Talbot Reed - The Willoughby Captains

Riddell was not destined to have much leisure during the next few days for indulging his misery or making up his mind in what direction his duty lay.

As he reached the school after his memorable excursion on the river, he was met by Fairbairn, who had evidently been on the lookout for him.

“Why, where have you been? and what’s wrong?” he exclaimed, as he observed his friend’s dejected looks.

“I’ve been a turn on the river,” replied Riddell, making a desperate effort to recover his wits and look cheerful.

“You look every bit as if you were just starting there to drown yourself,” said Fairbairn; “but, I say, I’ve got a message for you.”

“From whom?” inquired Riddell, who had had quite enough “messages” during the last few days to last him for the rest of the term.

“You’d scarcely guess — from Bloomfield. The thing is, he has two places yet to fill up in the eleven for Saturday, and he wants you to play for one.”

Despite his trouble, Riddell could hardly conceal a smile of pleasure at this honour, which, though not exactly unexpected, he had hardly realised till now.

“Oh, I say,” said he, “I’m certain there are lots of better fellows.”

“You may be quite sure if there had been Bloomfield would have picked them up,” said Fairbairn. “As it happens, we want a slip, and I heard Bloomfield say himself that you are awfully good there. You seem to have hidden your light under a bushel, old man, while in the schoolhouse.”

“I may have been lucky while Bloomfield was watching,” said Riddell.

“All gammon. You needn’t fancy he’s doing this to compliment you, old man. Game and that lot are awfully down on him about it. They’d like to make up the team entirely of Parretts, but it seems they can’t do without us for once! Of course you’ll play.”

“Oh, yes,” said Riddell; “he’s captain of the eleven; I must.”

“Hurrah. Well, you’ll have to turn up at the Big practices, of course, during the next three days. There’s one at three this afternoon and another at 6:30, and if you like to come down for an hour after first school I’ll give you some balls at the nets.”

This was Tuesday. The Rockshire match was to come off on Saturday, and between now and then, as Riddell well knew, every spare moment he could call his own would have to be devoted to cricket.

Personally, with the burden of the secret of young Wyndham’s knife upon him, he would have been glad enough of some excuse for avoiding the honour even of a place in the first eleven. But there was no such excuse. On the contrary, his duty pointed clearly to his making the best of the opportunity. As captain of the school, even a humble place in the first eleven would be an undoubted gain to his influence; while to Welch’s — demoralised Welch’s — the knowledge that once more one of their number was “playing for the school” might be of real service.

Till Saturday, at any rate, he must try to banish the hideous nightmare from his mind, and give himself up wholly to the calls of cricket.

It is easier to resolve to give up one’s mind to a pursuit than it is to do it, and for the first day or two Riddell found himself but a halfhearted cricketer. However, as the eventful day drew near things grew more serious, not to say critical.

It was a nervous occasion for the captain the first time he presented himself at a Big practice, and he could not help feeling that the eyes which watched his performance were more than ordinarily critical, and many of them less than ordinarily friendly.

Still he managed not to disgrace himself, and on the next occasion, having partially recovered his presence of mind, he was able to do himself even more justice. Every one had to admit that Riddell was a long way off being a fine cricketer — he would have been the first to admit it himself — but for all that, what with a quick eye, and much perseverance, and sound judgment, he possessed more than one of the qualities which go to make up a useful member of any team.

“He ought to do,” said Bloomfield to Game on the Friday evening after the last of the practices. “He stood up to Fairbairn’s bowling not at all badly.”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Game, whose prejudice was stronger than his judgment, “if Fairbairn bowled down easy to him on purpose; they’re awfully thick, you know.”

“But I didn’t bowl down to him easy,” replied Bloomfield; “and he cut me for two twice running.”

Game could not answer this argument, and was bound to admit a worse man might have been put into the odd place.

“It’s a pity, though; they’ll be so jolly cocky, all that set, there’ll be no enduring it. I only hope our fellows will do most of the scoring to-morrow, and not leave them a chance of saying they won the match for us.”

Bloomfield laughed. “Not much fear of that,” said he; “but if they did, I suppose you’d sooner beat Rockshire with their help than be thrashed?”

Game was not quite sure, and said nothing.

One might have supposed that an occasion like the present, when the picked eleven Willoughby was to play the picked eleven of Rockshire, that there would have been no place left for party rivalry, or any feeling but one of patriotic ardour for the victory of the old school. But so deeply was the disease of party spirit rooted in Willoughby that even this match came to be looked on quite as much as a struggle between rival houses as between the school and an outside team.

The discovery was made that the eleven consisted of five schoolhouse players, five Parrett’s players, and one Welcher. More than that, the ingenious noted the fact that the two best bowlers of the eleven were Bloomfield and Fairbairn, one from each house, who could also both field as wicket-keepers when not bowling. And the two second bowlers were Game and Porter, also one from each house. This minute analysis might doubtless have been continued down to the cover-points. At any rate, it was manifest the two houses were very evenly divided, both as regarded merit and place, and it would therefore be easy to see which contributed most to the service of the school.

The Rockshire men arrived by the ten o’clock train, and were met as usual by the Willoughby omnibus at the station. As they alighted and proceeded to stroll in a long procession across the Big to their tent, they were regarded with much awe and curiosity by the small boys assembled to witness their advent, some of whom were quite at a loss to understand how boys like themselves could ever expect not to be beaten by great whiskered heroes like these. Even the young Welchers, who had contrived to be practising close to the line of march, felt awed in their presence, and made a most hideous hash of the little exhibition with which they had intended to astonish their visitors.

The self-confident ease of these Rockshire men was even a trifle discouraging for a few of the school heroes themselves, who looked on nervously as their rivals coolly went up and inspected the wickets and criticised the pitch, and then proceeded, laughing among themselves, towards the pavilion. Things like this are more or less terrifying, and an old team that comes down to play a young one ought to be more considerate.

It was fortunate for the school team that all its members were not as shy and diffident as others, or the operation of tossing for innings and other matters of form would never have been got through.

Mr Parrett, however, as an old ’Varsity blue, was as great a hero in the sight of Rockshire as Rockshire was in the sight of Willoughby, and with his aid the preliminaries were all arranged, and Willoughby went out first to field.

The Big was never so crowded with boys, masters, or the outside public, as it was on this bright June day. The exploits of the school at the recent election may have had something to do with the number of townsfolk who flocked up to see the game, but apart from that the Rockshire match was always one of the great events of the season.