Читать книгу The Captain of Queens - Herbert Hayens - Страница 4

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‘Chubby’ Wilson—Bernard was his actual name, but he had been called ‘Chubby’ on his first day at Queen’s Norton, and the nickname had clung to him—sat in his study with a pile of open books before him. He was a big, heavy fellow, strong as a bull, but slow in movement, and regarded by the Queens as an easy, tolerant, good-natured sort of chap.

From the way in which he glanced at his watch it was evident he expected a visitor, and presently, in answer to his ‘Come in,’ the door opened, and Stoneham and Caldecott entered.

‘A bit behind time, I’m afraid,’ apologised Stoneham, ‘but Henderson bagged us, and we couldn’t get away. Sorry if we’ve kept you waiting.’

‘Oh, it’s all right. Sit down, will you? Fact is I have something to say, and don’t quite know how you will take it. Have you realised, you fellows, that I am the Captain of the School?’

‘The knowledge is public property,’ replied Caldecott, puzzled by the curious nature of the question.

‘It is a great honour and all that, but it’s a big responsibility too. It seems to me that the captain has a good deal to do with keeping up the reputation of the school, or letting it down.’

‘That’s true, and well put,’ exclaimed Caldecott quickly; ‘a lot depends upon the captain.’

‘He ought to keep his eyes open, know what’s going on, turn up on the playing-fields, encourage the youngsters, put his foot down on things that aren’t in order, and preserve discipline. How does that strike you?’

‘Couldn’t be put better,’ Caldecott replied. ‘And if a fellow can’t do all these things, he isn’t fit for the position.’

‘Oh, go a bit slow there,’ Stoneham interrupted, ‘no one is perfect; a man can only do his best.’

‘Suppose he knows his best is a failure.’

‘He doesn’t until he has tried. “Play the game” is the Queens’ motto, Wilson, and a chap hardly does that if he chucks up the sponge before entering the ring.’

‘If he can’t box, isn’t he a fool to go in at all?’

‘Depends on circumstances. If it is his duty to go, he must go, and do the best he can.’

‘Well,’ said Wilson slowly, ‘instead of beating about the bush, let us take the actual case. Circumstances have made me the new captain, and I am not fit for the post. Either of you would tackle the job much better. No, hear me out; you can cut in afterwards. I don’t know what is going on, I never show at sports, and I never wanted to boss anybody in my life. I have weighed this all over carefully, lain awake o’ nights, neglected my books, and made my head ache. It seems clear to me that my duty is to resign and advise the Head to appoint one of you.’

‘Good,’ said Stoneham; ‘and now let me make one point clear. Neither Godfrey nor I would accept the post. Is that right, old man?’

‘Correct, Ralph. Get on with the palaver.’

‘In the second place, Wilson, what you propose is a long way from playing the game.’

‘For the sake of the school, Stoneham.’

‘It won’t encourage the school much for the chap who carries the flag to drop it.’

‘Thanks, Stoneham. You hit me pretty hard, you know, but I asked for it. Now, there is just one more point—the Barclay.’

Stoneham and Caldecott moved uneasily. The Barclay was a sore point with the Queens. It was a competition open to pupils from seven or eight schools, and, by some unlucky chance, Queen’s Norton invariably failed to secure the scholarship.

‘It sounds a bit like cheap bragging,’ Wilson continued, ‘but I had rather set my mind on getting the Barclay; only it means a steady grind. My cousin, Beauchamp—he is at Manningham—is my strongest opponent, and if I put my back into it I can just beat him. This isn’t gas, it’s fact. But unless I am free to work, there is no chance. Naturally I wouldn’t say this to any one else, but I want you to know how things stand. I can bring the Barclay to Queen’s Norton, but only if my time is my own.’

The two prefects glanced at each other uncertainly; this was a delicate matter to decide, and they hesitated. To capture the Barclay was to stamp the school with the hall-mark of success, and they believed Wilson could do it, if he were not handicapped.

‘Put me out of it,’ Wilson continued quickly, ‘and simply consider the claims of the school.’

Caldecott began to waver. Year after year he had hoped the Barclay would come to Queen’s Norton, and now the splendid triumph, hitherto unattainable, was almost within their grasp. Why not take the easier course? Stoneham was the beau idéal of a captain, and Wilson would bring honour and glory to the school by gaining the coveted scholarship! It was a dazzling prospect, and after all——

‘It’s a pity to lose the chance of the Barclay,’ his chum observed, ‘and it’s rough on you, Wilson; but I stick to what I said. It’s dropping the flag, running away, and not playing the game. Besides, ’twould be a rotten example for the Queens. My opinion may be all wrong, but you asked for it, and you’ve got it.’

‘Yes,’ observed Wilson, with a slow smile, ‘I’ve got it. Well, I will turn the thing over again, and let you know in the morning.’

‘You don’t mind, old chap, do you?’ inquired Caldecott anxiously; ‘we have been a bit blunt, but when it’s a question of the school everything has to go.’

‘No,’ replied the captain, ‘I am much obliged to you both. I want to do the right thing, but it’s a bit of a puzzle. Do you think I should consult the Head?’

‘No,’ Stoneham replied emphatically, ‘you have to fight this out on your own.’

‘There’s a lot more in old Wilson that I ever gave him credit for,’ observed Caldecott, when the two friends had left the study; ‘but, d’you know, I rather hope he will stick to the Barclay.’

‘Don’t agree with you, Godfrey, not the least bit. Wilson isn’t a coward, and it would be a bit cowardly to shirk his plain duty, wouldn’t it?’

‘Still, as he said himself, if a chap can’t box, where’s the sense of putting on the gloves? And honestly, he isn’t cut out for the job!’

‘I would have agreed with that an hour ago, but just now I’m not so sure. However, let the thing rest till the morning.’

Meanwhile the captain had closed his books, and drawn his chair up to the fire. The recent conversation had fogged him. Being honest with himself, he had expected the two prefects would gladly approve of his design. Naturally they wouldn’t exhibit their relief too openly, but it would be there all the same. As it was, they seemed willing to abandon all chance of the Barclay rather than fall in with his views.

One of Stoneham’s remarks worried him a good deal. He endeavoured to fix his attention on other things, but the phrase refused to be turned down. ‘Dropping the flag,’ he muttered, ‘there’s a nasty ring about that. In plain English, that means funking. Not a nice word for the Queens. Confound Stoneham. “He dropped the flag!” I’d have that humming in my ears if I won fifty Barclays. And there would be some truth in it. A better man would pick it up, but still it would have been dropped!’

His mind remained undecided when he went to bed, but he slept soundly, and woke up with a clear, steadfast purpose. For good or ill, he would keep the Queens’ colours in his own custody. The two prefects met him in the breakfast-room, and he nodded cheerfully. ‘I’m keeping the flag,’ he announced quietly, ‘and I hope the school won’t suffer through the defects of its standard-bearer.’

‘I’m honestly glad,’ exclaimed Stoneham.

‘And you can count on us to back you up,’ his chum added.

Before the boys went to their classes that morning a notice signed by Ralph Stoneham and Godfrey Caldecott was posted up, announcing that a special meeting would be held in Big Hall, immediately after afternoon school. There was a buzz of curiosity; and numerous wild shots at the object of the gathering were made; Sproston reviving sufficiently to declare that the Sixth intended to protest against not having received a holiday on the previous day, a view which gained considerable favour in the Lower Fourth.

The secret, however, whatever its nature, was well kept, with the result that the Hall was thronged by a tumultuous pack all eager to learn the reason for the meeting.

‘Stoneham’s in the chair,’ exclaimed Sproston cheerfully; ‘he’ll rub it in hot, you’ll see!’

‘Why isn’t Chubby Wilson in the chair? He’s the new captain.’

‘Perhaps he has turned over to Stoneham; good thing if he has.’

‘Rather,’ from Wilkins; ‘or to Caldecott.’

‘Shut up, Stoneham’s heaps better than Caldecott.’

‘Hsh! Stop that row. He’s getting up. He’s on his legs.’

Stoneham was a good speaker, but on this occasion he did not detain his audience long. They all knew, he began, that several changes had occurred in the school. Doctor Bolton had gone to Manningham, and they had Mr Tracey in his place. Most of the prefects had left, and their captain (cries of ‘Good old Stanley!’) was already in France. Though it would be difficult for any one to equal Stanley’s record, he felt confident that the new captain, who was seated on his right, would be found fully equal to carrying on. No boy had ever brought greater distinction in scholarship to Queen’s Norton than Bernard Wilson, and he was convinced that the Queens would be as proud of their new captain as they were of Stanley. He called upon the captain to say a few words, and sat down amidst a salvo of cheering.

The cheers were succeeded by a profound silence as Wilson got up slowly. To the small fry he was an unknown quantity: they rarely saw him, and the general idea was that he lived in his study, with wet towels round his head and surrounded by Greek and Latin books. Some of the Babes, as a matter of fact, expected him to address them in Greek.

In the Upper Forms, curiosity, although from different reasons, was equally intense. It was the first time Chubby Wilson had occupied a prominent position at a public meeting, which made every one keen to hear what he would say, and how he would say it. Stoneham, Caldecott, and a few of the Sixth greeted his first words with a friendly cheer, and when the noise subsided he was talking easily and naturally.

‘It is a proud thing,’ he said, ‘to be the captain of Queen’s Norton, but as Stoneham told you, it is a pretty difficult job to follow Stanley. I can’t win a cricket match for you, as he did, or shoot a winning goal; but what I want to say is this. I have to carry the Queens’ Flag, to keep the old black and white colours flying, and to see that when I leave office, the reputation of Queen’s Norton stands as high as it does to-day. For, mark you, no one loves the old school better than I do.’

‘Bravo! Good old Wilson!’ from Ayling.

‘But you have to back me up.’

‘We’ll do that.’

‘I will do my duty without fear or favour, and if you do yours the Queens won’t suffer. I think that’s about all.’

As an oration it didn’t amount to much, but somehow it caught on, and the cheering was both hearty and genuine. Stoneham and his chum were relieved and delighted; the new captain had created a more favourable impression than they had hoped for.

‘Chubby’s coming out strong,’ said Wrigley, as he and Walter left the room. ‘Wonder if he will stand up to Melley and his gang?’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, only somehow I can’t fancy Chubby Wilson holding his end of the stick against Melley and Hunter. Those two are thick as thieves, and Hunter is a prefect and jolly popular. He’s our finest half-back, and the best bowler we have had for years. Remember how he crumpled the Sidlip chaps up. Nine for twenty-three, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s so,’ agreed Walter, ‘but I don’t cotton to him altogether, and if it comes to a dust up between him and Wilson, I’m backing the captain.’

‘All right, Don Quixote, I’ll let Chubby know; it will cheer him up. Hallo, there’s the Sproston kid. Hi, Sproston, better slip into a clean collar, or you’ll have the governess down on you.’