Читать книгу The New Captain - Herbert Hayens - Страница 4

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Jack Sefton, the Soccer captain at Waynflete, was in a mood altogether unusual for him. The junior Magpies regarded him with respect and admiration; he was as good in class as a professional swot, a natural leader in the playing-fields, and an all-round popular fellow. He had a bright smile and a cheery word for any one in trouble, and a sense of humour that swept you unresistingly along with him. Though not exactly handsome, he had a pleasant, slightly freckled face and grayish blue eyes; his lips, perhaps, were a thought too thin and compressed, while his chin was a trifle too square. He was of medium height a shade too thick-set for ideal proportion, but promising more than average strength.

His face cleared, though not completely, as the door opened and a boy entered the study. "Hulloa Reg," he exclaimed, "thought you had turned in."

The two boys formed a striking contrast. Reggie Wynford was tall, with olive-tinted skin, dark hair, and dark, flashing eyes. He was built on altogether finer lines, with long, supple, artistic fingers, and a distinctly clever face. Whether it was a good face or not, few ordinary observers would have cared to decide; some people might have seen or imagined a hint of craft in it.

"Saw your light and popped in," he replied easily, and his voice was musical, almost caressing. "I'm afraid you are taking our defeat too seriously, and, may I say? that isn't quite Jack Sefton's style. Besides, we put up a decent fight, and only lost by the odd goal."

"Surely you don't imagine I'm such a Cissy as that! Erdington beat us fair and square; that's all in the day's work; we'll turn the tables on them next time."

"The mystery deepens. What is the trouble? Anything to do with the match?"

"Everything! Look here, Reggie, I've never been so ashamed in my life. You know Mr. Mayne?"

"The Erdington master? Yes; awfully decent fellow, Mayne."

"He was talking to Moggridge when I left the field, and I couldn't help overhearing some of the words. He said it was a pity we had brought two or three dirty players with us; it spoiled the game, and was a bad example to the juniors."

"Rather strong language for Mr. Mayne, but you need not take too much notice of it. After all, he was only giving his personal opinion."

"But what he said was true," declared Sefton doggedly; "if it weren't I shouldn't care, but I saw Pember myself; the biggest hooligan couldn't have played a dirtier game."

"Pember! oh, well, Pember is a bit of a hooligan; nothing can alter that."

Sefton's brow clouded again. "I'm thinking of the team and the school," he declared roughly; "I would rather the Magpies played a clean game and lost a thousand times, than that they should win by shady tactics."

"No need to get riled; there's an easy way out. Drop Pember quietly, without any explanation."

Sefton shook his head. "That won't do, we've got to stamp the thing out openly; no hole in the corner business."

Wynford raised his eyebrows. "You are asking for trouble that way, and will do more harm than good."

"It's the only honest way. Dig up the roots, old man; there's no sense in just lopping off the branches. And the Magpies need something drastic; the school is getting into a bad state."

"What is it exactly that you mean to do?" Wynford asked, with his puzzling smile.

"I haven't decided yet; I intend to sleep on it."

"Do," advised his chum, "and think over my suggestion. Drop Pember without remark and little will be said; state your reasons, and you will have a civil war on your hands."

The Soccer captain was sorely tried that night, and his friend's advice rather hurt than helped him; it did not fit in with his own downright, straightforward character. Somehow, Wynford scarcely appeared to realise the situation. What was the sense of dropping Pember without an explanation? That wouldn't do any good.

It amazed him that his particular chum should have passed over so lightly the scathing comment of the Erdington master! His own face flushed anew at the mere memory. The Magpies justly accused of dirty play! It was gall and wormwood to him. The boy had a perfect passion for the old school; he was the fifth Sefton in succession to carry the Magpie colours, and now they had been sullied!

Besides, as he had remarked, Waynflete was not in a good way. Recently a flagrant case of bullying had cropped up, there was a good deal of underhand lawlessness, and a sneering contempt of the rules was spreading like an epidemic, even amongst the juniors. For this state of things Hudson, the School Captain, was no doubt partly responsible. An amiable, well-intentioned fellow, who never broke a rule in his life, he was weak and unstable as water. He hated disputes and longed for peace—peace at any price. He was too timid to back up his own monitors, even when they were right.

"No help to be got in that quarter," Sefton reflected; "the old boy wouldn't go as far as Wynford, he'd simply beg me to hush the matter up. And that," grimly, "I won't do."

The notice, calling a meeting of the First Soccer Eleven for six o'clock, attracted no more than ordinary attention; only Wynford smiled a trifle dubiously and hurried off in search of the captain.

"I've just seen the notice," he began carelessly; "any special meaning in it?"

"Nothing, except that I intend to tell the fellows what I think."

Wynford whistled softly. "Going to wreck the team and split the school into factions! Is it worth it?"

"Is it worth keeping the Magpies' colours clean? That's a funny question, Reg."

Wynford bit his lip in vexation. "You are making a foolish move," he said, "and it's scarcely worth while being your chum if I'm not to tell you so."

"I know," exclaimed Sefton impulsively, "and I'm grateful; but whatever comes of this I must enter my protest openly. And," with a whimsical smile, "I shan't wreck the team, because, if the fellows don't approve, I shall resign and fight it out as an ordinary Magpie."

"All right, old man, I've finished. Of course I shall support you, but," chuckling, "in my own way."

The members of the team, strolling into the room at the appointed time, found Sefton already there. They were rather surprised by the absence of his cheery smile, and their astonishment increased at his opening words:—

"This isn't an ordinary meeting," he began; "I have called it for the purpose of saying some very disagreeable things."

"Nothing like showing your hand first off!"

"That's right, and I'm laying all my cards on the table face upward. You can slang me as much as you like afterwards, but I hope you will give me a fair hearing."

"Don't forget that we happen to be gentlemen, Sefton." This from Foster, the right back.

"That's the point; are we? I am speaking of yesterday's match, and what I heard described as the Magpies' dirty play."

"Erdington didn't play exactly like a young ladies' school," sneered Dick Fenwick, the inside right; "I was grassed more than once."

"They used their weight naturally, and a fair charge is legitimate; but I'm talking of ankle-tapping, deliberate tripping, elbow nudging, and the other tricks in the hooligans' bag."

"Oh, draw it mild, old man," from Bassett, "no need to go in for fireworks because some one has a notion that we didn't play altogether like arch-angels."

"Well, I'm feeling pretty sore about it. Maybe it's out of fashion nowadays to talk of the honour of the school, and that sort of thing, but I am old-fashioned. I believe in the school; the Magpies have always been a sporting crowd."

"Oh, cut the cackle and come to the 'osses," cried Fenwick; "we didn't come here to be lectured, even by you. If you've any charge to make, make it; if not, I'm going," and the speaker's words raised a murmur of approval.

Sefton stood facing the men obstinately. It was plain that his words had obtained scant sympathy, but his mind was set, and he came of a stock not remarkable for yielding easily. "I'm coming to that," he observed quietly. "As far as one of our men is concerned the charge was true; he did play a dirty game, for I saw him."

"Name, name," arose the instant and angry demand.

"I'm here to give you that. Pember."

The right half was a sound, if not brilliant player, but he had a hasty temper, which he rarely endeavoured to control. Now he jumped to his feet, his eyes blazing with passion. "You are a liar," he exclaimed coarsely.

The insult produced a curious effect on Sefton; the tenseness under which he had laboured vanished, he spoke easily and naturally. "I will pass that, and come straight to the point. What I wish to say is this. As long as I captain the team Pember will never play in it, nor will any one else who adopts shady tactics. I am out for clean play, and, old-fashioned as it may sound, the honour of the school. There's a sort of dry rot creeping into Waynflete, and every loyal Magpie should do his best to stop it."

"Do I understand," asked Fenwick, "that you are clearing Pember out of the team without even consulting us?"

"That is the captain's right," coolly; "but, having done that, I am entirely in your hands. If my action doesn't meet with approval, I resign office without any feeling of ill-will."

"Sefton is right there," put in Wynford quietly, "and with his strict views he couldn't have acted in any other way. And I take it that we have now either to side with him or to go against him. Most of us agree with his principles—as gentlemen we are bound to—but before coming to a definite decision I suggest that we should hear Pember."

Cries of "Hear, hear," "Very sensible," greeted Wynford's remarks, and every one turned in expectation towards Pember, who, however, refused to do more than repeat his assertion that Sefton was a liar.

Then Foster got up. "All this seems to me a storm in a tea-cup," he began, "and I think the captain unwise in stirring it up; you can't expect a football crowd to behave like plaster saints. Still, what he said about Pember is correct. The ref. cautioned him twice, and I couldn't help seeing him deliberately foul his man time after time. But a word in private——"

"No," said Sefton, "cut the sore out or let it fester, but don't pretend it isn't there."

Wynford's prediction as to wrecking the team seemed likely to be realised; opinion was sharply divided, and an irregular discussion was carried on amidst much excitement.

Sefton was a prig. It was a tuppenny 'apenny affair not worth talking about. Any chap was liable to lose his temper in a football tussle. The captain had a "down" on Pember. No, Sefton was fair enough, but he had queer notions. After all, the Magpies ought to play the game. Well, they could do that without having a sermon flung at their heads!

It was Wynford who at last restored some sort of order to the meeting. "As far as I can judge," he observed quietly, "the case is this. The captain, for reasons stated, has cut Pember out of the team, and he now asks us to approve or condemn. If we are in favour of the team being run on the lines set out, well and good; if not, we get another skipper. That right, Sefton?"

"Yes, that's so."

"We are all pretty ruffled just now, and I suggest we have another meeting to-morrow, and get the thing settled one way or another."

"Sensible notion," said Foster, "but no more speechifying; we'll just come and give our votes," on which the meeting broke up.