and made his way to Drummond’s study.

  Drummond was in. Linton proceeded to business.

  “I say, Drummond.”

  “Hullo?”

  “Th

  at man Stanning has come in. He’s getting the senior day-

  room to rag Sheen’s study.”

  “What!”

  Linton repeated his statement.

  “Does the man think he owns the house?” said Drummond.

  “Where is he?”

  “Coming up now. I hear them. What are you going to do? Stop

  them?”

  “What do you think? Of course I am. I’m not going to have any

  of Appleby’s crew coming into Seymour’s and ragging studies.”

  “Th

  is ought to be worth seeing,” said Linton. “Look on me as

  ‘Charles, his friend’. I’ll help if you want me, but it’s your scene.”

  Drummond opened his door just as Stanning and his myrmi-

  dons were passing it.

  “Hullo, Stanning,” he said.

  Stanning turned. Th

  e punitive expedition stopped.

  “Do you want anything?” inquired Drummond politely.

  Th

  e members of the senior day-room who were with Stanning

  rallied round, silent and interested. Th

  is dramatic situation appealed

  to them. Th

  ey had a passion for rows, and this looked distinctly

  promising.

  77

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  Th

  ere was a pause. Stanning looked carefully at Drummond.

  Drummond looked carefully at Stanning.

  “I was going to see Sheen,” said Stanning at length.

  “He isn’t in.”

  “Oh!”

  Another pause.

  “Was it anything special?” inquired Drummond pleasantly.

  Th

  e expedition edged a little forward.

  “No. Oh, no. Nothing special,” said Stanning.

  Th

  e expedition looked disappointed.

  “Any message I can give him?” asked Drummond.

  “No, thanks,” said Stanning.

  “Sure?”

  “Quite, thanks.”

  “I don’t think it’s worth while your waiting. He may not be in

  for some time.”

  “No, perhaps not. Th

  anks. So long.”

  “So long.”

  Stanning turned on his heel, and walked away down the pas-

  sage. Drummond went back into his study, and shut the door.

  Th

  e expedition, deprived of its commander-in-chief, paused ir-

  resolutely outside. Th

  en it followed its leader’s example.

  Th

  ere was peace in the passage.

  Chapter 

  The Rout at Ripton

  On the Saturday following this episode, the fi rst fi fteen travelled to

  Ripton to play the return match with that school on its own ground.

  Of the two Ripton matches, the one played at Wrykyn was always

  the big event of the football year; but the other came next in impor-

  tance, and the telegram which was despatched to the school shop

  at the close of the game was always awaited with anxiety. Th

  is year

  Wrykyn looked forward to the return match with a certain amount

  of apathy, due partly to the fact that the school was in a slack, unpa-

  triotic state, and partly to the hammering the team had received in

  the previous term, when the Ripton centre three-quarters had run

  78

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  through and scored with monotonous regularity. “We’re bound to

  get sat on,” was the general verdict of the school.

  Allardyce, while thoroughly agreeing with this opinion, did his

  best to conceal the fact from the rest of the team. He had certainly

  done his duty by them. Every day for the past fortnight the forwards

  and outsides had turned out to run and pass, and on the Saturdays

  there had been matches with Corpus, Oxford, and the Cambridge

  Old Wrykinians. In both games the school had been beaten. In fact,

  it seemed as if they could only perform really well when they had no

  opponents. To see the three-quarters racing down the fi eld (at prac-

  tice) and scoring innumerable (imaginary) tries, one was apt to be

  misled into considering them a fi ne quartette. But when there was

  a match, all the beautiful dash and precision of the passing faded

  away, and the last thing they did was to run straight. Barry was the

  only one of the four who played the game properly.

  But, as regarded condition, there was nothing wrong with the

  team. Even Trevor could not have made them train harder; and Al-

  lardyce in his more sanguine moments had a shadowy hope that the

  Ripton score might, with care, be kept in the teens.

  Barry had bought a Sportsman at the station, and he unfolded it

  as the train began to move. Searching the left-hand column of the

  middle page, as we all do when we buy the Sportsman on Saturday

  – to see how our names look in print, and what sort of a team the en-

  emy has got – he made a remarkable discovery. At the same moment

  Drummond, on the other side of the carriage, did the same.

  “I say,” he said, “they must have had a big clear-out at Ripton.

  Have you seen the team they’ve got out today?”

  “I was just looking at it,” said Barry.

  “What’s up with it?” inquired Allardyce. “Let’s have a look.”

  “Th

  ey’ve only got about half their proper team. Th

  ey’ve got a

  diff erent back – Grey isn’t playing.”

  “Both their centres are, though,” said Drummond.

  “More fun for us, Drum., old chap,” said Attell. “I’m going

  home again. Stop the train.”

  Drummond said nothing. He hated Attell most when he tried

  to be facetious.

  “Dunn isn’t playing, nor is Waite,” said Barry, “so they haven’t

  got either of their proper halves. I say, we might have a chance of

  doing something today.”

  79

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  “Of course we shall,” said Allardyce. “You’ve only got to buck up

  and we’ve got them on toast.”

  Th

  e atmosphere in the carriage became charged with optimism.

  It seemed a simple thing to defeat a side which was practically a

  Ripton “A” team. Th

  e centre three-quarters were there still, it was

  true, but Allardyce and Drummond ought to be able to prevent the

  halves ever getting the ball out to them. Th

  e team looked on those

  two unknown halves as timid novices, who would lose their heads

  at the kick-off . As a matter of fact, the system of football teaching

  at Ripton was so perfect, and the keenness so great, that the second

  fi fteen was nearly as good as the fi rst every year. But the Wrykyn

  team did not know this, with the exception of Allardyce, who kept

  his knowledge to himself; and they arrived at Ripton jaunty and

  confi dent.

  Keith, the Ripton captain, who was one of the centre three-

  quarters who had made so many holes in the Wrykyn defence in

  the previous term, met the team at the station, and walked up to the

  school with them, carrying Allardyce’s bag.

  “You seem to have lost a good many men at Christmas,” said

  Allardyce. “We were reading the Sportsman in the train. Apparently,

  you’ve only got ten of your last term’s lot. Have they all left?”

  Th

  e Ripton captain grinned ruefully.

  “Not much,” he replied. “Th

  ey’re all here. All except Dunn. You

  remember Dunn? Little thick-set chap who played half. He always

  had his hair quite tidy and parted exactly in the middle all through

  the game.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember Dunn. What’s he doing now?”

  “Gone to Coopers Hill. Rot, his not going to the Varsity. He’d

  have walked into his blue.”

  Allardyce agreed. He had marked Dunn in the match of the

  previous term, and that immaculate sportsman had made things not

  a little warm for him.

  “Where are all the others, then?” he asked. “Where’s that other

  half of yours? And the rest of the forwards?”

  “Mumps,” said Keith.

  “What!”

  “It’s a fact. Rot, isn’t it? We’ve had a regular bout of it. Twenty

  fellows got it altogether. Naturally, four of those were in the team.

  80

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  Th

  at’s the way things happen. I only wonder the whole scrum didn’t

  have it.”

  “What beastly luck,” said Allardyce. “We had measles like that

  a couple of years ago in the summer term, and had to play the Incogs

  and Zingari with a sort of second eleven. We got mopped.”

  “Th

  at’s what we shall get this afternoon, I’m afraid,” said

  Keith.

  “Oh, no,” said Allardyce. “Of course you won’t.”

  And, as events turned out, that was one of the truest remarks he

  had ever made in his life.

  <

  One of the drawbacks to playing Ripton on its own ground was

  the crowd. Another was the fact that one generally got beaten. But

  your sportsman can put up with defeat. What he does not like is a

  crowd that regards him as a subtle blend of incompetent idiot and

  malicious scoundrel, and says so very loud and clear. It was not, of

  course, the school that did this. Th

  ey spent their time blushing for

  the shouters. It was the patriotic inhabitants of Ripton town who

  made the school wish that they could be saved from their friends.

  Th

  e football ground at Ripton was at the edge of the school fi elds,

  separated from the road by narrow iron railings; and along these

  railings the choicest spirits of the town would line up, and smoke

  and yell, and spit and yell again. As Wordsworth wrote, “Th

  ere are

  two voices”. Th

  ey were on something like the following lines.

  Inside the railings: “Sch-oo-oo-oo-oo-l! Buck up Sch-oo-oo-

  oo-oo-l!! Get it OUT, Schoo-oo-oo-oo-l!!!”

  Outside the railings: “Gow it, Ripton! Th

  at’s the way, Ripton!

  Twist his good-old-English-adjectived neck, Ripton! Sit on his forc-

  ibly described head, Ripton! Gow it, Ripton! Haw, Haw, Haw! Th

  ey

  ain’t no use, RIPton! Kick ’im in the eye, RipTON! Haw, Haw,

  Haw!”

  Th

  e bursts of merriment signalised the violent downfall of some

  dangerous opponent.

  Th

  e school loathed these humble supporters, and occasionally

  fastidious juniors would go the length of throwing chunks of mud at

  them through the railings. But nothing discouraged them or abated

  their fervid desire to see the school win. Every year they seemed to

  81

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  increase in zeal, and they were always in great form at the Wrykyn

  match.

  It would be charitable to ascribe to this reason the gruesome

  happenings of that afternoon. Th

  ey needed some explaining away.

  <

  Allardyce won the toss, and chose to start downhill, with the

  wind in his favour. It is always best to get these advantages at the

  beginning of the game. If one starts against the wind, it usually

  changes ends at half-time. Amidst a roar from both touch-lines and

  a volley of howls from the road, a Ripton forward kicked off . Th

  e

  ball fl ew in the direction of Stanning, on the right wing. A storm of

  laughter arose from the road as he dropped it. Th

  e fi rst scrum was

  formed on the Wrykyn twenty-fi ve line.

  Th

  e Ripton forwards got the ball, and heeled with their usual

  neatness. Th

  e Ripton half who was taking the scrum gathered it

  cleanly, and passed to his colleague. He was a sturdy youth with

  a dark, rather forbidding face, in which the acute observer might

  have read signs of the savage. He was of the breed which is vaguely

  described at public schools as “nigger”, a term covering every variety

  of shade from ebony to light lemon. As a matter of fact he was a half-

  caste, sent home to England to be educated. Drummond recognised

  him as he dived forward to tackle him. Th

  e last place where they had

  met had been the roped ring at Aldershot. It was his opponent in the

  fi nal of the Feathers.

  He reached him as he swerved, and they fell together. Th

  e ball

  bounded forward.

  “Hullo, Peteiro,” he said. “Th

  ought you’d left.”

  Th

  e other grinned recognition.

  “Hullo, Drummond.”

  “Going up to Aldershot this year?”

  “Yes. Light-Weight.”

  “So am I.”

  Th

  e scrum had formed by now, and further conversation was

  impossible. Drummond looked a little thoughtful as he put the ball

  in. He had been told that Peteiro was leaving Ripton at Christmas.

  It was a nuisance his being still at school. Drummond was not afraid

  of him – he would have fought a champion of the world if the school

  had expected him to – but he could not help remembering that it

  82

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  was only by the very narrowest margin, and after a terrifi c three

  rounds, that he had beaten him in the Feathers the year before. It

  would be too awful for words if the decision were to be reversed in

  the coming competition.

  But he was not allowed much leisure for pondering on the future.

  Th

  e present was too full of incident and excitement. Th

  e withdrawal

  of the four invalids and the departure of Dunn had not reduced the

  Ripton team to that wreck of its former self which the Wrykyn fi f-

  teen had looked for. On the contrary, their play seemed, if anything,

  a shade better than it had been in the former match. Th

  ere was all

  the old aggressiveness, and Peteiro and his partner, so far from being

  timid novices and losing their heads, eclipsed the exhibition given

  at Wrykyn by Waite and Dunn. Play had only been in progress six

  minutes when Keith, taking a pass on the twenty-fi ve line, slipped

  past Attell, ran round the back, and scored between the posts. Th

  ree

  minutes later the other Ripton centre scored. At the end of twenty

  minutes the Wrykyn line had been crossed fi ve times, and each of

  the tries had been converted.

  “Can’t you fellows get that ball in the scrum?” demanded Al-

  lardyce plaintively, as the team began for the fi fth time the old famil-

  iar walk to the half-way line. “Pack tight, and get the fi rst shove.”

  Th

  e result of this address was to increase the Ripton lead by four

  points. In his anxiety to get the ball, one of the Wrykyn forwards

  started heeling before it was in, and the referee promptly gave a free

  kick to Ripton for “foot up”. As this event took place within easy

  reach of the Wrykyn goal, and immediately in front of the same,

  Keith had no diffi

  culty in bringing off the penalty.

  By half-time the crowd in the road, hoarse with laughter, had

  exhausted all their adjectives and were repeating themselves. Th

  e

  Ripton score was six goals, a penalty goal, and two tries to nil, and

  the Wrykyn team was a demoralised rabble.

  Th

  e fact that the rate of scoring slackened somewhat after the

  interval may be attributed to the disinclination of the Riptonians

  to exert themselves unduly. Th

  ey ceased playing in the stern and

  scientifi c spirit in which they had started; and, instead of adhering

  to an orthodox game, began to enjoy themselves. Th

  e forwards no

  longer heeled like a machine. Th

  ey broke through ambitiously, and

  tried to score on their own account. When the outsides got as far

  as the back, they did not pass. Th

  ey tried to drop goals. In this way

  83

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  only twenty-two points were scored after half-time. Allardyce and

  Drummond battled on nobly, but with their pack hopelessly out-

  classed it was impossible for them to do anything of material use.

  Barry, on the wing, tackled his man whenever the latter got the ball,

  but, as a rule, the centres did not pass, but attacked by themselves.

  At last, by way of a fi tting conclusion to the rout, the Ripton back,

  catching a high punt, ran instead of kicking, and, to the huge delight

  of the town contingent, scored. With this incident the visiting team

  drained the last dregs of the bitter cup. Humiliation could go no

  further. Almost immediately afterwards the referee blew his whistle

  for “No side”.

  “Th

  ree cheers for Wrykyn,” said Keith.

  To the fi fteen victims it sounded ironical.

  Chapter 

  Drummond Goes Into Retirement

 

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