CHAPTER XVI - AN EXPERT EXAMINATION

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CHAPTER XVI - AN EXPERT EXAMINATION

Mike's Uncle John was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He had been
an army surgeon in the days of his youth, and, after an adventurous
career, mainly in Afghanistan, had inherited enough money to keep him
in comfort for the rest of his life. He had thereupon left the
service, and now spent most of his time flitting from one spot of
Europe to another. He had been dashing up to Scotland on the day when
Mike first became a Wrykynian, but a few weeks in an uncomfortable
hotel in Skye and a few days in a comfortable one in Edinburgh had
left him with the impression that he had now seen all that there was
to be seen in North Britain and might reasonably shift his camp again.

Coming south, he had looked in on Mike's people for a brief space,
and, at the request of Mike's mother, took the early express to Wrykyn
in order to pay a visit of inspection.

His telegram arrived during morning school. Mike went down to the
station to meet him after lunch.

Uncle John took command of the situation at once.

"School playing anybody to-day, Mike? I want to see a match."

"They're playing Geddington. Only it's away. There's a second match
on."

"Why aren't you--Hullo, I didn't see. What have you been doing to
yourself?"

"Crocked my wrist a bit. It's nothing much."

"How did you do that?"

"Slipped while I was changing after cricket."

"Hurt?"

"Not much, thanks."

"Doctor seen it?"

"No. But it's really nothing. Be all right by Monday."

"H'm. Somebody ought to look at it. I'll have a look later on."

Mike did not appear to relish this prospect.

"It isn't anything, Uncle John, really. It doesn't matter a bit."

"Never mind. It won't do any harm having somebody examine it who knows
a bit about these things. Now, what shall we do. Go on the river?"

"I shouldn't be able to steer."

"I could manage about that. Still, I think I should like to see the
place first. Your mother's sure to ask me if you showed me round. It's
like going over the stables when you're stopping at a country-house.
Got to be done, and better do it as soon as possible."

It is never very interesting playing the part of showman at school.
Both Mike and his uncle were inclined to scamp the business. Mike
pointed out the various landmarks without much enthusiasm--it is only
after one has left a few years that the school buildings take to
themselves romance--and Uncle John said, "Ah yes, I see. Very nice,"
two or three times in an absent voice; and they passed on to the
cricket field, where the second eleven were playing a neighbouring
engineering school. It was a glorious day. The sun had never seemed to
Mike so bright or the grass so green. It was one of those days when
the ball looks like a large vermilion-coloured football as it leaves
the bowler's hand. If ever there was a day when it seemed to Mike that
a century would have been a certainty, it was this Saturday. A sudden,
bitter realisation of all he had given up swept over him, but he
choked the feeling down. The thing was done, and it was no good
brooding over the might-have-beens now. Still--And the Geddington
ground was supposed to be one of the easiest scoring grounds of all
the public schools!

"Well hit, by George!" remarked Uncle John, as Trevor, who had gone in
first wicket for the second eleven, swept a half-volley to leg round
to the bank where they were sitting.

"That's Trevor," said Mike. "Chap in Donaldson's. The fellow at the
other end is Wilkins. He's in the School House. They look as if they
were getting set. By Jove," he said enviously, "pretty good fun
batting on a day like this."

Uncle John detected the envious note.

"I suppose you would have been playing here but for your wrist?"

"No, I was playing for the first."

"For the first? For the school! My word, Mike, I didn't know that. No
wonder you're feeling badly treated. Of course, I remember your father
saying you had played once for the school, and done well; but I
thought that was only as a substitute. I didn't know you were a
regular member of the team. What bad luck. Will you get another
chance?"

"Depends on Bob."

"Has Bob got your place?"

Mike nodded.

"If he does well to-day, they'll probably keep him in."

"Isn't there room for both of you?"

"Such a lot of old colours. There are only three vacancies, and
Henfrey got one of those a week ago. I expect they'll give one of the
other two to a bowler, Neville-Smith, I should think, if he does well
against Geddington. Then there'll be only the last place left."

"Rather awkward, that."

"Still, it's Bob's last year. I've got plenty of time. But I wish I
could get in this year."

After they had watched the match for an hour, Uncle John's restless
nature asserted itself.

"Suppose we go for a pull on the river now?" he suggested.

They got up.

"Let's just call at the shop," said Mike. "There ought to be a
telegram from Geddington by this time. I wonder how Bob's got on."

Apparently Bob had not had a chance yet of distinguishing himself. The
telegram read, "Geddington 151 for four. Lunch."

"Not bad that," said Mike. "But I believe they're weak in bowling."

They walked down the road towards the school landing-stage.

"The worst of a school," said Uncle John, as he pulled up-stream with
strong, unskilful stroke, "is that one isn't allowed to smoke on the
grounds. I badly want a pipe. The next piece of shade that you see,
sing out, and we'll put in there."

"Pull your left," said Mike. "That willow's what you want."

Uncle John looked over his shoulder, caught a crab, recovered himself,
and steered the boat in under the shade of the branches.

"Put the rope over that stump. Can you manage with one hand? Here, let
me--Done it? Good. A-ah!"

He blew a great cloud of smoke into the air, and sighed contentedly.

"I hope you don't smoke, Mike?"

"No."

"Rotten trick for a boy. When you get to my age you need it. Boys
ought to be thinking about keeping themselves fit and being good at
games. Which reminds me. Let's have a look at the wrist."

A hunted expression came into Mike's eyes.

"It's really nothing," he began, but his uncle had already removed the
sling, and was examining the arm with the neat rapidity of one who has
been brought up to such things.

To Mike it seemed as if everything in the world was standing still and
waiting. He could hear nothing but his own breathing.

His uncle pressed the wrist gingerly once or twice, then gave it a
little twist.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"Ye--no," stammered Mike.

Uncle John looked up sharply. Mike was crimson.

"What's the game?" inquired Uncle John.

Mike said nothing.

There was a twinkle in his uncle's eyes.

"May as well tell me. I won't give you away. Why this wounded warrior
business when you've no more the matter with you than I have?"

Mike hesitated.

"I only wanted to get out of having to write this morning. There was
an exam, on."

The idea had occurred to him just before he spoke. It had struck him
as neat and plausible.

To Uncle John it did not appear in the same light.

"Do you always write with your left hand? And if you had gone with the
first eleven to Geddington, wouldn't that have got you out of your
exam? Try again."

When in doubt, one may as well tell the truth. Mike told it.

"I know. It wasn't that, really. Only----"

"Well?"

"Oh, well, dash it all then. Old Bob got me out of an awful row the
day before yesterday, and he seemed a bit sick at not playing for the
first, so I thought I might as well let him. That's how it was. Look
here, swear you won't tell him."

Uncle John was silent. Inwardly he was deciding that the five
shillings which he had intended to bestow on Mike on his departure
should become a sovereign. (This, it may be mentioned as an
interesting biographical fact, was the only occasion in his life
on which Mike earned money at the rate of fifteen shillings a
half-minute.)

"Swear you won't tell him. He'd be most frightfully sick if he knew."

"I won't tell him."

Conversation dwindled to vanishing-point. Uncle John smoked on in
weighty silence, while Mike, staring up at the blue sky through the
branches of the willow, let his mind wander to Geddington, where his
fate was even now being sealed. How had the school got on? What had
Bob done? If he made about twenty, would they give him his cap?
Supposing....

A faint snore from Uncle John broke in on his meditations. Then there
was a clatter as a briar pipe dropped on to the floor of the boat, and
his uncle sat up, gaping.

"Jove, I was nearly asleep. What's the time? Just on six? Didn't know
it was so late."

"I ought to be getting back soon, I think. Lock-up's at half-past."

"Up with the anchor, then. You can tackle that rope with two hands
now, eh? We are not observed. Don't fall overboard. I'm going to shove
her off."

"There'll be another telegram, I should think," said Mike, as they
reached the school gates.

"Shall we go and look?"

They walked to the shop.

A second piece of grey paper had been pinned up under the first. Mike
pushed his way through the crowd. It was a longer message this time.

It ran as follows:

"Geddington 247 (Burgess six wickets, Neville-Smith four).
Wrykyn 270 for nine (Berridge 86, Marsh 58, Jackson 48)."

Mike worked his way back through the throng, and rejoined his uncle.

"Well?" said Uncle John.

"We won."

He paused for a moment.

"Bob made forty-eight," he added carelessly.

Uncle John felt in his pocket, and silently slid a sovereign into
Mike's hand.

It was the only possible reply.

Content of CHAPTER XVI - AN EXPERT EXAMINATION [P G Wodehouse's novel: Mike]

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