CHAPTER VII
A CRICKET WEEK
I
BY the time that Pip had reached his twenty-fifth year his name wasscarcely less familiar to the man in the street than that of the leadingpicture-postcard divinity, and considerably more so than that, say, ofthe President of the Royal Academy. The English are a strange race, andworship strange gods. Pip's admission to the national Pantheon had beensecured by the fact of his having been mainly responsible for thesensational dismissal of the Australians, for an infinitesimal score, inthe second innings of the third Test Match.
The morning papers referred to him as "that phenomenal trundler, theyoung Middlesex amateur"; the sporting press hailed him as "theleft-handed devastation-merchant"; and the evening "specials" called him"Pip," pure and simple.
To do him justice, Pip cared for none of these things. He was much moreconcerned with the future than the present. He had scraped a pass degreeat Cambridge, and was now nominally studying medicine. But he knew inhis heart that he had not the brains to succeed in his task, and hepersevered only to please his father, who, though he admitted that hisson could never hope to put up a specialist's plate in Harley Street,considered him (just as a race-horse might consider that anything onfour legs can haul a cab) quite capable of doing well in a countrypractice.
One morning in July Pip received an invitation to play in the RustlefordCricket Week, an honour calculated to inflate the chest of any risingamateur with legitimate pride. John Chell, the Squire of RustlefordManor, was of a type now too rare. An old Grandwich captain, an oldOxford captain, and an old All England Eleven player, descended from along line of top-hatted cricketers, he devoted what he called his"declining years" to fostering the spirit of the game. Rustleford Manorwas one of the strongholds of English cricket. John Chell's reputationas a judge of the game was a recognised asset of the English SelectionCommittee, and more than one great professional had received his firstchance on the Rustleford ground.
Pip was not intimately acquainted with John Chell, though he hadfrequently met him at Lord's and elsewhere, and had known his son Jackyat Cambridge. But he was genuinely pleased with this recognition of hismerit. It was a thing apart from journalistic celebrity and theadulation of a Surrey crowd. No man was invited to Rustleford who wasnot a cricketer, out and out; and a man who played in the RustlefordManor Eleven was hall-marked for life.
The night before his departure he dined alone with his father. Pipettewas out at the theatre.
The great physician looked aged and ill, and Pip, noticing this for thefirst time,--we are unobservant creatures where our daily companions areconcerned,--and stricken with sudden pity, offered to abandon hischerished cricket week and accompany his father on a short holiday to ahealth resort.
The doctor shook his head.
"Can't get away, my boy," he said. "Wish I could. But it can't be done.I have consultations every day for five weeks, and hospital work aswell. After that, perhaps--"
"After that your fixture-card will have been still further filled up,"said Pip.
His father laughed.
"You are right," he said, "I believe it will: it's a way it has."
"Well, why not fix up a month's holiday, say in five weeks' time, andstick to it?"
"And who is going to do my work?"
"I wish _I_ could," said Pip, impulsively for him. "Dad, I must be adevil of a disappointment to you. Fancy you--and me!"
By the latter rather condensed expression Pip meant to express hissurprise that such a clever father should have produced such a stupidson.
"We don't all get ten talents, old man," said his father. "But soon, Idare say, when you are qualified, there will be lots--"
Pip put down his glass of port.
"Dad, I shall never be qualified," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I haven't got it in me. You are so clever that you can'tconceive what a fool's brain can be like. I tell you honestly that thisthing is beyond me, Governor. I have worked pretty hard--"
"I know that," said his father heartily.
"--And I think I am rather more at sea now than I was four years ago. Ihave learned a few things by heart--anything that can be picked up bythose jingles and tips that coaches give one--and that is just aboutall. Fancy me going over a patient's ribs and mumbling rhymes to myselfto remind me what part of his anatomy I had got to!"
Father and son laughed. Some of the _memoria technica_ of the medicalstudent are peculiar.
"I have been meaning to tell you a long time," continued Pip, "but I sawyou were keen on my getting through, if possible, so I stuck to it. Ithink I know my limits. I'm not cut out for the learned professions.Fact is, I'm a blamed fool."
They smoked on silently after that. The doctor was not altogethersurprised at Pip's outburst, for he had lately been realising, from thecasual utterances of lecturers and examiners of his acquaintance, thatPip's prospects were hopeless. But he was sadly disappointed for allthat. He had been a lonely man all his life, and now, especially thathis health was uncertain, he realised the unhappy fact that his son--hisbig, strong, healthy son, to whose intellectual companionship he hadlooked forward so eagerly--was never to give him a shoulder to lean onsave in a physical sense.
At this moment, much to the relief of both, the door opened and Pipettecame in. She was just twenty-two, and to the tired man in the armchairby the fire she was her mother over again.
She threw off her opera-cloak and wrap and slipped into the chair besideher father. Then after one brief glance into his face she inquired--
"Well, old boy, what's the trouble?"
"Pip wants me to go for a holiday," said her father.
"Carried unanimously!" announced Pipette. "When shall we start?"
"Can't be done at present. Too busy."
"Get somebody from the hospital staff to do your work."
"Hear, hear!" said Pip.
Dr. Wilmot gazed into the fire. Presently he said,--
"It's not altogether professional work. Pip, you said just now that youwere a blamed fool. Your father is another."
"Let us hear all about it," said Pipette maternally.
"Well, I am a prosperous man as professional men go. But a few years agoI realised a good many of my investments--"
"What does that mean?"
"I sacrificed my savings to get ready money, to finance that privatecancer-research commission that Sir John Lindon and I got up,--youremember, Pip?"
"Yes; go on."
"Well, the Government ultimately paid the expenses of thecommission,--we shamed them into it,--and I got my money back. When Icame to reinvest it, instead of putting it into the old safe place, Idevoted most of it to buying shares in a wild-cat Australian scheme--"
"Which has gone bust?" said Pip.
"Not quite. But the shares are down to the bottom mark, and there is nodividend. I believe the thing is sound, and that in a year or two weshall be all right again. Meanwhile--meanwhile, children, I am extremelyhard up!"
To people who have never been hungrier than an unpunctual cook can makethem, the prospect of actual poverty is always rather sobering. Therewas a long pause. Presently Pipette slipped a soft and protecting armround her father's neck.
"Dad," she asked, "why did you buy those queer shares?"
"To get rich quick."
"Why quick?"
"Because"--the doctor hesitated, surveyed his son and daughter ratherdoubtfully, and finally proceeded--"because human life in general is anuncertain thing, old lady, and my life in particular happens tobe--don't choke me, child!"
Pipette's encircling arm had grown suddenly rigid, and her father heardher heart flutter.
"Wh--what do you mean, Daddy?"
"I mean that I possess what insurance companies call 'a bad life.'Nothing serious--slight heart trouble, that's all. I shall have to becareful for a bit, and all will be well. It's the cracked pitcher thatlasts
longest." Dr. Wilmot had unconsciously dropped into the easy andoptimistic tones which he reserved for nervous patients.
After a little further conversation Pip and Pipette, somewhat reassured,retired to bed.
Next morning Pip departed to Rustleford, but not before he had conferredbriefly with Pipette.
"Do you think I ought to leave the Governor?" he said.
Pipette puckered her alabaster brow thoughtfully.
"Yes; why not?" she replied at length. "It isn't as if he were in bed oranything. He'll go to his work just the same whether you are here ornot. I have made him faithfully promise to come away for a holiday forthe whole of September, so we must just let him have his way just now.You go and enjoy yourself, little man. I'll look after him.Besides"--Pipette's angelic features relaxed into the suspicion of asmirk--"I heard yesterday that a particular friend of yours was to bethere."
"Who? Linklater?"
"No--a lady."
"Not Madeline--"
"Dear no. I thought you had forgotten her. Can't you guess?"
Pip turned a delicate plum colour.
"Ah, now you are getting nearer," said Pipette. "It's your littleflapper friend, Elsie Innes. How long is it since you saw her?"
"About a year, I think. She has been away from town a lot lately,"replied Pip, rather incautiously.
"She has put her hair up," said Pipette.
II
That evening Pip arrived at Rustleford.
He was hospitably greeted by John Chell, introduced to Mrs. Chell, MissEmily Chell, and Miss Dorothy Chell, renewed his acquaintance with JackyChell, and then turned to the inspection of the rest of the house-party,most of whom were known to him.
The cricketers were headed by Raven Innes, a little past his best now,but still to be reckoned among the six finest bats in England. Then cameMallaby and Oake, the Oxford and Cambridge captains for that year. Therewas also a comic man--the Squire knew well that it takes all sorts tomake an Eleven--a member of a noble house, with a polysyllabic andhistoric title; but nobody ever called him anything but "Cockles." Therewere one or two county cricketers of established merit, with or againstwhom Pip had waged many a gallant battle; and it was reported that theSquire had up his sleeve a young local professional, who would one daybe the finest fast bowler in England.
Finally, there were two guests who require more elaborate introduction.The first was a young man of about twenty-three. His name was Gresley.His father was sole proprietor of the Gresley Motor Works, and (it wassaid) a man of millions. He had sent his only son to Cambridge; and theson, a shy and retiring boy, after devoting his first two years to thestudy of mechanical science, oblivious of the glad fact that the worldcontained other things to do, had suddenly sprung into fame, almost_malgre lui_, as a bowler of absolutely natural "googlies," whichfearsome term means an off-break with a leg-break action. This pricelesstalent had been accidentally discovered by Pip during a visit toGresley's home in the vacation, in the course of a game of stump-cricketon the lawn after lunch. A year later Gresley had played for Cambridgeat Lord's, with a success which had qualified him for an invitation toRustleford. Indeed it was to him, together with Pip and the Squire'sprofessional dark horse, that the Eleven looked for its wickets. Gresleywas a small, slim fellow, looking much younger than he really was. Hehad been brought up by his widowed father almost by hand, and had neverbeen to a public school. He was not quite at his ease in a crowd ofpeople, and was devotedly attached to Pip, who had done him more thanone good turn since they became acquainted.
The other man, Cullyngham, was of a very different type; and indeedPip's first action on catching sight of him playing bridge in the hallwas to seek out Raven Innes and inquire, with unusual heat, what "thatswine" was doing in the house.
"Can't say, laddie," said Innes. "The Squire asked him, not I. I supposehe has only met him casually, and just knows him as a first-classcricketer."
"First-class cad!" grumbled Pip.
"Quite so, my son; but it's not our house, and he's not our guest.Still, it will do no harm to keep an eye on him."
A sudden idea struck Pip.
"Wouldn't it be a sound scheme," he suggested, "to warn your youngsister about him?"
Raven cocked an inquiring eye at him.
"Why her in particular?"
"I meant all of them," corrected Pip, rather lamely.
"I've only got one."
"No, no; I meant all the girls here."
"Not much," said the sagacious Raven; "they'd be after him like bees!"
After that the conversation reverted to ordinary channels, and Pip wasapprised of the week's programme. On the morrow, Wednesday, the HouseEleven, under the Squire himself, would play the village, led by theVicar--a time-honoured fixture. Thursday would be an off-day; on Fridaythey would meet the Grandwich Old Boys, who were on tour and would putup at "The George"; and on Saturday would come the tug-of-war, the matchagainst the Gentlemen of the County, who were reputed to have whipped upa red-hot side.
Pip, who had arrived late for tea, met the ladies of the party in thedrawing-room before dinner. They were of the usual diverse types. Therewas Kitty Davenport, slangy and mannish, who would not thank you fordescribing her as "a charming girl," but would be your firm friend ifyou called her "a good sort." There were the Misses Chell, fresh,unaffected, and healthily English. There were the two Calthrop girls,pretty, helpless, and clinging--a dangerous sort this, O youngman!--together with an assortment of girls who were plain but lively,and girls who were dull but pretty, and a few less fortunate girls whowere neither lively nor pretty. There was a solitary "flapper" offifteen, who, untrammelled as yet by fear of Mrs. Grundy, was having thetime of her life with the two callowest members of the Eleven.
And there was Elsie. Pip encountered her suddenly on the staircase. Shewas clad in the severely simple white frock that marks the _debutante_,and her lint-coloured hair was "up," as Pipette had said. It was twoyears since Pip had seen her, for she had been to a finishing-school inParis. He shook her hand in a manner which left that member limp andbloodless for the rest of the evening, and accompanied her downstairs,to find on reaching the hall that some never-to-be-sufficiently-blessedfairy had arranged that he was to take her in to dinner.
The most confirmed believer in the decadence of the Anglo-Saxon racemight have been converted by the sight of the company round SquireChell's table that night. Young men and maidens, healthy, noisy,effervescent, ate and drank, babbled and laughed, flirted and squabbledwith whole-hearted thoroughness from the soup to the savoury; and Pip,sitting silently ecstatic by Elsie, beheld the scene and suddenlyrealised that life was very good. What a splendid assemblage! The girls,of course, were girls, and as such beyond criticism. And the men? Maybethey were youthful and conventional,--each would probably have cut hisown father dead in the street if he had met him wearing a made-uptie,--but Pip knew that they were for the most part clean-run,straight-going people like himself, good fellows, "white" men all. Withone exception. And suddenly Pip realised that the exception was sittingon the other side of Elsie.
Cullyngham was smiling and talking. He always was smiling. He smiledwhen he made a century. He smiled when he made a blob. He smiled when arising ball hit him on the knuckles. He was smiling now, and Elsie wassmiling too; and Pip felt suddenly murderous.
They were talking of golf. Elsie, who had spent most of her life on theeast coast of Scotland, was discussing matters that were Greek to poorcricketing Pip,--stymies, mashies, Kites, Falcons, and other fearfulwild-fowl,--and Cullyngham was offering to play Elsie a match round thehome course next day. A brief review in Pip's mind of the mostexpeditious forms of assassination was interrupted by a cheery hailacross the table from Jacky Chell, a hearty but tactless youth ofboisterous temperament.
"Quite like old times, seeing you and Cully together, Pip," he cried."Played each other any billiard matches lately?"
Elsie scented a story.
"What billiard match?" she
inquired, turning to Pip. "Did you two playmuch together at Cambridge?"
By this time Jacky Chell's stentorian laughter had reduced the table tosilence, and all waited for Pip's answer, which when it finally came,was to the effect that Jacky Chell had better dry up. Cullynghamcontinued to smile, apparently without effort.
"What is the story, Jacky?" said the Squire down the table.
"Cockles will tell it," said Jacky. "He'll make much more of it than Ican."
The patrician humourist, thus flatteringly introduced into theconversation, readily took up his parable.
"Well, it fell out on this wise, ladies _and_ gents," he began. "OldCully here regards himself as an absolutely top-hole pill-player, andone day he was laying off to some of us in the Pitt--"
"In the _what_?" exclaimed Mrs. Chell.
"Undergraduates' Club," interpolated her husband swiftly. "Go on,Cockles."
"Well, suddenly Pip cuts in and says, 'Look here, you've talked aboutyour billiards for the last twenty minutes. I'll play you a hundred upnow and beat you!'"
"And did he?" said several ladies.
"Wait a bit, _if_ you please. None of us knew much about Pip's game, ashe had just joined the club, but we all went into the billiard placenext door, and I stood on a sofa and made a book--"
"What price?"
"Three to one on Cully."
"Who _won_?" cried the flapper.
"_Wait_ a bit," said Cockles severely. "Don't crab my story. Cully wentoff at the start and rattled up a couple of fifteens almost before Pipgot his cue chalked. He reached his fifty just as Pip got to five."
Sensation.
"The odds," continued the narrator, smacking his lips, "then receded toten to one, and no takers. Then Cully got to seventy-five just after Piphad reached eighteen--wasn't it, Pip?"
No reply.
"Right-o! Never mind if you're shy. Anyhow, old Cully, being naturally abit above himself, gave a sort of chuckle, and said, 'What odds now,Pip, old man?'"
"Ooh!" said Miss Dorothy Chell. "How rash! It was quite enough to changeyour luck, Mr. Cullyngham."
"Did you tap wood when you said it, Mr. Cullyngham?" screamed theflapper down the table.
Mr. Cullyngham, possibly owing to the effort involved in keeping up aprotracted smile, did not reply.
"Well," continued Cockles, "Pip just turned to him and said, 'I won'ttake any odds, but I'm da--blessed if I don't beat you yet.' And myword, do you know what he did?"
"What?" came from all corners of the table.
"He got the balls together a few minutes later, settled down--and ranout!"
"What for?" inquired Miss Calthrop languidly.
"What for? He _won_. A break of eighty-three, unfinished. He wouldn't goon. Said he had come there to beat Cully, not to make a show of himself.The old ruffian! He had lain pretty low about his powers. Hadn't he,Cully?"
Cullyngham, to his eternal credit, still smiled.
"Rather!" he said. "You had me that time, Pip, old man."
Cullyngham's good nature and tact having smoothed over the ratherjarring sensation produced by Cockles's thoroughly tactlessreminiscences, conversation became general again. But Pip wriggled inhis seat. He hated publicity of any kind, and he felt, moreover, thatalthough he was the undoubted hero of Cockles's story, the smiling,unruffled man on the other side of Elsie was coming out of the affairbetter than he, if only by reason of the easy nonchalance with which hehad faced a situation that had been rather unfairly forced upon him.
III
Next day came the match against the village. It was a serio-comicfixture, and as such does not call for detailed description. The Squirewas early astir in cricket flannels and Harris tweed jacket, the lattergarment being replaced at high noon by an M.C.C. blazer which ought tohave been let out at the seams twenty years ago: and in good time allthe company assembled on the Rustleford Manor cricket-ground.
The village won the toss, and the Vicar, accompanied by the blacksmith,opened the innings. The attack was entrusted to Pip and the localphenomenon. The latter proved to be a bowler of appalling pace butuncertain length; and the blacksmith, whose generous figure offered afair target to any ball directed within a yard of the wicket, growingrestive under the bombardment, forgot more than once in his comments onthe situation that a clergyman was standing less than twenty-two yardsaway.
The Vicar, an old Blue, played a skilful and patient innings, but theblacksmith did not stay long. As was natural, his chief stroke was arather laboured upheaval of the bat over his head, followed by adownward sledge-hammer drive across the path of the elusive ball. Hetimed it correctly just once, and the ball, rebounding from the groundlike a flash, sang over the head of the Squire at point and proceeded tothe boundary for four. That was all. Next time, in endeavouring to bringoff a particularly pyrotechnic late cut, the batsman was bowled. He madedoubly sure of his dismissal by simultaneously bringing down his batupon the top of the off-stump with a force which called for the unitedefforts of the umpire and Cockles, who was keeping wicket, to get it outagain.
The next comer was the Vicar's son, a public-school bat of the highestpromise; and for a merry half-hour _pere et fils_ set Pip and partner atdefiance, and piled up runs to the credit of the village green. It wasnot until the Squire's prodigy had been taken off and Gresley put onthat the schoolboy, tempted by one of the latter's insidious "googlies,"mistimed a stroke and put up an easy one to Raven Innes at cover-point.
The next batsman was the booking-clerk from the station. Humourists onthe boundary cried out that they expected something "first-class" thisjourney. They were doomed to disappointment, for the batsman was bowledfirst ball, a mishap which a facetious friend in the shade of therefreshment tent attributed to natural anxiety not to waste the returnhalf of his ticket.
Eighty-two for three wickets is a good score for a village club; butwhen the three wickets grew to four, and so on to six, without anyappreciable increase in the score, things cannot be regarded as sosatisfactory. A rot set in after the Vicar was dismissed, and it was notuntil the last man came in that the hundred was reached. A reallycreditable stand now ensued, the village policeman laying on forTusculum at one end, while the curate (whom the parish darkly suspectedof ritualistic tendencies) laid on for Rome at the other. These twainbrought up the score to a hundred and twenty, at which point thepoliceman, in attempting a sort of truncheon-stroke to point, was deftlycaught at second slip by Cullyngham.
The Rustleford Manor Eleven, as was usual in this fixture, took thefield tail first, a proceeding which brought Pip to an unwontedlyexalted position in the batting-list. He went in first wicket, twominutes after the commencement of the innings, Gresley having knockedoff his bails in a misguided attempt to pull the first ball he received.The other end of the pitch was occupied by the Squire, who had gone infirst in this match for twenty years. He liked plenty of time to makehis runs, he explained, increasing girth precluding any great feats ofagility between the wickets.
The bowling was shared by the Vicar and the policeman, the former withlobs, the latter with a delivery so frankly illegal that Pip, gazingopen-mouthed at the bowler, made no attempt to play the first ball hereceived, and was nearly bowled.
"Rather a doubtful delivery that, isn't it?" he remarked to the umpireat the end of the over.
"No possible doubt about it whatever, sir," said the grizzled ground-mandecisively.
"You mean to say he doesn't throw?"
"I mean to say he does throw, sir."
"Then why don't you take him off?"
"Take him off, sir?" The veteran smiled indulgently in the direction ofthe bowler. "Lor' bless you! Now, why, sir? 'E ain't doin' no 'arm."
Pip could not but agree with the undeniable correctness of thispronouncement, which was shortly afterwards endorsed by the captain ofthe side, the limb of the law being relegated to a distant beat in theoutfield and his place taken by another. The newcomer, an erratic bowlerof great swiftness, shot his first ba
ll into the Squire's knee-pad, andimmediately appealed for leg-before-wicket. The village umpire, after anobvious struggle between a desire to get rid of a dangerous batsman andan inherent sense of loyalty to the feudal system, finally decided infavor of the gyrating Squire, and the game proceeded. Pip was bowlednext over by one of the Vicar's lobs, and retired amid applause with ascore of two fours and a six to his credit.
Outside the tent he espied Elsie. He sat down beside her, and thesubsequent proceedings interested him no more. However, the HouseEleven, after losing five wickets for thirty runs, at last began to putreal batsmen into the field. When the match ended at six o'clock thescore was a hundred and eighty-five for seven wickets, the Oxford andCambridge captains, Mallaby and Oake, being not out with fifty-five andforty-eight respectively. By this time Pip had asked for and beenpromised a lesson in golf next morning, when there was to be no cricket.
There was a nine-hole course round the house park, and here the lessonwas given. After breakfast the two repaired to the tee, where Pip, whosewhole weapon of offence consisted of an ancient left-handed cleek(discovered in the gunroom), made laborious and praiseworthy efforts toimitate Elsie's St. Andrew's swing, and to hit the little balls whichshe placed on the tee for him. He had asked for the lesson from purelyulterior motives, but in half an hour he was badly bitten with thedesire to excel at the game itself. He no longer regarded golf as ameans to an end, but found himself liking it for its own sake. Helistened carefully to Elsie's helpful instructions, ground his teethwhen she heaved a resigned sigh, and glowed rosily at her rareexpressions of approbation. Twelve o'clock found him still hewing hisway enthusiastically round the course, Elsie, appreciative of hiskeenness but a trifle bored, nonchalantly playing a ball to keep himcompany.
The afternoon was devoted to a river picnic, at which Pip, to his hugedisgust, found himself in the wrong boat both going and returning.Beyond a few minutes of what he called "good work" under a tree aftertea, the afternoon was a blank for him; and it was with mingled feelingsof ordinary jealousy and real concern for the girl that he found himselfa helpless spectator of Cullyngham's undoubted progress in Elsie's goodgraces.
The evening was given to bridge, and Pip--one of the few men in GreatBritain who combined the misfortune of being a hopelessly bad playerwith the merit of realising the fact--played billiards with Raven Innestill bedtime. Next morning broke dull and cloudy, and by the time thatthe Grandwich Old Boys had won the toss and decided to bat, the cloudsbroke and the rain came down in torrents.
There is no duller or more depressing spectacle in this world than thatof two elevens waiting in the pavilion for the rain to stop. Nervous menwho have to go in next move restlessly about, much harassed by theexuberance of joyous youths who play small-cricket against thedressing-room door. Weather prophets gaze pessimistically at the weepingheavens and shake their heads, while optimists point out to each otherfragments of blue sky, invisible to the unbiassed eye, in distantcorners of the firmament. The pavilion bore descends upon you, andhaving backed you into a corner of the veranda, where the rain cancomfortably drip through a leak in the roof down your neck, regales youwith stories which Shem probably told to Ham and Japheth under preciselysimilar circumstances.
On this occasion the cricketers divided their energies pretty equallybetween bridge and bear-fighting. Pip, who was in a contemplative mood,sat smoking patiently on the veranda railing. Presently Cullyngham, whohad just cut out at bridge, came to the doorway and looked round. Hiseye fell on Pip, and he smiled in a friendly manner.
"Game of picquet, old man?" he inquired.
"No, thanks. Get another mug!"
This was rude of Pip, but Cullyngham took it angelically.
"Dear old Pip!" he cooed. "I wish I could say caustic things with thatair. It's so effective."
At this moment Gresley came up the steps.
"Ah, here's my man!" exclaimed Cullyngham. "You are a sportsman, anyhow,Gresley. Come and have a hand at picquet till lunch."
Gresley, much flattered at this notice from a celebrity, agreed readily,and the pair disappeared into the dressing-room, where, since the raincontinued for the greater part of the day, they were destined to spend aconsiderable time.
IV
That evening there was an impromptu dance. It was much the same as otherdances. There was plenty of music and champagne and laughter; and asusual several people tried, and as usual failed, to solve the problem ofhow it is that an ethereal-looking and fragile slip of a girl, whollyincapable of carrying a scuttle of coals upstairs or of walking fivemiles without collapsing, can go through an arduous night's exercise,waltzing strong men into a state of coma, without turning a hair.
Pip did his duty manfully, though his glimpses of Elsie were few and farbetween. That young lady, whether by accident or design, had filled hercard rather fully before Pip reached her side. Consequently it wassomething like midnight when the piano and violin struck up the waltzthat she had promised him, and Pip, hastily returning the eldest MissCalthrop to her base of operations, braced himself for _the_ moment ofthe evening.
He waited for some time at the door of the dancing-room scanning thereturning couples, but Elsie did not come; and Pip, who waspreeminently a man of action, set out to look for her.
He came upon the truant rather suddenly, round a screen at the end of apassage. She was sitting on a settee with Cullyngham, who, with his headclose to hers, was talking softly and rather too earnestly Pip thought.On seeing Pip, Cullyngham began to smile at once, but Elsie looked alittle confused.
"My dance, I think," said Pip gruffly.
Cullyngham rose to his feet.
"A thousand apologies, old boy," he said easily. "I had no idea themusic had started again. So sorry! I surrender Miss Innes forthwith. _Aurevoir_, partner, and thank you."
He swung gracefully down the passage and was gone.
Elsie felt a little uncomfortable. The woman never yet lived who did notenjoy playing two fish simultaneously, and under ordinary circumstancesElsie would have handled her line with all the pleasure and finesse ofan expert. But somehow Pip was different. He was not the sort of personwho shared a hook gracefully. He was perfectly capable of disregardingthe rules of the game and making a fuss and breaking the line, unlesstreated with special and separate consideration.
She rose lightly.
"So sorry, Pip," she said, taking his arm almost caressingly. "I didn'tmean to keep you waiting. Shall we go and dance?"
"No," said Pip. "Sit down a minute, please."
Elsie obeyed.
"It's only this," said Pip bluntly. "I can't help it if I offend you.Have as little to do with that chap as you can."
A brief silence, and these two young people surveyed each other. Therewas no flinching on either side. Then Elsie's eyes blazed.
"How paltry! How mean!" she said hotly. "Fancy trying to do it thatway!"
"What do you mean by 'it'?" said Pip.
Elsie bit her lip. She had given herself away.
"You mean," went on Pip, "that I say this because I am jealous."
That was exactly what Elsie had meant, and she knew in her heart nowthat she had been wrong: Pip was not that sort. Still, she was young andindependent. Pip was young and tactless. An older and more experiencedgirl would have seen that Pip's warning was well worth listening to. Anolder and more experienced man would have delivered it in a differentway. Neither of them being possessed of these advantages, the net resultof Pip's impromptu effort was to invest Cullyngham with a halo ofromantic mystery in the eyes of Elsie, who, after all, was onlynineteen, and a daughter of Eve at that. Here were the elements of apretty quarrel.
Five minutes later, after a hot altercation, Elsie sailed into theballroom alone, with her small and admirably formed nose slightly in theair, leaving Pip, tardily recalling Raven's advice, to curse histactless tongue on the settee behind the screen.
To him entered young Gresley. He dropped listlessly on to the settee.
"Pip," he said, "I'm in a devil of a hole."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm dipped--badly."
"Oh--money?"
"Yes."
Pip's eyes suddenly gleamed.
"Cullyngham?"
Gresley nodded.
Pip rose and pulled the screen completely across the passage.
"They'll think we're a spooning couple," he said. "Go on."
Gresley told his story. Flattered by Cullyngham's invitation, he hadagreed to play picquet--a game with which he enjoyed only what may becalled a domestic acquaintance--in the pavilion before lunch.
"I suppose we will play the usual club points?" Cullyngham had said.
"And like a blamed fool," continued Gresley, "I didn't like to let onthat I didn't know what the usual club points were, but just nodded. Ilost all the time, and when he added up at one o'clock I owed him fivehundred points. He said I must have my revenge in the afternoon if itwent on raining. Well, as you know, it did go on raining, and by the endof the day I was fifteen hundred points down. Then he told me, what Ihadn't had the pluck to ask him, what we were playing for. He said thatthe ordinary club points were a fiver a hundred, and that I owed himseventy-five pounds."
"The d----d swine!" said Pip through his teeth.
"_Are_ they the ordinary club points, Pip?" said Gresley anxiously.
"Ordinary club grandmother! It's a swindle. He probably cheated in theactual play, too. What are you going to do?"
"I shall pay."
"Quite right," said Pip approvingly. "Pay first, and then we can go forhim without prejudice. Have you got the money?"
The boy shook his head dismally. "About ten pounds," he said.
"I could raise a couple of fivers, perhaps," said Pip. "But in any caseyour best plan is to go straight and make a clean breast of it to yourGovernor."
"Pip, I couldn't! He's fearfully simple and straight in these things. Itwould break him up."
"I know him well enough," said Pip, "to be quite certain that you oughtto tell him. He can't eat you, and he'll respect your pluck in beingfrank about it. If he finds out by accident, though--"
"You are right, Pip. I'll do it."
"Good! If you'll do that, I'll promise you something in return. I'llgive Master Cullyngham such a quarter of an hour of his own previoushistory that he'll leave the place to-morrow morning and never darkenits doors, or any other doors I care to specify, again. Now, you writestraight off to your Governor; or, better still, make an excuse and runup to town and see him to-morrow, and leave me to tackle friendCullyngham. I think I shall enjoy my interview more than you will."
* * * * *
Mr. Rupert Cullyngham had divested himself of his dress-coat, and wasengaged in unfastening a neatly tied white tie, when his bedroom dooropened and Pip came in.
"Cullyngham," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "you must leave thishouse to-morrow morning."
Cullyngham turned and surveyed his visitor for a moment with someamusement. Then he said,--
"Certainly! No idea you had bought the place. Can I have a trap, or mustI walk?"
Pip did not rise to the level of this airy badinage. On the contrary, hewas brusque and rude.
"You will get your cheque all right," he continued. "It will reach youon Sunday morning, so there's no need to hang on here for it."
"May I inquire--_what_ cheque?"
"The money young Gresley owes you."
Cullyngham whistled softly.
"So it's to that young fool that I owe the honour of this visit," hesaid. "Look here, old chap--"
Pip broke in.
"Thanks, I can do without that. Let us have no rotten pretence on thesubject. To be quite frank, I was rather surprised to find you in thishouse at all--so was Raven Innes. However, we decided not to make anyremark--"
"That _was_ decent of you!"
Pip continued, meditatively--
"Chell had probably asked you here on your cricket reputation. However,as I find you can't refrain from behaving like the cad you are, evenwhen asked down to a house like this, I have decided to take things inhand myself. You will make an excuse to the Chells in the morning, andgo straight away back--"
Cullyngham, who had been restraining himself with difficulty, turnedsuddenly round and advanced upon him.
"Get out!" he said, his eyes blazing.
Pip, who was lounging on the arm of a chair, never stirred.
"If you will sit down for five minutes," he observed steadily, "I'llgive you a few reasons for my assurance in this matter. The fact is,Cullyngham, you aren't in a position to retaliate. To-day, for instance,you were wearing the colours of your old school club. You are not amember. They don't elect people who have been--sacked. Also, I cameacross a friend of yours not long ago. She wanted your address, orrather her daughter did. Her name was--"
Cullyngham, whose face had been gradually changing from a lowering redto a delicate green, suddenly noticed that the door was standing ajar.He hurried across the room, shut it, and turned the key.
Ten minutes later the door opened again, and Pip stepped out into thedark passage. An item in his host's valedictory remarks took him backinto the room again, and he stood holding the door-handle as he spoke.
"Cullyngham, you certainly owe me one for this, so you can blackguardme to your heart's content. Also, you may interpret my motives as youlike; but--we will leave ladies' names out of this question, please.Remember that!"
V
At breakfast next morning, amid much masculine concern and femininelamentation, Cullyngham announced that unexpected and urgent familybusiness called him away to town.
The Squire expostulated.
"My dear fellow, this is simply outrageous! What are we to do? TheGentlemen have whipped up the hottest side I have ever seen on thisground, and first of all young Gresley slips off before breakfast, andnow you want to go. We shall get simply trampled on!"
Cullyngham, his smile once again in full working order, confessedhimself utterly desolated; but the business was of a pressing, and, hehinted, rather painful, nature, and go he must.
Accordingly a trap was ordered round for the twelve o'clock train, andthe depleted Eleven, together with the greater part of the house-party,strolled down to the ground to face the redoubtable Gentlemen of theCounty.
Pip had been promised an hour's golf with Elsie after breakfast. He wasat the tee at the appointed hour of ten, but was not in the leastsurprised when his teacher failed to put in an appearance. After smokingpatiently upon the sand-box for a quarter of an hour, the unconscioustarget of a good many curious eyes on the terrace above, he sadlyknocked the ashes out of his pipe and returned to the house, to preparehimself for the labours of the day.
This was to be no picnic match. The County Club had no other fixturethat day, so could put its full amateur strength into the field. WithGresley and Cullyngham playing the sides would have been about equallybalanced, but now it was odds on the visitors.
However, the men of Rustleford, fortifying themselves with thecomforting reflection that cricket, like most other departments of life,is a game of surprises, enrolled two substitutes for their absentwarriors, and took the field with a stout heart, having lost the toss asa preliminary.
There had been more rain during the night, and the wicket, thoughsodden, was easy. The Gentlemen opened nicely, scoring forty-five runsby pretty cricket before a wicket fell. After that two more wickets fellrather easily, and then came another stand, during which the score rosefrom forty-five to eighty, at which point the more passive of the tworesisters was given out leg-before-wicket. Then came a _debacle_,absolute and complete, but not altogether inexplicable. The clouds weredispersing rapidly, and, once free of their nebulous embraces, the Julysun began to beat down fiercely, "queering the patch" in the mostliteral sense of the word, and thus enabling Pip and the village prodigyto dismiss an undeniably strong batting side for a hundred and eight.
&n
bsp; Loud were the congratulations of the spectators. The ladiesespecially were jubilant, the flapper going so far as to ask her twoadmirers for a quotation of odds--in the current coin of flapperdom,chocolates--against Rustleford's chances of an innings victory. But theSquire looked up at the blazing sun and down at the rapidly dryingpitch, and glanced inquiringly at Pip.
Pip removed his pipe from his mouth, and grunted,--
"Lucky if we get half the runs."
As it turned out, this was an overestimate. The Rustleford Manor Elevenwent in to bat at one o'clock precisely, and were all dismissed in thespace of forty-five minutes for forty-nine runs. The pitch was almostunplayable; each bowler found a "spot"; and it was only some berserkslogging by Pip, who went in last and refused to allow any ball toalight on the treacherous turf at all, that this insignificant total wasnot halved.
The Elevens lunched together in the pavilion, but the rest of the partyreturned to the house. Here Elsie, who had spent a not altogethercomfortable night and morning, was somewhat surprised to find herselfseated next to Cullyngham.
"I thought you had gone," she said.
"Unfortunately," he replied, "I came down at twelve to drive to thestation, to find that I had misunderstood Mrs. Chell and kept the traptoo late to have any chance of catching the train."
"Never mind," said Elsie. "You'll be able to come and see the match now.It is going to be tremendously exciting."
Cullyngham lowered his head in her direction, and said,--
"Will you let me have that round of golf this afternoon--the one Ishould have had next Monday?"
Elsie surveyed him doubtfully. Under ordinary circumstances she wouldhave preferred to see the cricket, but she was not insensible toCullyngham's charms, and she liked the flattering way in which he hadcouched his request.
"But the cricket?" she said. "Surely you--"
"Some things are worth many cricket-matches," said Cullynghamsententiously.
Elsie gasped a little, and Cullyngham continued,--
"You will come? Leave the cricketers to themselves this time. They'llget too conceited with so much attention."
Now, whether Cullyngham meant this remark to have a particularsignificance, or to be merely of general application, one cannot say,but its effect was to suggest to Elsie a most appropriate punishment forPip. Instead of sitting on the pavilion lawn applauding his performance,she would stay at home and play golf with his rival. Little boys must betaught not to be jealous.
"Very well," she said.
Cullyngham called for more whiskey-and-soda.
The Gentlemen of the County began their second innings after lunch. Newsof the exciting state of the game had spread abroad, and the Manorground was rapidly being encircled by a ring of carriages and motors,tenanted by masses of white fluff, which at intervals disintegrateditself into its component elements for purposes of promenade,dress-reviewing, and refreshment.
It was quite plain that runs would be hard to get on that wicket. Therewas a crust of dried mud on the top and a quagmire below. The sun stillbeat down strongly, the birds were celebrating the termination oftwenty-four hours' rain in every tree, and everybody was alert andexcited at the prospect of an open game and a close finish.
Their expectations were fully realised. The Gentlemen of the County,either through anxiety to eclipse their rivals' sensational breakdown,or through excess of confidence, or simply because they could not helpit, scored exactly thirty-five runs. Pip took eight wickets for sixteen.He was always a bowler of moods, and his work in the morning, thoughgood enough, had not been particularly brilliant. A man can no more takea wicket than he can take a city unless he gives his mind to it, and itmust be confessed that up to the luncheon interval Pip had beenwool-gathering. His interview with Cullyngham, his rather brief night'srest, and his tiff with Elsie had kept his wits wandering. Now, bracedby the knowledge that Cullyngham was speeding on his way south, thatElsie was sitting safely on the pavilion lawn, and that--most blessed ofrest cures!--there was work, hard work, before him, Pip rolled up hissleeves, set his field, and bowled. He made no fuss about it; he merelyrose to the top of his form and stayed there. The wickets fell likeninepins, the crowd shouted itself hoarse, and when it was all over,Pip, walking soberly in with the rest, found himself punched, slapped,and otherwise embraced by various frantic people in the pavilion.
Among the forest of hands, each containing a sizzling tumbler, that wereextended towards him, Pip observed one containing a telegram.Mechanically he took the orange-coloured envelope with one hand and atall tumbler with the other, and, thrusting the former safe out ofharm's way in his pocket, devoted his attention to the latter.
This done, he put on his blazer, lit his pipe, and took up his favouriteposition on the railing of the pavilion veranda, what time the two chiefbatsmen of his side buckled on their pads. There were ninety-five runsto make, and they had to be made on a wicket in the last stages ofdecomposition. The two heroes, nervous but resolute, took the field forthe last time, and, with nearly three hours before them, set to work,slowly and cautiously, to make the runs.
But Pip was not watching the cricket. His eye was travelling steadilyround the pavilion lawn, dodging pink frocks and skipping over bluefrocks in its search for the white pique costume that Elsie had wornthat morning. It was not there.
Mindful that the female sex, not content with having once successfullysurmounted that most monumental nuisance of civilisation, the dailytoilet, is addicted to inexplicable and apparently enjoyable repetitionsof the same, Pip tried again, and scrutinised the pink frocks and theblue frocks. Elsie was not in any of them. Pip felt vaguely uneasy. Ofcourse Cullyngham was almost back in town by this time. Still--The twobatsmen were making a respectable show. Pip was to go in last. Thegreatest possible series of catastrophes could not bring his servicesinto requisition for another twenty minutes at any rate. He would run upto the house and see. See what? He did not know, but he would go and seeit.
He vaulted over a fence, slipped through a plantation, and tramped underthe hot afternoon sun across the meadow which separated the Manor fromthe cricket-ground. Suddenly, in his pocket, his hand encountered thetelegram that had been handed to him after the innings: it had goneright out of his memory.
"Wonder if it's an abusive message from Cully," he said to himself.
No, it was from Pipette, and Pip sat down on a hurdle and steadiedhimself after reading it. Presently, after a stunned interval, hecontinued mechanically on his way.
"Let me see," he found himself saying,--"I had better pack up my things,get a trap at the stables, and catch the five-thirty train. I'll leave anote for the Chells, and then I shan't have to face the whole crowdagain. If there's no trap to be had I'll leave my bag and leg it. Only amile or so,--I wish it was more,--got an hour and a half to fill in."
By this time he had reached the house. The place was deserted, for thebutler and, indeed, most of the establishment were down at thecricket-ground. Pip went rather heavily upstairs and packed hisportmanteau, which he presently brought down to the hall door. Afterthat he went to the library and wrote a brief letter.
"Now to find some one to leave this with," he said to himself. "Themaids can't all be out. After that I'll go to the stables. Hallo! Thatsounded like a voice. There it is again! A sort of shriek! It comes fromthe conservatory. My God! it's--"
He hurried into the drawing-room and darted across to the large Frenchwindows that opened into the conservatory. Then, stepping out andpassing round a great orange tree in a green tub, he came suddenly on asight that caused something inside him to gather into a sickening knotand sink down, down, down, dragging his very heart with it.
Elsie and Cullyngham, the latter with his back to Pip, were standingface to face in the middle of the conservatory. They were pressed closetogether, and both Elsie's arms were round Cullyngham's neck.
VI
Somehow the golf-match was not quite as amusing as Elsie had expected.Cullyngham was all de
ference and vivacity, and played like the stylisthe was. Still, Elsie could not help wondering how the cricket-match wasgetting on; and when at half-past three the round of nine holes wascompleted, she announced her intention of going down to the ground tosee the finish.
"What, and desert me?" inquired her opponent pathetically.
"You can come too, if you like."
"Hardly worth while, I'm afraid. I have to pack my bag and get some tea,and then I shall be due at the station."
"I thought your bag was packed already. You were to have gone by thetwelve train, you know," said Elsie rather doubtfully.
"Yes," said Cullyngham easily, "but you forgot I had to unpack again toget out my golfing shoes. Now, I'll tell you what," he continuedrapidly. "They are going to give me tea in the conservatory before I go:won't you stay and pour it out for me? Just five minutes--_please_!"
Elsie felt that she could hardly in decency refuse, and accompaniedCullyngham to the house and thence to the conservatory, where the maidwho brought the tea informed them of the glorious downfall of the CountyEleven and of Pip's share therein.
This decided Elsie. She had no desire to appear in any scene where Pipwas the central figure, so she accepted Cullyngham's pressinginvitation to share his tea, and, sinking into a large armchair,prepared to spend an idle half-hour until popular enthusiasm on thecricket-ground should have abated. Pip was unconsciously proving theprofound wisdom of the maxim which warns us to beware when all men speakwell of us. He was paying the penalty of success. If he had been bowledfirst ball, or had missed three easy catches, Elsie, being a woman,would probably have melted and been kind to him. But to unbend to himnow would savour of opportunism, hero-worship, and other disagreeablethings. Elsie set her small white teeth, frowned at an orange tree in agreen tub, and prepared for a _tete-a-tete_. The house seemed deserted.
"Penny for your thoughts!" said Cullyngham.
Elsie smiled composedly.
"If they were only worth that I would make you a present of them," shesaid. "If they were worth more they would not be for sale."
"Are they worth more?"
"I don't know, really. Anyhow, they are not on the market." She dranksome tea with a prim air, uncomfortably conscious that she was blushing.
There was a short pause, and Cullyngham spoke again.
"I hope I'm not boring you," he said, with a smile which took forgranted the impossibility of the idea.
"Oh, dear, no. I'm seldom bored at meals." Elsie took a bite out of abun.
"Very well. Till you have finished tea I will keep quiet; after that Iwill endeavour to amuse you."
The meal continued solemnly. Once or twice Elsie directed a furtiveglance at the man beside her, and detected him eyeing her in a mannerwhich made her feel hot and cold by turns. It was not that he was rudeor objectionable, but Elsie suddenly felt conscious that Pip's openstare of honest admiration was infinitely less embarrassing than this.
Cullyngham, as a matter of fact, was in a dangerous mood. His was not apride that took a fall easily, and the fact that he had been compelledto submit to Pip's unconditional ultimatum was goading him to madness.No man is altogether bad, but we are all possessed of our own particulardevils, and Cullyngham accommodated more than his fair share of them. Hehad never denied himself the gratification of any passion, howeverunworthy, and at that moment his one consuming desire was to retaliateupon the man who had humiliated him. He looked around the emptyconservatory, and then again at the girl in the basket-chair besidehim. He could punish Pip now in a most exquisite manner.
Elsie caught the glance, and for a moment was suddenly conscious of anemotion hitherto unknown to her--acute physical fear. But Cullynghamsaid lightly--
"Enjoyed your tea?"
"Yes, thanks," she replied rather tremulously, putting down her cup.
"Then may I smoke?"
"Certainly. But I am going now."
"Right, if you must. I'll just light my cigarette and see you to the endof the drive."
Cullyngham produced a box of matches, and, with the paternal air of oneendeavouring to amuse a child, performed various tricks with them. Thenhe lit a cigarette, and showed Elsie how, by doubling up your tongue, itis possible to grip the cigarette in the fold and draw it into yourmouth, reproducing it, still lighted and glowing, a minute later.
"Quite a little exhibition!" said Elsie, at her ease again. "You oughtto set up as a conjurer. Now I must be off."
"There is one other little trick with a match that might amuse you,"said Cullyngham. "It was taught me by a girl I know. She made me go downon my hands and knees--"
"I refuse to go down on my knees for anybody," said Elsie, with spirit.
"Never mind. I will do that part. I go on my hands and knees on thefloor, like this, with a match lying on my back between myshoulder-blades. Then the other person--you--has his hands tied togetherwith a handkerchief, and tries to brush the match off the other person'sback. It's extraordinary how difficult it is to do it with one's handstied and the other person bobbing and dodging to get away from you."
"It sounds absolutely idiotic," said Elsie coldly.
"It isn't, though. Of course it would be idiotic for you and me to playit now by ourselves; but I'll just show you the trick of it, and youwill be able to have some sport with them in the billiard-room to-night.Shall I show you?"
Elsie agreed, without enthusiasm. It seemed churlish to refuse such atrifling request to a man who was making laborious efforts to amuse her;but, for all that, this _tete-a-tete_ had lasted long enough. However,she would be on the cricket-ground in a few minutes.
Her doubts were in a measure revived when Cullyngham tied her two wriststogether with a silk handkerchief. He performed the operation veryquickly, and then dropped on to his hands and knees on the floor andcarefully balanced a match on the broad of his back.
"Now," he said, looking up at her, "just try to knock that match off myback. Of course I shall dodge all I can. I bet you won't be able to doit."
Elsie, feeling uncommonly foolish, made one or two perfunctory dabs atthe match with her bound hands. Once she nearly succeeded, butCullyngham backed away just in time. Piqued by his derisive littlelaugh, she took a quick step forward, and leaning over him, was on thepoint of brushing the match on to the floor, when suddenly Cullynghamslewed round in her direction, and, thrusting his head into theenclosure of her arms, scrambled to his feet. Next moment Elsie, dazed,numbed, terrified, found herself on tiptoe, hanging round a man's neck,while the man's arms were round her and his hateful smiling face wasdrawing nearer, nearer, nearer to her own.
Never was a girl in more deadly peril. Elsie uttered a choking scream.
"It's no good, little girl," said Cullyngham. "I've got you fast, andthere's not a soul in the house. A kiss, please!" He spoke thickly: theman was dead within him.
Elsie, inert and drooping, shrank back as far as her manacled wristswould allow her, and struggled frantically to free herself. ButCullyngham's arms brought her towards him again. And then, paralysedwith terror, with eyes wide open, she found herself staring right overCullyngham's shoulder at--Pip!--Pip, sprung from the earth, and standingonly five yards away.
"Pip!" she moaned; "Pip, save me!"
Almost simultaneously Cullyngham became conscious of something thatgripped him by the nape of his neck, just below Elsie's fetteredwrists--something that felt like a steel vice. Tighter and tighter grewthe grip. The veins began to stand out on Cullyngham's forehead, and hegurgled for breath. Down he went, till his head was once more on a levelwith the floor and his aristocratic nose was rubbed into the matting. Ina moment the girl had slipped her wrists over his head and stoodfree--pale, shaken, but free!
"Run into the house," said Pip. "I will come in a minute."
Elsie tottered through the French window and disappeared, with her handsstill bound before her, and the two men were left alone.
Finding himself in a favourable geographical position, Pip kickedCullyngham till his toes ached insi
de his boots. Then he thrust him awayon to the floor. Cullyngham, free at last and white with passion, was upin a moment and rushed at Pip. He was met by a crashing blow in the faceand went down again.
If Pip had been himself he would have desisted there and then, for hehad his enemy heavily punished already. But he was in a raging passion.He knew now that Elsie was more to him than all the world together, andhis sudden realisation of the fact came at an inopportune moment forCullyngham. Pip drove him round the conservatory, storming, raging,blaring like an angry bull, getting in blow upon blow with blind,relentless fury. Cullyngham was no weakling and no coward. Again andagain he stood up to Pip, only to go down again under a smash like thekick of a horse. Finally, in a culminating paroxysm of frenzy, Pip tookhis battered opponent in his arms and hurled him into the green tubcontaining the orange tree.
Then he went into the house, locking the French window behind him. Thefit had passed.
Five minutes devoted to a wash, and a slight readjustment of his collarand tie, and Pip was himself again. Presently he went to seek Elsie. Thegirl had succeeded in freeing her hands from the handkerchief, and wassitting, badly shaken, a poor little "figure of interment," as theFrench say, on a sofa in the library. She looked up eagerly at hisapproach.
"Oh, Pip, did you hurt him?"
"I hope so," said Pip simply. "Will you tell how it happened? Atleast--don't, if you'd rather not."
But she told him all. "You were just in time, Pip," she concluded. "Iwas just going to faint, I think."
She looked up at him with shining eyes. Pip saw them, and permittedhimself one brief gaze. This was no time for tender passages. He put hishand in his pocket and produced a rather crumpled envelope.
"Would you mind giving that to the Squire for me?" he said. "I have togo away."
"Go away? Oh, Pip! Now?"
"Yes, you see, I have just--"
"But are you going to leave me in the house with that man?" cried Elsie,with a sudden access of her old terror.
"If I am any judge of human nature," said Pip, "he is out of the houseby this time. I don't think he will even wait for his luggage. He--he'snot very presentable. I see the trap has come round for him. It can takeme instead, and I'll cart his luggage up to town and leave it at hisclub. I owe him some consideration," he added, surveying his knucklesthoughtfully.
Elsie acquiesced.
"Yes, that will be best," she said. "The Chells will think he went offin the ordinary way, and nobody will ever know--Pip, it was awful."
She broke off, and shuddered again and again.
"I should go and lie down till dinner if I were you," said Pip gently."All over now: forget it. Good-bye."
They shook hands and walked to the door together.
"Why are you going away like this?" said Elsie, as the groom piled theluggage into the trap.
Pip's face clouded.
"I'm ashamed to say that what has happened made me forget for a bit," hesaid. "I have just had a wire from Pipette--I say, here is the wholecricket-party coming across the lawn! I simply can't face them now. Icould have told you about it, but not them. Good-bye, and--good-bye. Ishall see you again soon, I hope."
He jumped into the cart, and was rattling down the drive by the timethat the cricketers and their attendant throng, hot, noisy, andjubilant, burst like a wave into the hall. Elsie turned hastily from awindow as they entered.
"Hallo, Elsie," cried Raven Innes, "what are you doing here?"
"Rather a headache, Raven. I have stayed in since tea," said Elsie.
"You certainly don't look very well, dear," said Mrs. Chell.
"You missed a great finish," said Cockles.
"Only two wickets," shrieked the flapper.
"Yes," added the Squire, "and if one of them had gone down we shouldhave been dished. Pip deserted. Where was the ruffian? Have you seenanything of him, my dear?"
"Yes," said Elsie; "he was here just now."
One or two knowing smiles illuminated the honest faces of thecricketers.
"He came up," she continued composedly, "about four, and hurried away tocatch the five-thirty train. He has just gone. He gave me this note foryou, Mr. Chell."
The Squire took the note and read it, and his jolly face grew grave.
"Poor fellow!" he said soberly.
"What is it?" said everybody.
"Pip has had a wire from his sister to say that his father died suddenlythis morning--heart failure. Pip has slipped away by the afternoontrain: he did not want to spoil our fun. He asks me to say good-bye toall of you from him."