CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
SIXTH VERSUS SCHOOL.
Never had a Sixth versus School Match been looked forward to with moreexcitement at Saint Dominic's than the present one. Party feeling hadbeen running high all the term, intensified on the one hand by theunpopularity of some of the monitors, and on the other by the defiantattitude of the Fifth and the tone of their organ, the _Dominican_.
The lower school naturally looked on with interest at this rivalrybetween the two head forms, the result of which, as might have beenexpected, was the reverse of beneficial for the discipline of the schoolgenerally. If the big boys set a bad example and disregard rules, whatcan one expect of the little ones?
So far, anything like conflict had been avoided. The Fifth had"cheeked" the Sixth, and the Sixth had snubbed the Fifth; but with theexception of Loman's assault on Oliver, which had not led to a fight,the war had been strictly one of words. Now, however, the opposingforces were to be ranged face to face at cricket; and to the juniorschool the opportunity seemed a grand one for a display of partisanshipone side or the other.
The School Eleven, on this occasion, moreover, consisted exclusively ofFifth Form boys--a most unusual circumstance, and one which seemed to bethe result quite as much of management as of accident. At least so saidthe disappointed heroes of the Fourth.
The match was, in fact--whatever it was formally styled--a match betweenthe Sixth and the Fifth, and the partisans of either side looked upon itas a decisive event in the respective glories of the two top forms.
And now the day had come. All Saint Dominic's trooped out to themeadows, and there was a rush of small boys as usual for the frontbenches. Stephen found himself along with his trusty ally, Paul, andhis equally trusty enemy, Bramble, and some ten other Guinea-pigs andTadpoles, wedged like sardines upon a form that would comfortably holdsix, eagerly canvassing the prospects of the struggle.
"The Sixth are going to win in a single innings, if you fellows want toknow," announced Bramble, with all the authority of one who knows.
"Not a bit of it," replied Paul. "The Fifth are safe to win, I tellyou."
"But they've got no decent bowlers," said Raddleston.
"Never mind," said Stephen. "Loman's not going to play for the Sixth.He's sprained his wrist."
"Hip, hip, hurrah?" yelled Paul, "that _is_ jolly! They are sure to belicked now. Are you sure he's out of it?"
"Yes. Look at him there with his arm in a sling."
And Stephen pointed to where Loman stood in his ordinary clothes talkingto some of his fellows.
"Well, that _is_ a piece of luck!" said Paul. "Who's to take hisplace?"
"Baynes, they say. He's no use, though."
"Don't you be too cock-sure, you two," growled Bramble. "I say we shallbeat you even if Loman don't play. Got any brandy-balls left,Greenfield?"
Similar speculations and hopes were being exchanged all round the field,and when at last the Fifth went out to field, and Callonby and Wren wentin to bat for the Sixth, you might have heard a cat sneeze, sobreathless was the excitement.
Amid solemn silence the first few balls were bowled. The third ball ofthe first over came straight on to Wren's bat, who played it neatly backto the bowler. It was not a run, only a simple block; but it was thefirst play of the match, and so quite enough to loosen the tongues ofall the small boys, who yelled, and howled, and cheered as franticallyas if a six had been run or a wicket taken. And the ice once broken,every ball and every hit were marked and applauded as if empiresdepended on them.
It was in the midst of this gradually rising excitement that Lomanslipped quietly and unobserved from the scene, and betook himself to theerrand on which we accompanied him in the preceding chapter.
The two Sixth men went quickly to work, and at the end of the secondover had scored eight. Then Callonby, in stepping back to "draw" one ofWraysford's balls, knocked down his wicket.
How the small boys yelled at this!
But the sight of Raleigh going in second soon silenced them.
"They mean hard work by sending in the captain now," said Paul. "Idon't like that!"
"No more do I," said Stephen. "He always knocks Oliver's bowlingabout."
"Oh, bother; is your brother bowling?" said Master Paul, quiteunconscious of wounding any one's feelings. "It's a pity they've got noone better."
Stephen coloured up at this, and wondered what made Paul such a horridboy.
"Better look-out for your eyes," said Bramble, cheerily. "The captainalways knocks up this way, over square-leg's head."
There was a general buzz of youngsters round the field, as the hero ofthe school walked up to the wicket, and coolly turned to face Oliver'sbowling.
The scorer in the tent hurriedly sharpened his pencil. The big fellows,who had been standing up to watch the opening overs, sat down on thegrass and made themselves comfortable. Something was going to happen,evidently. The captain was in, and meant business.
Oliver gripped the ball hard in his hand, and walked back to the end ofhis run. "Play!" cried the umpire, and amid dead silence the ball shotfrom the bowler's hand.
Next moment there rose a shout loud enough to deafen all SaintDominic's. The ball was flying fifty feet up in the air, and Raleighwas slowly walking, bat in hand, back to the tent he had only a momentago quitted!
The captain had been clean bowled, first ball!
Who shall describe the excitement, the yelling, the cheering, theconsternation that followed? Paul got up and danced a hornpipe on thebench; Bramble kicked the boy nearest to him. "Well bowled, sir!"shouted some. "Hard lines!" screamed others. "Hurrah for the Fifth!"
"You'll beat them yet, Sixth!" such were a few of the shouts audibleabove the general clamour.
As for Stephen, he was wild with joy. He was a staunch partisan of theFifth in any case, but that was nothing to the fact that it was _his_brother, his own brother and nobody else's, who had bowled that eventfulball, and who was at that moment the hero of Saint Dominic's. Stephenfelt as proud and elated as if he had bowled the ball himself, and couldafford to be absolutely patronising to those around him, on the head ofthis achievement.
"That wasn't a bad ball of Oliver's," he said to Paul. "He can bowlvery well when he tries."
"It was a beastly fluke!" roared Bramble, determined to see no merit inthe exploit.
"Shut up and don't make a row," said Stephen, with a bland smile offorgiveness.
Bramble promised his adversary to shut _him_ up, and after a little morediscussion and altercation and jubilation, the excitement subsided, andanother man went in. All this while the Fifth were in ecstasies. Theycontrolled their feelings, however, contenting themselves with clappingOliver on the back till he was nearly dead, and speculating on thechances of beating their adversaries in a single innings.
But they had not won the match yet.
Winter was next man in, and he and Wren fell to work very speedily in adecidedly business-like way. No big hits were made, but the scorecrawled up by ones and twos steadily, and the longer they were at it thesteadier they played. Loud cheers announced the posting of thirty onthe signal-board, but still the score went on. Now it was a slip, now abye, now a quiet cut.
"Bravo! well played!" cried Raleigh and his men frequently. Thecaptain, by the way, was in excellent spirits, despite his misfortune.
Thirty-five, forty! The Fifth began to look hot and puzzled. Thebatsmen were evidently far too much at home with the bowling. A changemust be made, even though it be to put on only a second-rate bowler.
Tom Senior was put on. He was nothing like as good a bowler as eitherWraysford, or Oliver, or Ricketts. He bowled a very ordinary slow lob,without either twist or shoot, and was usually knocked aboutplentifully; and this appeared likely to be his fate now, for Wren gothold of his first ball, and knocked it right over into the scorer's tentfor five. The Fifth groaned, and could have torn the wretched Tom topieces. But the next ball was more lucky; Winter hit it, ind
eed, but hehit it up, sky-high, over the bowler's head, and before it reached theground Bullinger was safe underneath it. It was with a sigh of reliefthat the Fifth saw this awkward partnership broken up. The score was atforty-eight for three wickets; quite enough too!
After this the innings progressed more evenly. Men came in and went outmore as usual, each contributing his three or four, and one or two theirten or twelve. Among the latter was Baynes, who, at the last moment, itwill be remembered, had been put into the eleven to replace Loman. Bycareful play he managed to put together ten, greatly to his own delight,and not a little to the surprise of his friends.
In due time the last wicket of the Sixth fell, to a total of eighty-fourruns.
The small boys on the bench had had leisure to abate their ardour bythis time. Bramble had recovered his spirits, and Paul and Stephenlooked a little blue as they saw the total signalled.
"Eighty-four's a lot," said Stephen.
Paul nodded glumly.
"Ya, ha! How do you like it, Guinea-pigs?" jeered Bramble. "I hope_you'll_ get half as much. _I_ knew how it would be."
The two friends listened to these taunts in silent sorrow, and wishedthe next innings would begin.
It did presently, and not very brilliantly either. The Fifth onlymanaged to score fifty-one, and to this total Wraysford was the onlyplayer who made anything like good scoring. Oliver got out for six,Ricketts for nine, and Tom Senior and Braddy both for a "duck's-egg."Altogether it was a meagre performance, and things looked very gloomyfor the Fifth when, for a second time, their adversaries took thewickets.
Things never turn out at cricket as one expects, however, and the secondinnings of the Sixth was no exception to the rule. They only madethirty-six runs. Stephen and Paul were hoarse with yelling, as firstone wicket, then another, went down for scarcely a run. Raleigh andBaynes seemed the only two who could stand up at all to the bowling ofOliver and Wraysford, but even their efforts could not keep the wicketsup for long.
Every one saw now that the final innings would be a desperate struggle.The Fifth wanted sixty-nine to be equal and seventy to win, and thequestion was, Would they do it in time?
Stephen and his confederate felt the weight of this question sooppressive that they left the irritating company of Mr Bramble, andwalked off and joined themselves to a group of Fourth Form fellows, whowere watching the match with sulky interest, evidently sore that theyhad none of their men in the School Eleven.
"They'll never do it, and serve them right!" said one. "Why didn't theyput Mansfield in the eleven, or Banks? They're far more use than Fisheror Braddy."
"For all that, it'll be a sell if the Sixth lick," said another.
"I wouldn't much care. If we are going to be sat upon by those Fifthsnobs every time an eleven is made up, it's quite time we did go in withthe Sixth."
"Jolly for the Sixth!" retorted the other; whereupon Stephen laughed,and had his ears boxed for being cheeky. The Fourth Senior could notstand "cheek."
But Saint Dominic's generally was "sweet" on the Fifth, and hoped theywould win. When, therefore, Tom Senior and Bullinger went in first andbegan to score there was great rejoicing.
But the Fourth Form fellows, among whom Stephen now was, refused tocheer for any one; criticism was more in their line.
"Did you ever see a fellow hit across wickets more horribly thanSenior?" said one.
"Just look at that!" cried another. "That Bullinger's a downright muffnot to get that last ball to leg! I could have got it easily."
"Well, with that bowling, it's a disgrace if they _don't_ score; that'sall I can say," remarked a third.
And so these Fourth Form grandees went on, much to Stephen's wrath, who,when Oliver went in, removed somewhere else, so as to be out of ear-shotof any offensive remarks.
Oliver, however, played so well that even the Fourth Form critics couldhardly run him down. He survived all the other wickets of his side,and, though not making a brilliant score, did what was almost asuseful--played steadily, and gradually demoralised the bowling of theenemy.
As the game went on the excitement increased rapidly; and when at lengththe ninth wicket went down for sixty-one, and the last man in appeared,with nine to win, the eagerness on both sides scarcely knew bounds.Every ball, every piece of fielding, was cheered by one side, and everyhit and every piece of play was as vehemently cheered by the other. IfRaleigh and Wren had been nervous bowlers, they would undoubtedly havebeen disconcerted by the dead silence, followed by terrific applause,amid which every ball--even a wide--was delivered. But happily theywere not.
It was at this critical juncture that Loman reappeared on the scene,much consoled to have the interview with Cripps over, and quite readynow to hear every one lament his absence from the match.
The last man in was Webster, a small Fifth boy, who in the last inningshad signalised himself by making a duck's-egg. The Fifth scarcely daredhope he would stay in long enough for the nine runs required to be made,and looked on now almost pale with anxiety.
"Now," said Pembury, near whom Loman, as well as our two Guinea-pigs,found themselves, "it all depends on Oliver, and I back Oliver to do it,don't you, Loamy?"
Loman, who since the last _Dominican_ had not been on speaking termswith Pembury, did not vouchsafe a reply, "I do!" said Stephen, boldly.
"Do you, really?" replied Pembury, looking round at the boy. "Perhapsyou back yourself to talk when you're not spoken to, eh, Mr Greenhorn?"
"Bravo! bravo! Well run, sir! Bravo, Fifth!" was the cry as Oliver,following up the first ball of the over, pilfered a bye from thelong-stop.
"Didn't I tell you!" exclaimed Pembury, delighted; "he'll save us; he'sgot down to that end on purpose to take the bowling. Do you twig,Loamy? And he'll stick to that end till the last ball of the over, andthen he'll run an odd number, and get up to the other end. Do youcomprehend?"
"You seem to know all about it," growled Loman, who saw the force ofPembury's observations, but greatly disliked it all the same.
"Do I, really?" replied the lame boy; "how odd that is, now--particularly without a crib!"
Loman was fast losing patience--a fact which seemed to have anything buta damping effect on the editor of the _Dominican_. But another hit ortwo by Oliver created a momentary diversion. It was quite clear thatPembury's version of Oliver's tactics was a correct one. He couldeasily have run three, but preferred to sacrifice a run rather thanleave the incompetent and flurried Webster to face the bowling.
"Six to win!" cried Stephen; "I'm _certain_ Oliver will do it!"
"Yes, Oliver was always a plodding old blockhead!" drily observedPembury, who seemed to enjoy the small boy's indignation whenever anyone spoke disrespectfully of his big brother.
"He's not a blockhead!" retorted Stephen, fiercely.
"Go it! Come and kick my legs, young 'un; there's no one near butLoamy, and he can't hurt."
"Look here, you lame little wretch!" exclaimed Loman, in a passion; "ifI have any more of your impudence I'll box your ears!"
"I thought your wrist was sprained?" artlessly observed Pembury. "Here,young Paul, let's get behind you, there's a good fellow, I _am_ in sucha funk!"
Whether Loman would have carried out his threat or not is doubtful, butat that moment a terrific shout greeted another hit by Oliver--the besthe had made during the match--for which he ran four. One to tie, two towin! will they do it?
It was a critical moment for Saint Dominic's. Had the two batsmen beenplaying for their lives they could not have been more anxiously watched;even Pembury became silent.
And now the last ball of the over is bowled in dead silence. Onlookerscan even hear the whizz with which it leaves Wren's hand.
It is almost wide, but Oliver steps out to it and just touches it.Webster is half across the wickets already--ready for a bye. Olivercalls to him to come on, and runs. It is a desperate shave--toodesperate for good play. But who cares for that when that run haspulled the two sides level, and
when, best of all, Oliver has got up tothe proper end for the next over?
Equal! What a shout greets the announcement! But it dies awaysuddenly, and a new anxious silence ensues. The game is saved, but notwon; another run is wanted.
No one says a word, but the Fifth everywhere look on with a confidencewhich is far more eloquent than words.
Raleigh is the bowler from the lower end, and the Sixth send out theirhearts to him. He may save them yet!
He runs, in his usual unconcerned manner, up to the wicket and deliversthe ball. It is one which there is but one way of playing--among theslips.
Oliver understands it evidently, and, to the joy of the Fifth, plays it.But why does their cheer drop suddenly, and why in a moment is itdrowned, over and over and over again, by the cheers of the Sixth andtheir partisans, as the crowd suddenly breaks into the field, and theball shoots high up in the air?
A catch! Baynes, the odd man, had missed a chance a few overs back fromstanding too deep. This time he had crept in close, and saved the Sixthby one of the neatest low-catches that had ever been seen in a Dominicanmatch.