Part 37 (1/2)

This was rather a surprise to those who remembered Gordon's driving power. Golding was thought rather a ”lad” after all.

Gordon, however, soon dispelled this illusion. A week later he went down to the House game in which Golding was playing and cursed him roundly all the afternoon with perfect justice. After tea he gave him six for slacking: and all delusions about Golding's bravery were immediately dispelled.

”d.a.m.ned little tick,” said Gordon. ”He made such a fuss that I let him off lightly, and then he goes down to the day-room and makes out I am a wreck. Collins, I charge thee, put away compa.s.sion! It does not pay with these degenerates.”

There is nothing more interesting to the artist than watching a thing grow under one's hand. And Gordon, who had the ambition of the artist in embryo, was thoroughly engrossed in the training of his House sides. A-K Junior was a promising side; it beat Claremont's by twenty points, and Rogers's by over fifty.

Morgan captained the side, and was easily the best man in it, but among the lesser lights there was a great display of energy, much of it misplaced. The worst offender was Bray. To watch him play was to witness a gladiatorial display of frightfulness. His fists flew about like a flail, his legs were everywhere. On the whole he did more damage to his own side than to his opponents. And the amount of energy he wasted every game in hacking the bodies of any who got in his way must have been exhausting. Gordon had to speak to him almost severely once or twice.

In the game against Rogers's, Bray nearly got sent off the field. There had been a tight scrum which had more or less collapsed. The whistle blew. Jenks had been persuaded to referee.

”Now then, form up properly there.”

When the two scrums a.s.sorted themselves, Bray was discovered about five yards from the ball, sitting on the head of a wretched, fat, unwashed product of Rogers's, punching him violently and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. after each punch:

”d.a.m.n you! d.a.m.n you! d.a.m.n you!”

Jenks looked very fierce.

”Now then, you stupid fellows. If you go on like that, I shall have to report you to the Headmaster, and you know what that will mean.”

Bray looked a little frightened, and for the future devoted his energies to the football and not the footballers, to the distinct advantage of the side.

But Gordon began to find that the more his interest increased in House games, the less interest he took in uppers and Fifteen puntabouts. He was always wanting to go and see how his House was getting on. As soon as the first keenness wore off he found the interminable ”uppers,”

totally unrelieved by the excitement of matches, amazingly dull. Indeed, the whole school side was beginning to grow weary. Every Monday and Thursday there was a puntabout. Every Tuesday and Sat.u.r.day there was the same game--First Fifteen _v._ Second Fifteen--with one or two masters, such as Christy, who were no longer as young as they had been. The result was invariably the same; the First Fifteen won by forty points, and were cursed by ”the Bull” for not winning by sixty. No one could possibly enjoy such monotony. Every week the business became more unpopular.

”The Bull” stamped up and down with a whistle in his hand.

”I never saw such slackness. What good do you imagine you men will be in the trenches, if you can't last out a short game of rugger like this? I don't know what the school is coming to!”

The side, which had never been good, got worse daily. As a captain, the younger Akerman was a nonent.i.ty. Buller was captain of the side in everything but name.

”You know, Foster,” said Gordon one Sat.u.r.day evening after a more than usually dreary performance, ”these uppers are getting about the ruddy limit.”

”Have you taken all this time to find that out?” growled Foster. ”I used to like footer once. Last year we had a good time on those Colts games.

Of course the old buffalo lost his hair a good deal, but the games were level at any rate. I can see no sort of fun in winning every time by forty points. Why can't we have pick-up games, so as to get level sides.”

”I suppose 'the Bull' wants to get the side working together.”

”Perhaps he does; but why, if there are going to be no matches till half-way through November? The Downside match is four weeks off, and till then we have to continue this silly farce twice a week. And, after all, it does not teach us defence in the least. Our three-quarter men have not to do any collaring. If we run up against a side that is any use at attack, we shall be hopelessly dished.”

”I think we shall be dished anyhow. And I am d.a.m.ned if I care much.

Buller has knocked all the keenness out of me, and the rest of the side say the same thing. Do you know, I actually look forward to Corps parade day.”

”The same with me. I am fed to death with footer.”

”Still we are having a jolly good time off the field.”

”Are we?”