Part 9 (1/2)
Pip agreed, without asking what the conditions might be.
”What I want you to do,” said Ham, ”is this.” He led the way to the bookshelves at the side of the room. ”I want you to read some books for me. Any books will do, but you must read _something_. I should advise you to begin on something easy. Here are three. This one is called 'Treasure Island'; this big one is 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes'; and the yellow one is 'Vice Versa.' (Don't be afraid: it's all English inside.) Which will you have?”
Pip was somewhat dazed by this eccentric man's behaviour, but he had sufficient sense left to choose the smallest of the proffered volumes.
Then he said timidly,--
”Would I have any chance of getting into the Junior House Eleven, sir?”
”M' well, perhaps. Now, hook it. After tea to-morrow at my net, mind.”
Later in the evening Mr. Hanbury, enjoying the hospitality of Uncle Bill, remarked,--
”I'm sorry the St. Dunstan's match is over for this year.”
”Why?” inquired his host.
”Because we could have beaten them. Anyhow, we shall do it next year.”
”Why this confidence?”
”Because,” said Hanbury, ”I propose this day month to introduce to the school the finest bowler that it has seen since old Hewett's time.”
Pip stuck to his side of the bargain manfully. He religiously waded through ”Treasure Island,” marking with a pencil the place when he knocked off work for the day. The fascination of the story affected even his barbaric mind, but the effort of taking it all in more than outweighed the pleasure. ”Sherlock Holmes” he voted dull; he made no conjectures as to the solution of each mystery, and consequently the pleasure of antic.i.p.ating the result was lost to him. ”Vice Versa”
pleased him most, though the idea of a girl running at large in a boys'
school struck his celibate mind as ”utter rot.”
But in return for all this aimless drudgery he had the unspeakable joy of bowling to Ham every night for a short time after tea, at a quiet net in a corner of the big field. The term was not nearly half over, and already he could bring the ball down with tolerable certainty somewhere near a postcard laid for him upon the pitch, five times out of seven,--and that, too, without in any way spoiling the curl in the air by which his teacher appeared to set so much store. He was also permitted to bowl one fast ball per over, an indulgence which comforted him mightily; for like every other cricketer who ever lived, he imagined that he was a heaven-sent fast bowler.
To his unutterable disappointment he was not chosen for his Junior House Eleven, though it included such confirmed dotards as Mumford. The truth was that Mr. Hanbury had sent for Marsh, the captain of Pip's house, and asked as a personal favour that Pip might not be put in the team.
”I know these Junior House-Matches,” he said. ”The boy will either not be put on to bowl at all, or else he will be kept on for forty or fifty overs, tiring himself out and undoing all the work of the past five weeks. Leave him with me for another fortnight, and we'll see. I can't have growing plants strained in any way.”
”Is he really good, sir?” said Marsh. ”I haven't seen him play for a long time, and then he seemed no better than most of the other kids.”
”That was when he was bowling right-handed,” said Ham. ”Come and see him to-morrow, at my net. Look here, I will make a bargain with you. When is the House-Match proper, the Final, the big affair, between you and the Hitt.i.tes?”
”A fortnight on Tuesday, sir.”
”Well, you may play him in that match, on the understanding that he is not to bowl for more than five overs at a time. I'll have him in good order for you, but he mustn't be overworked.”
Marsh, after a glance at Pip's form at Ham's net next day, readily agreed to the proposition.
A week later Pip was informed by Mumford, during the French hour, of a curious clerical error in the list containing the names of the Hivite House Eleven, which had been put up that morning. Marsh, it appeared, in a fit of laughable absent-mindedness, had filled the last place in the list with the name of Pip, instead of that of one Elliot, who had occupied that position in the previous round.
”Rum mistake to make,” said Mumford, with obvious sincerity.
”Very,” said Pip shortly.
”Rather a jest,” continued the imaginative Mumford, ”if he didn't notice it, and you turned out on the day with the rest of the Eleven instead of Elliott!”
”Jolly comic!” said Pip, without enthusiasm. He was a modest youth, but, like other and older men, he derived no pleasure from hearing his low opinion of himself so heartily endorsed by his friends.