CHAPTER XV
STURTON'S POLICY IS VINDICATED
The great day at length arrived, the day on which Ranleigh was to riseto the giddy heights of success, or to fall once more beneath thehitherto superior attack of Parkland boys. A cold wintry sun peeped inat the dormer windows of the dormitories as the boys were rising, andset them cheering. They started the noise in West, actually in WestDormitory, where Norman, in place of scowling severely upon thedelinquents, even encouraged them. The cheering was taken up in all thefour South Dormitories, so loudly too, that the Head, still abed in hisown house close adjacent, turned out in a violent hurry.
"What's that?" he demanded, appearing on the landing in dressing-gownand slippers, a somewhat dishevelled object it must be admitted, and oneat the moment hardly likely to have awed the school had he come beforethem. "What's that, Jarvis?"
The latter was a youth employed about the house, at that moment on hisknees and supposed to be scrubbing the hall floor. But Jarvis was notat work. He was listening intently, and just before the eager questionwas flung at him he actually raised his scrubbing brush, waved itviolently overhead and gave vent to a cheer of his own.
"Stop that nonsense!" commanded the Head. "What's this stupid noisefor?"
Jarvis, still brush in air, gaped at him in horror. Then he grinned.After all, those who knew the Head knew him to be a very humanindividual, with an overpowering love for Ranleigh and all that went tomake the school a success. "Please, sir," he began, and then grinnedagain, while a thunderous burst of cheering came through the open hallwindows and swelled past the ears of the waiting Head. "Please, sir,it's the day," grinned Jarvis. "You've forgotten, sir."
"Day! Of course it's day. It isn't night, stupid!"
"But _the_ day, sir," came the answer.
The Head stamped impatiently. No one was more anxious that Ranleighshould win the coming match. But, for all that, he had other worries andanxieties, those common to all headmasters, and for the moment he hadforgotten that this was the day of trial. Then he remembered and gasped.
"To be sure! To be sure, Jarvis! But this noise is most unseemly.I--er----"
He paused for a moment and then disappeared. "Leave 'em to it," he toldhimself, with a smile. "Boys will be boys. A little noise meansencouragement. Let 'em continue."
Ranleigh boys did, with a vengeance. The fellows in North had taken thematter up long ago. Any other morning they would have still been abed,snuggled down till the very last moment, till they must rush to theindoor bath there to take their dip. Now they were up, with towelswaving overhead, shouting to drown the cheers from South. As to East,the lusty Harper himself set an example, which all followed, evenRawlings, though somewhat feebly. And then, having had their dip, theSchool dressed with unwonted care and elaboration.
"Of course, you fellows will have to sport the School colours," saidMasters to the few smaller boys near him in the dormitory, boys withwhom his reputation was certainly enlarged since his addition to theranks of the Old Firm. "You haven't got any, Tompkins. Then you'll jollywell have to find 'em. Sneak someone else's if you can."
"Can't," declared the youthful Tompkins, looking about him helplessly."I've tried. Carter caught me in the act and swore he'd report me forprigging."
"Can't! There ain't no such word," said Masters severely, though he hadused it often enough himself. "Ah! Bright idea! Look here, young un.I've two sets. I'll sell you one. Here we are. Dirt cheap! Two bob,money down."
That caused Tompkins to look askance at the great Masters. He had a veryshrewd idea that, whatever the condition of the tie he was asked topurchase, he would certainly not be getting the best of the bargain. Hewas sure of it a few seconds later, when the article was produced. Itwas one which Masters had himself bought second, or more likely third orfourth hand, and it bore unmistakable evidence of hard and long wear.Tompkins turned his nose up.
"That!" he exclaimed. "Two bob! Not me!"
"Look here," said Masters. "None of your cheek, kid. It's a bargain; andyou'll be jolly well kicked if you don't sport colours."
The end of the matter was that the seller deigned to take sixpence, thesame to be paid by weekly instalments of one penny, Tompkins being by nomeans flush. Their dressing was hastily completed, when they rushed downfor call-over and Chapel. Later, at breakfast, heads were turned fromall directions to watch the various members of the team on whom thehonour of Ranleigh was to depend. Those lucky gentlemen were eatingstolidly and with satisfaction. It was clear that, whatever the ordealbefore them, their appetites were not impaired. As for Sturton, he waspositively boisterous.
"We'll put up a game, at any rate," he told Bagshaw across the scholars'table. "We'll give those Parkland fellows the game of their lives."
"And don't forget," cautioned his friend, "steady does it. Training iseverything. If Parkland fellows are as fit as ours, why, then thetussle'll be all the harder. But if they're not, then we should comealong well after half's called. That'll be the time to break up theirdefence and run through 'em. So keep our chaps in hand at first. Let 'embreak out hard once the match is half finished."
There was anxiety even on the faces of the masters. And why not? Theywere every bit as keen as any of the boys. The Old Firm, usually sotruculent and full of spirits, was quite subdued during morning school.The fate of the great day hung like a load upon their shoulders.
"What'd we do if we were beaten?" asked Clive desperately. "Ranleigh'dgo clean to the dogs."
"Rot!" came Bert's characteristic answer. "We'd just grind away again,and beat 'em next time, certain. But Ranleigh's going to win. I've putmy bat against Masters' tennis shoes, and must have 'em. You'll see.Sturton'll pull us through, and those tennis shoes fit me to a T."
Susanne, the friendly Susanne, actually nodded to Rawlings on this greatday, while Trendall failed to scowl at him as had been his custom. Asfor Rawlings himself, he was in a fever. He wasn't such a cur that hedidn't wish to see Ranleigh victorious. But, then, victory meant evengreater popularity for Sturton, for Norman, and for Harper and othermembers of the school, and Rawlings was intensely jealous of anyone'spopularity. He would have been king of Ranleigh could he have orderedit. He would have been the highest and the noblest, and then, what alife he would lead some of the fellows! Susanne, for instance--yes, hehadn't forgotten Susanne's behaviour, and how he had worsted him attheir first meeting. Norman, too, for he hated Norman now that he nolonger could control him, and Clive Darrell. He sneered as he thought ofthe latter, but the sneer became a frown. Rawlings was not quite surewhat his own particular feelings were as regards our hero. In his heartof hearts he rather feared him. And the secret knowledge he had,knowledge unsuspected by Clive and his mother, but vaguely suspectedand hinted at by their old gardener, gave him added cause for fear.Still, Clive had nothing to gain by this match against Parkland, andtherefore Rawlings betook himself to the playing-field with as cheerfula face as he could assume, arm in arm with Soper, one of his own kidney,a slacker--one, in fact, of Ranleigh's bad bargains.
By two o'clock the field was crammed. Ranleigh boys wandered round andround the touch line, cheering madly now and again when they met a crowdof opponents. For Parkland was near at hand, and had sent every boy andmaster to watch the historic contest. There was a terrific burst ofcheering when at length the Parkland eleven put in an appearance. Big,hefty fellows, they came down to the field in a group, and, arrived atthe outskirts, Barlow, their Captain, a fine fellow, even when comparedwith Sturton, took the practice ball and punted it.
"My word!" groaned Masters, watching it soar. "He's a kicker! If they'reall like him what chance do we stand?"
The question was answered within the minute. For having gone back andforth, the ball was finally kicked again toward the entrance to thefield, for another group of players had suddenly put in an appearance.It was Sturton and his eleven. The Captain caught the punted ball inmid-air, stepped a couple of paces forward and sent it hurtling towardthe sky. A terrific cheer greeted the performanc
e and the arrival of thehome team. Not that Ranleigh had stood still and silent when Barlow andthe Parkland team came on to the field. They gave them a lusty and noisygreeting, while Parkland fellows, naturally enough, yelled at the top oftheir voices. Ranleigh fellows were sportsmen ever, and could affordsuch a welcome. Still, they had their own duties to perform, and theylet Sturton and his team know well, and Parkland fellows also, thattheir undivided favour went in one direction.
And now the touch-line was black with figures. Already Barlow and hismen were on the field, while Sturton was just entering the touch-line.Clive felt a little cold thrill run down his spine as he watched theirCaptain. Sturton, his head a little in the air, a cool smile on hishandsome face, led the way direct towards Barlow, and shook that finefellow's hand eagerly. Then followed Robson, a little shorter thanSturton, but nicely built, with particularly well-made legs and thighs.The back of his head supported his football colours, while issuing frombeneath the cap was an abundance of fair hair. Robson also sported onhis upper lip a line of similar-coloured fluff, much to Susanne's envy.
There was Norman close behind, Harper, the big Australian, and Purdeyarm in arm, laughing heartily at some joke passing between them, JenkinsPrimus immediately behind them and the remainder of the eleven. Therewas Bagshaw, too, dressed in a new suit of knicker-bockers, with amuffler round his neck, a flag in one hand and whistle in his pocket.
"Hooray for Ranleigh!" Masters started the shouting. The boys took it upall round the field with a vengeance, while the players arrangedthemselves.
"Parkland! Parkland for ever!" the enemy retorted with tremendouscheers, and then broke into the weirdest chant, something particular toParkland.
"Hear 'em singing, or groaning, which is it?" said Masters, with hugedisdain. "We'll make 'em sing, I can tell you fellows! Hullo, Tompkins,where's those colours?"
His grammar was not always too correct, but his meaning was at any rateevident. He pounced on Tompkins, tore his coat open and exposed his tie.
"A beastly red thing!" he shouted, seizing it and pulling at it tillhalf the unfortunate Tompkins' shirt was dragged about his neck. "Here,what's the meaning of this? Treachery, eh?"
He eyed the delinquent fiercely. The wearing of this red tie was notonly an insult to Ranleigh on such a day, but it was clear disobedienceof orders. Had he not himself, the great Masters, commanded all thesmall boys of One South to don the School colours?
"Just you hop right off to the school, kid," he commanded severely. "Ifyou ain't back here in double quick time with that tie, why--well,you'll see. Just fancy a Ranleigh fellow sporting a red tie on a daylike this! Here, hook it, my beauty."
"But--but," expostulated the unhappy Tompkins--"but, Masters, I say----"
"Don't you say it then," declared that young gentleman fiercely. "Justhook it, quick."
"But it's no good going to the school," said Tompkins, determined tohave a hearing. "You see----"
"I don't. Now, look here," began Masters, getting red in the face, forit began to look as if Tompkins would defy him, and already Bert wasgrinning that nasty satirical grin of his which angered other members ofthe Old Firm besides Masters. "I'm not going to stand your gas. You----"
"I tell you it's no good," cried his victim stubbornly. "What's the goodof going to the school for a thing that isn't there?"
"Not there? Here, you're kidding."
"I'm not. Franklin's got the tie. He's wearing it now. He's gotsomething to say to you."
Tompkins was beginning to regain confidence. Masters was as red as anybeetroot. The mention of Franklin brought something unpleasant to hismemory. If he could he would have closed this discussion promptly. Buthis victim meant him to have the whole story.
"You see, Masters," he said, "Franklin says he sold you the tie at thebeginning of the term. You were to pay ninepence for it. You never did.Franklin says you gave him a fives ball, and that isn't anything likeworth the tie. So he's taken it. He wanted one, you see. He's wearing itnow. If you want me to have it you'd better ask him for it."
Masters growled. He recollected the transaction. "Why, that beastFranklin has got the tie and fives ball as well," he shouted.
"And says you owe him ninepence still," grinned Tompkins, while Bert andClive and Hugh joined in the merriment.
"Owe him ninepence still!" their unfortunate comrade exclaimed, withevery sign of righteous indignation.
"Yes, for hire," grinned Tompkins. "And, of course, our bargain's off.Franklin says he means to have his money, too, without waiting. He'sbigger than you, Masters. I'd pay it if I were in your shoes."
Whereat the worthy Tompkins took himself off, secretly grinning, whilethe great Masters nursed his wrath and put up with the gibes and fun ofhis fellows. Not that he was ragged for long, for the two teams were nowin position. Bagshaw brought the new match-ball and placed it in themiddle of the circle marked in the very centre of the ground. Then heretired towards the touch-line, inspected his watch, pulled his whistlefrom his pocket, nodded to each Captain in turn, and then blew a shrillblast upon it.
They were off. Norman, playing centre-forward, kicked the ball across toSturton, next on his left. The latter dribbled it neatly past a coupleof the opponents and sent it on to Harper, on the outside left. Thelatter, seeing a crowd converging on him, kicked it right across toBell, on the right of the field. But the enemy's half was down upon himin a moment. The ball hurtled back towards the Ranleigh goal, was headedby Jones Tertius, Ranleigh's half-back, so celebrated for his tactics,was jogged on a little by Harper, and was then taken in hand by Riseau,inside right, a quick and clever player. The watching crowds held theirbreath as the leather was rushed up toward the Parkland posts. Riseaupassed neatly to his left, and well within the Parkland line Harpercentred. But there the rush ended. A huge fellow, one of the enemy'sbacks, pounced upon the ball, lifted it a couple of yards high with aneat movement of his foot, and punted it over the heads of the players.
"Down on it, Parkland. Now's your chance!" bellowed the visitors, whileRanleigh fellows looked on in terror. The rush in the opposite directionwas, in fact, swifter even than had been the previous one undertaken byRanleigh fellows. Barlow shouted to his outside left. The man centred,and at once the Captain of the visiting team sent a shot at the goalwhich, but for Moon, would have succeeded. But Moon was a treasure.Ranleigh chaps shouted his name till they were hoarse. To this day, andfor many a day to come, his prowess in goal will be remembered at theschool. For Moon was a huge fellow, an ox in size and weight andmuscular development. His arms were of the size of the average fellow'slegs, and when he hit out his blows were terrific. See him then waitingfor that shot between the posts of Ranleigh's goal. Not flurried, not atall, for Moon was an old hand. Watching eagerly and keenly, balanced onhis toes, ready to spring to the rescue. And see what followed. Moon'sright fist swung out, clad in its leather glove. Even Sturton could nothave kicked the ball harder. Moon's terrific blow sent it soaring awayover the heads of the players to the centre of the field, thus savingthe goal for Ranleigh. Ah! They know at Ranleigh how to encourage a man,how to show their approval. The groan which went up from the lips of thevisitors, their grumbles at their want of fortune, were drowned out ofhearing by the shrill yells of Ranleigh boys, by their mad cheers andcries of delight. It was magnificent! Clive felt quite overcome. Mastersdeclared that a testimonial must be given to Moon to mark this nobleoccasion, and would, in fact, have commenced a collection at once hadnot Susanne, knowing him somewhat thoroughly, declined to part with evena penny.
But the ball was being dealt with actively again. Ranleigh swept it wellout of their own ground and sent it over the touch-line within easydistance of the enemy's goal. A moment later "Hands" was given againstthe home team, while the rush which followed the free kick carried theball within the circle directly in front of Ranleigh goal. Then Moonpounced upon the leather, slipped, and fell in the mire. The greasy ballsqueezed out of his hands as a pip shoots from an orange, there wasfrantic kicking for some few
seconds, and then, to the bellows of theParkland boys and groans of the Ranleigh fellows, it was kicked betweenthe posts by Barlow.
Clive looked desperately at his fellows. "One to Parkland," he said."They're awful hot. Think we'll be able to stop 'em?"
Susanne nodded his head cheerily. He was feeling just as anxious as therest. But cheerfulness was half the battle with the Frenchman.
"You wait," he said, chewing a pencil. If he had been away from theschool and its surroundings he would have had a cigarette between hislips. For the weed, he often asserted, consoled him wonderfully. "Youwait till after half. Sturton'll give 'em socks then. Our chaps haven'tstarted."
It was evident enough that Ranleigh had on this occasion been taken bysurprise. The sudden rush of the enemy and the unfortunate slip of Moonhad resulted in their undoing. But Sturton showed no signs of dismay ashe led the men back into their own ground.
"Go steady," he whispered to them. "No rushing after this. Of course,push 'em for all you know, but keep well in hand. I'm going to stakeeverything on the last half of the game. By then they'll be cooked ifthey're not as fit as fiddles."
When at length Bagshaw's whistle went for half-time, and slices of lemonwere brought out to the players, the score stood at three to one,Ranleigh having secured but a single goal.
"But you'll run up the score when we get going again," declared Bagshawhopefully, as he chatted with the men during the interval. "I'll sweartheir chaps aren't as fit as we are. They've been going hammer and tongsall the while, and have only two more goals than we have. You chaps mustpush them hard. Make the running from the very commencement."
If Bagshaw was hopeful, others of Ranleigh School were not. There wasnow an air of depression about the fellows. The cheering of late hadhardly been so loud or so enthusiastic. Clive wrapped his overcoat alittle closer round him, for he felt positively chilly, while evenSusanne looked less cheerful. As for Masters, it was a bitter day. Hehad hoped to be able to look down on Parkland fellows. If he were to behoarse for a week after, it would have been fine to shout them down, toanswer cheer for cheer. And now it looked as if they would do all thecheering. Also, to add to his depression, Franklin found him athalf-time and became disgustingly insistent.
"You'll just jolly well pay up that ninepence or get kicked, youngMasters," he said. "It's bad enough to have to lose a match like this,for I suppose that that's what's going to happen. I ain't going to losemoney as well."
"But--but I swapped a fives ball," pleaded Masters feebly. "That's worthsixpence."
"Most are; yours wasn't. It went to pieces first game; it was arotter," declared Franklin harshly. "None of your bunkum. That ninepenceor a kicking."
It was no wonder that Masters welcomed the renewal of the game; though,to be sure, he was now silent. But in a little while he had almostregained his cheerfulness. For Sturton and his men were making the pace.Instead of playing on the defensive, they were carrying the war into theenemy's country. Within five minutes, in fact, they had scored a goal,whereat Ranleigh applauded vociferously.
"Just watch them closely, you fellows," Barlow cautioned his Parklandeleven, as they went back into their own ground for the kick off. "Thatwas simply a rush. We got our first from them in the same way. Holdtogether and keep the ball always in their half."
"Well done," commented Sturton. "Don't let 'em rest. We're fit enough tokeep at it hard till the whistle goes. So push 'em, boys."
How magnificently Moon used his fists! The shots which the Parkland teammade at the home goal might easily have succeeded. But Moon made lightof them. He always seemed to be in the right place and at the very rightmoment, while his ponderous blows sent the ball flying far from thegoal. But if he had his work to do, so also had the keeper of theParkland goal. Within ten minutes of the recommencement of play, Harpersent in a shot which struck one of the posts with a thud and scared thevisitors. It brought a howl of delight and encouragement from theRanleigh fellows.
"Pitch 'em in hard," Clive found himself shouting frantically. "Bravo,Sturton! Well done, Norman! Hooray for Ranleigh!"
But time went on swiftly. In spite of every effort, and in spite also ofthe almost obvious fact that Parkland men were hard pressed and none toofit, Sturton and his team had not yet equalled the score of the enemy.Ranleigh's score still stood at two, against three by Parkland, and timewas terribly short.
"Play up, Ranleigh!" screamed the boys. "Stick to it, Parkland!" shoutedthe visitors. Sturton looked about him coolly, though there was anxietyin his eyes. He called to his men curtly. "Now, Ranleigh," he said."Time's almost up. Let's do something."
They backed him up manfully. That brilliant little half who had nursedhis forwards assiduously all through the game got the ball when allalone and dribbled it swiftly toward Parkland's goal. Ranleigh forwardswere then well in advance, and a well-placed kick sent the leatherneatly amongst them. Sturton passed with the rapidity of lightning toHarper, at the same time stepping aside to evade the frantic rush ofone of the visitors' backs. Harper rushed the ball still closer to thegoal, passed it to his nearest man, had it sent back within the instantand lost it. But that little half was there to support. He jogged theleather upward. A Parkland man got in a punt, sending the ball to agreat height. There the wind caught it. Sturton, watching its flight,rushed in to meet its fall. A man charged him. He slid aside, and justin the nick of time headed the leather. A roar of cheering told him thathe had been successful.
"A drawn game. Well, that's better than last time, when it was six totwo," said Clive. "But it's rotten luck. Our chaps are heaps the better.Play up, you fellows!" he yelled, almost angrily.
And Ranleigh did play up. The eleven had seen Bagshaw consulting hiswatch with some anxiety and knew that there could now be but a couple ofminutes left in which to finish the game. Parkland fellows knew it also,and were as keen to win as Ranleigh. Off went the ball again. Visitorsand Ranleighan spectators of the game kept up a continuous roar, whichmight have been heard right down in the village. Scarves were wavedaloft. Fellows tore up and down the field at the back of the spectators.Even masters were stirred out of their usual calm. But it seemed to nopurpose. The ball oscillated round about the centre of the field forwhat seemed ages. Then the visiting team took it triumphantly along withthem, and sent a long shot at Ranleigh goal which plumped straight forthe centre.
"Done!" groaned Clive, hardly daring to look.
"Good old Moon!" shouted Susanne and Hugh together. "Moon's done for'em. He's sent the ball back to our fellows."
It was an old trick of the Ranleigh goalkeeper. It may be doubtedwhether there are many goalkeepers who could put up a similarperformance, for, as we have said, the Goliath in Ranleigh goal couldstrike with his fists harder almost than the average fellow could kick.In any case, he gave the ball a terrific buffet, sending it spinningback to the Ranleigh forwards. It was then that the fellows stood ontheir toes in their anxiety. Harper had the leather and muffed it.Sturton somehow managed to gain possession. It shot across to the farleft a moment later, was rushed forward by the outside left, dribbledacross to the inside man, and then sent flying between the Parklandposts. Perhaps ten seconds later, while yells of delight still filledthe air, the whistle of the referee was heard blowing.
"Look here, Franklin," said Masters, meeting him some few minutes later."Blow those colours. I don't care whether I owe you ninepence or ninebob. Come to the tuck for a blow-out. Ranleigh's won, my boy. A chapcan't afford to quarrel about mere pennies on such a glorious occasion."
They chaired Sturton from the field. A pack of juniors endeavoured to dothe same for Moon, but broke down under the ponderous burden. EvenParkland fellows cheered, for they were sportsmen.
"You played us a fine game and beat us handsomely," said Barlow, takingSturton's proffered hand with a smile of friendship. "I hope you chapswill give us a return. My word, the improvement is an eye-opener!"
"And due to the new method," said the Head of Ranleigh that evening,when Sturton and the eleven to
ok dinner with him. "This historic matchis an answer to all critics. The School has much to thank our Captainfor. The improvement in tone and fitness is wonderful."
Well, the day was done, the battle was fought and won, and Ranleigh wasweary of triumph and happiness.
"Good night," whispered Susanne to Clive.
"Good night," came the answer. "Er--I say, Susanne."
"Eh?"
"There's one thing."
"Heaps," was the sleepy response.
"Yes, but I'm serious. I'm going to stick to footer till I get into theteam. Hear that?"
"Mighty interesting," yawned Susanne. "Wake me up when you've got there,and, by the way, don't forget to speak when you are Captain."
Clive grew red with vexation. For he was serious, very serious indeed.In his own secret mind he registered that night a resolve to grow up asfine a fellow as Sturton, to fight his way into the football eleven,and--the biggest resolve of all--to even ascend to the glories ofCaptain of Ranleigh.
"I'll do it," he mumbled as he fell asleep.