Читать книгу The New Captain - Herbert Hayens - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Sefton had expected a storm, but scarcely such a hurricane as swept through Waynflete, when rumour of what had occurred at the Soccer meeting began to circulate; even Wynford's forecast had erred on the side of moderation.

The school, from top to bottom, was split into two camps, and the members of each were equally bitter. As is usual in such cases, it was utterly impossible to obtain a simple, straightforward version of the affair. Garbled reports were industriously spread, and, especially by the juniors, implicitly believed.

The Sixth, as befitted their august station, maintained almost complete silence; the Fifth, to which both Fenwick and Pember belonged, were more demonstrative, and the majority talked openly of Sefton's "consummate cheek."

Tilney, who always wanted to stand well with Pember, made a great display. "Never heard such rot in my life," he declared hotly. "Who is Sefton, I should like to know? Talks of standing up for the school and is throwing mud on it all the time. The Magpies can get along without his interference. One would fancy we were a set of corner-boys. The truth is he's had a 'down' on old Pember; wanted an excuse to get him out of the team."

"Sefton has perhaps acted foolishly," said a boy named Hallon, "but you are talking rubbish. Sefton may be a dozen different things, but no one can say he isn't straight."

"He's a confounded prig, anyway."

"Not even that; maybe a bit fussy, but he's playing the game as he sees it. And, putting the Erdington match out of it, the Magpies are getting a bit off-side. There's a sort of new feeling at Waynflete; Jack as good as his master and that sort of tosh. And, if Sefton can stop that rot from spreading, I'm with him."

"Birds of a feather," returned Tilney, with a sneer; "for my part, I hope the team will knock him off his perch. I would," and he finished with what was intended to be a derisive laugh.

But if the Fifth was a little unduly excited, the wigs were fairly on the green in the Fourth. It was here that Sefton had aroused his bitterest, or at least his most truculent, opponents. Ignorant of the real issue, they were all the more ready to decide on the merits of the case. And ignorance brought many sound Magpies into the hostile camp.

Pember minor, naturally enough, sided with his brother. His mental abilities were not particularly brilliant, but, though not precisely popular, one could hardly call him unpopular. A sturdy fellow, with quite capable hands in the boxing ring, he rarely used his strength against boys weaker than himself, and had never been known to bully. One could not describe his temper as amiable, but on most occasions he managed to keep it under control. Even now his remarks, which proved very damaging, were put forth without undue heat.

"You fellows will say I'm standing up for my major," he began, "but he can take his own part; no need for me to butt in there. There's a heap of ginger in him somewhere, and for all I know he may have let some of it out at Erdington. Footer ain't the proper game for Cissies, anyhow," a remark greeted with emphatic signs of approval.

"What gets me is Sefton's cool cheek. Being a monitor and captain of the Soccer team ain't everything!"

"That's right," encouragingly.

"And then, because in his opinion my major didn't play the game——"

"One chap's word is as good as another's!" exclaimed a sympathiser.

"Well, cut my major out; he can stand on his own feet anyhow. My point is that Sefton's slanging the whole school, calls the Magpies a set of rotters, says we're a low-down lot and a set of bally Bolshies."

"It's a dirty bird that fouls its own nest," said Bathurst.

"I vote we go to his study and boo him."

"Send a round robin telling him to resign."

"Demand his head on a charger," suggested Cathcart ironically, and a few boys ventured to titter.

Jim Cathcart had a distinct place in the Fourth, and was important enough to be talked of even in the Fifth. He was a flaxen-haired chap, with pleasant face, blue eyes that nearly always smiled, a faint dimple in the left cheek, and a laughing mouth. On his first appearance at Waynflete he had been dubbed a Cissy, and treated accordingly, with somewhat disastrous results to his tormentors. Two or three black eyes, a bruised face or two, and a loosening of various teeth had promptly dispelled that illusion, and created a marked respect for the supposed Cissy.

"You are a set of mugs, and no mistake," he remarked, with an air of light banter that annoyed them exceedingly; "Pember minor has fooled you down to the ground—I never suspected he was half as clever. A very good stunt, old man."

"I don't know what you mean," sulkily.

"It's a simple dodge, but it generally works when you're dealing with mugs. The trouble is over your major, not the Magpies. Who told you Sefton called us a lot of rotters?"

"That's what he meant, anyhow."

"Setting up for a thought-reader, eh! Take my advice, old chap, and stick to what you can understand. None of us knows what Sefton actually said, and it strikes me we're blowing a lot of hot air about for nothing. And," with a jolly laugh, "I'm not so sure that the Magpies are altogether perfect; we're losing tone."

"Tone be blowed," growled Pember minor.

"Oh, I didn't include you," said Cathcart quietly, and the boys who were smart enough to see the point laughed.

"At all events," exclaimed Bathurst, "I hope he'll be made to leave the team. A pretty sort of captain to turn round on his own men! I don't call that playing the game."

"Not if they are in the wrong?"

"We've only his own word as to that."

"Right-o," replied Cathcart; "Sefton's word is good enough for me."

Cathcart's remarks had moderated, in the Fourth at least, the feeling against the Soccer captain, and the more level-headed decided to "wait and see," but the majority agreed with Pember minor and Bathurst.

Amongst the members of the team, the incident had created a general feeling of uneasiness. The whole thing was not only unusual, but, as far as they knew, without precedent. An ordinary captain would have found some excuse for dropping Pember without making a scene. But Sefton's action had forced them to come out into the open, and to take sides, which they heartily disliked.

There could be no jockeying with the thing; they had either to approve or condemn what the captain had done, and somehow he seemed to have them in a cleft stick. Pember's part in the affair steadily lessened, until it faded into insignificance. The real issue was far more serious—whether they would back their captain in his quixotic fight, or let things run along as they were.

"It's perfectly ridiculous," Foster grumbled whimsically; "Sefton makes me feel like a modern crusader. Yet it's serious enough, too, because if we don't back him it means that we don't care a blow whether we play fair or not."

"Not at all," replied Fenwick, to whom he was speaking; "it's simply that we consider Sefton was mistaken."

"That cock won't fight here," said Foster, "because Pember did play a dirty game; I saw that."

"Well, anyway, I stand by the old motto, 'My country, right or wrong,'" Fenwick laughed disagreeably as he went away.

As the time for the meeting approached, the Magpies flocked to the entrance of the corridor along which the members would pass. The juniors had mustered in force, and those who knew the least about the matter were very noisy and truculent. It really appeared that in the junior school the Soccer captain counted few friends, and the mob was out to make this plain.

Unfortunately, they were forced to defer the hostile demonstration, since Sefton had resolved not to attend the meeting.

"No," said he, in reply to his chum's remonstrance, "you can discuss the case more freely if I'm not there. Besides, I've made my position clear, and certainly don't intend to argue the matter. It's up to the team now."

"Some of them will hint that it's a case of cold feet," Wynford suggested, a remark at which Sefton merely shrugged his shoulders.

Meanwhile Fenwick, the first to push his way through the line of struggling boys, received a regular ovation. He had never been popular before, and the cries of "Good old Fenwick," "Stick to your guns, Fenwick," mounted to his head. He smiled broadly on his juvenile admirers, and felt a tremendous hero.

Arthur Langton received an even more cordial welcome. He was a Sixth Form boy and a monitor, and the juniors thought him a very fine fellow. He shone at sports and in class, was always pleasant and affable, and frequently put himself out of the way to do things for the "kids." Many Magpies confidently expected that next year, when Hudson went down, Langton would become School Captain. He accepted the complimentary cheering with a smile of pleasure, and passed on.

The juniors knew that these two were "safe," but the others were mostly dark horses, so they reserved their energies for Sefton, and when Wynford appeared alone they considered they had been unfairly treated. However, they hissed the captain's chum, which pleased them and had no effect on him; he did not even laugh, as Foster had done.

Inside the room Langton opened the ball. "Sefton not coming?" he asked, looking around.

"No," replied Wynford; "he thinks it fairer to stay away."

"Cold feet," sneered Fenwick.

"Well," observed Langton, "there's no need for any more pow-wowing. Sefton has insulted the team and the school, and I move that he be asked to resign."

"Seconded," exclaimed Fenwick promptly.

Wynford remained silent. He meant to back his chum, but thought his best policy was to let some one else take the lead. He had no idea what the result of the division would be.

Foster got up. "Sefton has managed the affair badly," he remarked, "but as to insulting the team and the school, that's nonsense. He's a capable captain and a good Magpie, and I move that he be asked to retain office."

"On his own terms?" inquired Fenwick.

"Why not? Surely we all believe in playing a straight game! Any one second my proposition?"

Wynford still remained passive. His chum could not have a more weighty advocate than Foster, and if another boy could be induced to second him so much the better. Presently, to his intense satisfaction, Bassett got up.

Bassett was a plain, blunt chap, who did not cultivate flowers of speech. "This is all tommy-rot, you chaps," he said; "Sefton's making a mountain of a mole-hill, but since we have to choose between him and Pember—that's what it amounts to—I'll second Foster."

"I reckon we've all made up our minds and don't want any more speeches," Wynford suggested smilingly; "may as well take a vote now and get the business over," which was agreed to willingly.

Langton and Fenwick were joined by Curtis Ward, the remainder of the team supported the absent captain.

Fenwick, flushed and angry, jumped to his feet. "That's all right," he snarled, "and you can tell your precious captain I've played my last Soccer game for Waynflete."

"I'm afraid my name must go in with Fenwick's," announced Langton; "I certainly can't play under a man who insults his own school."

"You, too, Ward?" asked Foster.

"Yes," but with perceptible reluctance.

"That's settled, then," said Wynford briskly; "now we know where we are. Sefton will have to draw four men from the second team, but I dare say he will be able to manage. Nothing more to be done? Well, so long, you fellows; I must report to the captain."