only was Sandham Champion but the rest were nowhere in the table of marks. It must be added that he wore his halo with a rakish indifference which lent some colour to the report that Mr. Sandham had been removed from Eton before old Thrale gave him another chance.

Hes a marvellous athlete, whatever else he is, said Chips to Jan, on the last Sunday of the Easter term.

Im blowed if I know what else he is, replied Jan, but I should be sorry to see quite so much of him if I were Evan.

Not you, cried Chips, if you were Evan! Youd jolly well see all you could of anybody at the top of the tree!

Look here, Chips, dry up! Evans pretty near the top himself.

Are you going to stick him in the Eleven?

If hes good enough, and I hope he will be.

Of course its expected of you.

Who expects it?

Sandham for one, and Devereux himself for another. Didnt you see how they stopped to make up to you when they overtook us just now?

I dont know what you mean. Evans a friend of mine, and of course Ive seen a lot of Sandham. They only asked if I was going to get any practice in the holidays.

They took good care to let you know they were going to have some. So Evans going to stay with Sandhams people, is he?

It was Sandham said that.

And theyre going to have a professor down from Lords!

Well, they might be worse employed.

They might so. I should rather like to know what theyre up to at this very minute.

The scene was one of the many undulating country roads that radiated from the little town like tentacles. Chips and Jan were strolling lazily between the jewelled hedge-rows of early April; the other two had overtaken them rather suddenly, walking very fast, and had stopped, as if on second thoughts, to make perfunctory conversation. Evan had turned rather red, as he still would in a manner that must have been a trial to him. There had followed the few words about the holidays to which Chips had alluded, but in which he had not joined. He also had his old faults in various stages of preservation; touchiness was one of them, jealousy another. But his last words had been called forth by nothing more or worse than a fresh sight of Evan and Sandham on the sky-line, climbing a gate into a field.

I votes we go some other way, said Jan. I dont like spying on chaps, even when its only a case of a cigarette.

No more do I, his friend agreed, thoughtfully. And another way they went. But the conversation languished between them, until rather suddenly Carpenter ran his arm through Jans.

Isnt it beastly to be so near the end of our time, Tiger? Only one more term!

It is a bit, assented Jan, lukewarmly. I know you feel it, but I often think Id have done better to have left a year ago.

Chips looked round at him as they walked.

And you Captain of Cricket!

Thats why, said Jan, in the old grim way.

But, my dear chap, its by far the biggest honour you can possibly have here!

I know all that, Chipsy; but theres a good deal more in it than honour and glory. Theres any amount to do. Youre responsible for all sorts of things. Bruce used to tell me last year. It isnt only writing out the order, nor yet changing your bowling and altering the field.

No; youve first got to catch your Eleven.

And not only that, but all the other elevens on the Upper, and captains for both the other grounds. Youre responsible for all the lot, and youve got to make up your mind that you cant please everybody.

Chips said nothing. Some keen pr?postor was invariably made Captain of the Middle. Chips would have loved the unexalted post; but as he had never been in any eleven at all, even that distinction would be denied him by a rigid adherence to tradition. And evidently Jan had no intention of favouring his friends, if indeed this particular idea had crossed his mind.

One ought to know every fellow in the school by sight, he continued. But I dont know half as many as I did. Do you remember how you were always finding out fellows names, Chips, our first year or so? You didnt rest till you could put a name to everybody above us in the school; but I doubt we neither of us take much stock of the crowd below.

I find the house takes me all my time, and you must feel the same way about the Eleven, only much more so. By Jove, but Id give all Im ever likely to have on earth to change places with you!

And Im not sure that I wouldnt change places with you. Somehow things always look different when you really get anywhere, sighed Jan, discovering an eternal truth for himself.

But to captain the Eleven!

To make a good captain! Thats the thing.

But you will, Jan; look at your bowling.

Its not everything. Youve got to drive your team; its no good only putting your own shoulder to the wheel. And they may be a difficult team to drive.

Sandham may. And if Devereux

Sandhams not the only one, interrupted Jan, who was not talking gloomily, but only frankly as he felt. Theres Goose and Ibbotson whore in already and Chilton whos bound to get in. A regular gang of them, and Im not in it, and never was.

But youre in another class! argued Carpenter, forgetting himself entirely in that affectionate concern for a friend which was his finest point. Youre one of the very best bowlers there ever was in the school, Jan.

I may have been. Im not now. But I might be again if I could get that leg-break.

You shall practise it every day on our lawn when you come to us these holidays.

Thanks, old chap. Everybody says its what I want. That uncle of mine said so the very first match we played together, when he was home again last year.

Well, he ought to know.

And the conversation declined to a highly technical discussion in which Chips Carpenter, the rather puny pr?postor who could never get into any eleven, held his own and more; for the strange fact was that he still knew more about cricket than the captain of the school team. At heart, indeed, he was the more complete cricketer of the two; for Jan was just a natural left-hand bowler, only too well aware of his limitations, and in some danger of losing his gift through the laborious cultivation of quite another knack which did not happen to be his by nature.

The trouble had begun about the time of the last Old Boys Match, when Jan had heard more than enough of the break which was not then at his command; egged on by Captain Ambrose in the summer holidays, he had tried it with some success in village cricket, and had thought about it all the winter. Now especially it was the question uppermost in his mind. Was he going to make the ball break both ways this season? The point mattered more than the constitution of the Eleven, Evans inclusion in it (much as that was to be desired), or the personal relations of the various members. If only Jan himself could bowl better than ever, or even up to his first years form, then he would carry the whole side to victory on his shoulders.


There was one great loss which the school and Jan had suffered since the previous summer. Tempted by the prospect of a free hand, unfettered by tradition, and really very lucky in his selection for the post, Dudley Relton had accepted the head-mastership of a Church of England Grammar School in Victoria. Already he was out there, doubtless at work on the raw material of future Australia teams, while Jan was left sighing for the rather masterful support which the last two captains had been apt a little to resent. Relton was not replaced by another of his still rare kind, but by the experienced captain of a purely professional county team a fine player and a steady man but not an inspired teacher of the game. To coach anybody in anything, it is obviously better to know a little and to be able to impart it, than to know everything but the art of transmitting your knowledge. George Grimwood had plenty of patience, but expended too much in a vain attempt to inculcate certain strokes of genius which he himself made by light of nature. He flew a bit too high for his young beginners, and he naturally encouraged Jan to persevere with his leg-breaks.

Not a day of that term but the Captain of Cricket sighed for Dudley Relton, with his confident counsels and his uncanny knowledge of the game. Especially was this the case in the early part of May, when trial matches had to be arranged without the assistance of a single outsider who knew anything about anybodys previous form. Jan found that he knew really very little about the new men himself; and Grimwoods idea of a trial match was that it was matterless who played for the Eleven and who for the Rest (with Grimwood). The new captain no doubt took his duties too seriously from the first, but he had looked to the new professional for more assistance outside his net. On the other hand, he was under a cross-fire of suggestions from the other fellows already in the team of whom there were four. Now, five old choices make a fine backbone to any school eleven; but Jan could not always resist the thought that his task would have been lighter with only one or two in a position to offer him advice, especially as house feeling ran rather high in the school.

Thus old Goose, who as Captain of Football deserved his surname but little in public opinion, though very thoroughly in that of the masters, would have filled half the vacant places from his own house; and his friend Ibbotson, a steady bat but an unsteady youth, had other axes to grind. Tom Buckley, a dull good fellow who ought to have been second to Jan in authority, invariably advocated the last view confided to him. But what annoyed Jan most was the way in which Sandham ran Evan as his candidate, from the very first day of the term, pressing his claims as though other people were bent on disregarding them.

I saw Evan play before you did, Sandham, said Jan, bluntly; and theres nobody keener than me to see him come off.

But you didnt see him play in the holidays. The two bowlers we had down from Lords thought no end of him. I dont think you know what a fine bat Evan is.

Well, Im only too ready to learn. Hes got the term before him, like all the lot of us.

Yes, but hes the sort to put in early, Rutter; you take my word for it. He has more nerves in his little finger than you and I in our whole bodies.

I know him, said Jan, rather tickled at having Evan of all people expounded to him.

Then you must know that hes not the fellow to do himself justice till he gets his colours.

Well, I cant give him them till he does, can I?

I dont know. You might if youd seen him playing those professors. And then youre a friend of his, arent you, Rutter?

Well, I cant give him his colours for that!

Nobody said you could; but you might give him a chance, returned Sandham, sharply.

I might, Jan agreed, even without you telling me, Sandham!

And they parted company with mutual displeasure; for Jan resented the suggestion that he was not going to give his own friend a fair chance, even more than the strong hint to favour him as such; and Sandham, who had expected a rough dog like Rutter to be rather flattered by his confidential advice, went about warning the others that they had to deal with a Jack-in-office who wouldnt listen to a word from any of them.

Nevertheless Evan played in the first two matches, made 5, 0 and 1, and was not given a place against the M.C.C. Jan perhaps unwisely sent him a note of very real regret, which Evan acknowledged with a sneer when they met on the Upper.

Jan had even said in his note, in a purple patch of deplorable imprudence, that on his present form he knew he ought not to be playing himself, only as captain he supposed it was his duty to do his best. He could not very well kick himself out, but if he could he would have given Evan his place that day.

Indeed, he had not proved worth his place in either of the first two matches. Scores were not expected of him, though he no longer went in absolutely last; but his bowling had given away any number of runs, while accounting for hardly any wickets at all. Jan had lost his bowling. That was the simple truth of the matter. He had squandered his natural gifts of length and spin in the sedulous cultivation of a ball which Nature had never intended him to bowl. In striving to acquire a new and conscious subtlety, his hand had lost its original and innate cunning. It is a phase in the development of every artist, but it had come upon Jan at a most inopportune stage of his career. Moreover it had come with a gust of unpopularity in itself enough to chill the ardour of a more enthusiastic cricketer than Jan Rutter.

Jan had never professed a really disinterested enthusiasm for the game. He had been a match-winning bowler, who had thoroughly enjoyed winning matches, especially when they looked as bad as lost; he could never have nursed a hopeless passion for the game, like poor old futile Chips Carpenter. But he still had the faculty of meeting his troubles with a glow rather than a shiver; and he bowled like a lonely demon against the M.C.C. It was a performance not to be named in the same breath as his olden deeds, but he did get wickets, and all of them with the old ball that whipped off the pitch with his arm. The new ball betrayed itself by an unconscious change of action pitched anywhere and went for four nearly every time. Nevertheless, in the obstinacy of that glowing heart of his, Jan still bowled the new ball once or twice an over. And the school were beaten by the M.C.C.

There was, however, one continual excuse for a bowler of this type that term. It was no summer; the easy wet wicket seldom dried into a really difficult one. When it did, that was not the wicket on which Jan was most dangerous; and for all his erudition in the matter, Chips was quite beside the great mark made aforetime by his friend, when he sang of the game for almost the last time in the Mag.

Break, break, break,
On a dead slow pitch, O Ball!
And I would that the field would butter
The catch thats the end of all!


And the beastly balls come in

But the trouble was that Jans came in so slowly on the juicy wickets that a strong back-player had leisure to put them where he liked.

Some matches were abandoned without a ball being bowled; but towards Founders Day there was some improvement, and to insult the injured cricketer there had been several fine Sundays before that. On one of these, the last of a few dry days in early June, Chips and Jan were out for another walk together, in the direction of Yardley Wood.

It was the road on which Devereux and Sandham had overhauled them before the Easter holidays; this time they pursued it to a pleasant upland lane where they leant against some posts and rails, and looked down across a couple of great sloping meadows to the famous covert packed into the valley with more fields rising beyond. The nearest meadow was bright emerald after so much rain. The next one had already a glint of gold in the middle distance. But the fields that rose again beyond the dense, dark wood, over a mile away, were neither green nor yellow, but smoky blue.

It was the wood itself, within half that distance, that drew and held the boys attention. It might have been a patch of dark green lichen in the venerable roof of England, and the further fields its mossy slates.

It looks about as good a jungle as they make, said Chips. I should go down and practise finding my way across it, if I was thinking of going out to Australia.

Chips looked round as he spoke. But Jan confined his attention to the wood.

Itd take you all your time, he answered. Its more like a bit of overgrown cocoanut matting than anything else.

Chips liked the simile, especially as a sign of liveliness in Jan; but it dodged the subject he was trying to introduce. The fact was that Jans future was just now a matter of anxiety to himself and his friends. There had long been some talk of his going to Australia, to an uncle who had settled out there, whereas he himself would have given anything to go for a soldier like his other uncle. This was an impracticable dream; but Dudley Relton, consulted on the alternative, had written back to say that in his opinion Australia was the very place for such as Jan. Heriot, on the other hand, had quite other ideas; and Jan was too divided in his own mind, and too sick of the whole question, to wish to discuss it for the hundredth time with such a talker as old Chips.

Just about room for the foxes, he went on about the covert, and thats all.

Is it, though! cried Carpenter.

Well, Im blowed, muttered Jan.

An arresting figure had emerged from one of the sides for which Yardley Wood was celebrated. At least Jan pointed out a white mark in the dense woodland wall, and Chips could believe it was a gate, as he screwed up his eyes to sharpen their vision of the man advancing into the lower meadow. All he could make out was a purple face, a staggering gait, and a pair of wildly waving arms.

Whats up, do you suppose? asked Chips, excitedly.

Im just waiting to see.

The unsteady figure was signalling and gesticulating with increasing vivacity. The dark edge of the wood threw out the faded brown of his corduroys, the incredible plum-colour of his complexion. Signals were never flown against better background.

Something must have happened! exclaimed Chips. Hadnt we better go and see what it is?

Not quite. Dont you see who it is?

Chips screwed his eyes into slits behind his glasses.

Is it old Mulberry?

Did you ever see another face that colour?

Youre right. But what does he want with us? Look at him beckoning! Can you hear what hes shouting out?

A hoarse voice had reached them, roaring.

No, and I dont want to; hes as drunk as a fool, as usual.

Im not so sure, Jan. I believe somethings up.

Well, well soon see. Im not sure but what youre right after all.

Mulberry was nearing the nearer meadow, still waving and ranting as he came. Chips said he knew he was right, and it was a shame not to meet the fellow half-way; there might have been some accident in the wood. Chips had actually mounted the lowest of the rails against which they had been leaning, and so far Jan had made no further protest, when the drunkard halted in the golden meadow, snatched off his battered hat, and bowed so low that he nearly fell over on his infamous nose. Then he turned his back on them, and retreated rapidly to the wood, with only an occasional stumble in his hurried stride.

Come on, said Jan with a swing of the shoulder. I never could bear the sight of that brute. Hes spoilt the view.

In a minute the boys were out of the green lane, and back upon the hilly road, one in the grip of a double memory, the other puzzling over what had just occurred.

I cant make out what he meant by it, can you, Jan? It was as though he thought he knew us, and then found he didnt.

Jan came back to the present to consider this explanation. He not only agreed with it, but he carried it a step further on his own account.

Youve hit it! He took us for two other fellows in the school.

In the school? I hadnt thought of that.

Who else about here wears a topper on Sundays, except you Pollies?11

Besides, he came near enough to see my school cap.

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