expression, as if he were perpetually “sizing up” the person he was

  addressing. But otherwise he was like other men. He seemed also to

  have a pretty taste in Literature. Th

  is, combined with his strong and

  capable air, attracted Sheen. Usually he was shy and ill at ease with

  strangers. Joe Bevan he felt he had known all his life.

  “Do you still fi ght?” he asked.

  “No,” said Mr Bevan, “I gave it up. A man fi nds he’s getting on,

  as the saying is, and it don’t do to keep at it too long. I teach and I

  train, but I don’t fi ght now.”

  A sudden idea fl ashed across Sheen’s mind. He was still glow-

  ing with that pride which those who are accustomed to work with

  their brains feel when they have gone honestly through some labour

  of the hands. At that moment he felt himself capable of fi ghting the

  world and beating it. Th

  e small point, that Albert had knocked him

  out of time in less than a minute, did not damp him at all. He had

  started on the right road. He had done something. He had stood up

  to his man till he could stand no longer. An unlimited vista of action

  stretched before him. He had tasted the pleasure of the fi ght, and he

  wanted more.

  Why, he thought, should he not avail himself of Joe Bevan’s ser-

  vices to help him put himself right in the eyes of the house? At the

  end of the term, shortly before the Public Schools’ Competitions at

  Aldershot, inter-house boxing cups were competed for at Wrykyn.

  It would be a dramatic act of reparation to the house if he could win

  the Light-Weight cup for it. His imagination, jumping wide gaps,

  did not admit the possibility of his not being good enough to win it.

  In the scene which he conjured up in his mind he was an easy victor.

  After all, there was the greater part of the term to learn in, and he

  would have a Champion of the World to teach him.

  Mr Bevan cut in on his refl ections as if he had heard them by

  some process of wireless telegraphy.

  “Now, look here, sir,” he said, “you should let me give you a few

  lessons. You’re plucky, but you don’t know the game as yet. And box-

  ing’s a thing every one ought to know. Supposition is, you’re crossing

  a fi eld or going down a street with your sweetheart or your wife—”

  Sheen was neither engaged nor married, but he let the point

  pass.

  42

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  —“And up comes one of these hooligans, as they call ’em. What

  are you going to do if he starts his games? Why, nothing, if you can’t

  box. You may be plucky, but you can’t beat him. And if you beat him,

  you’ll get half murdered yourself. What you want to do is to learn to

  box, and then what happens? Why, as soon as he sees you shaping,

  he says to himself, ‘Hullo, this chap knows too much for me. I’m off ,’

  and off he runs. Or supposition is, he comes for you. You don’t mind.

  Not you. You give him one punch in the right place, and then you go

  off to your tea, leaving him lying there. He won’t get up.”

  “I’d like to learn,” said Sheen. “I should be awfully obliged if

  you’d teach me. I wonder if you could make me any good by the end

  of the term. Th

  e House Competitions come off then.”

  “Th

  at all depends, sir. It comes easier to some than others. If

  you know how to shoot your left out straight, that’s as good as six

  months’ teaching. After that it’s all ring-craft. Th

  e straight left beats

  the world.”

  “Where shall I fi nd you?”

  “I’m training a young chap – eight stone seven, and he’s got to

  get down to eight stone four, for a bantam weight match – at an inn

  up the river here. I daresay you know it, sir. Or any one would tell

  you where it is. Th

  e ‘Blue Boar,’ it’s called. You come there any time

  you like to name, sir, and you’ll fi nd me.”

  “I should like to come every day,” said Sheen. “Would that be

  too often?”

  “Oftener the better, sir. You can’t practise too much.”

  “Th

  en I’ll start next week. Th

  anks very much. By the way, I shall

  have to go by boat, I suppose. It isn’t far, is it? I’ve not been up the

  river for some time, Th

  e School generally goes down stream.”

  “It’s not what you’d call far,” said Bevan. “But it would be easier

  for you to come by road.”

  “I haven’t a bicycle.”

  “Wouldn’t one of your friends lend you one?”

  Sheen fl ushed.

  “No, I’d better come by boat, I think. I’ll turn up on Tuesday at

  about fi ve. Will that suit you?”

  “Yes, sir. Th

  at will be a good time. Th

  en I’ll say good bye, sir,

  for the present.”

  43

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  Sheen went back to his house in a diff erent mood from the one

  in which he had left it. He did not care now when the other Sey-

  mourites looked through him.

  In the passage he met Linton, and grinned pleasantly at him.

  “What the dickens was that man grinning at?” said Linton to

  himself. “I must have a smut or something on my face.”

  But a close inspection in the dormitory looking-glass revealed

  no blemish on his handsome features.

  Chapter 

  A Naval Battle and its Consequences

  What a go is life!

  Let us examine the case of Jackson, of Dexter’s. O’Hara, who

  had left Dexter’s at the end of the summer term, had once com-

  plained to Clowes of the manner in which his house-master treated

  him, and Clowes had remarked in his melancholy way that it was

  nothing less than a breach of the law that Dexter should persist in

  leading a fellow a dog’s life without a dog licence for him.

  Th

  at was precisely how Jackson felt on the subject.

  Th

  ings became defi nitely unbearable on the day after Sheen’s

  interview with Mr Joe Bevan.

  ‘Twas morn – to begin at the beginning – and Jackson sprang

  from his little cot to embark on the labours of the day. Unfortu-

  nately, he sprang ten minutes too late, and came down to breakfast

  about the time of the second slice of bread and marmalade. Result,

  a hundred lines. Proceeding to school, he had again fallen foul of

  his house-master – in whose form he was – over a matter of unpre-

  pared Livy. As a matter of fact, Jackson had prepared the Livy. Or,

  rather, he had not absolutely prepared it; but he had meant to. But it was Mr Templar’s preparation, and Mr Templar was short-sighted.

  Any one will understand, therefore, that it would have been simply

  chucking away the gifts of Providence if he had not gone on with

  the novel which he had been reading up till the last moment before

  prep-time, and had brought along with him accidentally, as it were.

  It was a book called A Spoiler of Men, by Richard Marsh, and there

  44

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  was a repulsive crime on nearly every page. It was Hot Stuff . Much

  better than Livy....

  Lunch Score – Two hundred lines.

  During lunch he had the misfortune to upset a glass of water.

  Pure accident, of course, but there it was, don’t you know, all over

  the table.

  Mr Dexter had called him

  (a) clumsy

  (b) a pig;

  and had given him

  (1) Advice – “You had better be careful, Jackson”.

  (2) A present – “Two hundred lines, Jackson”.

  On the match being resumed at two o’clock, with four hundred

  lines on the score-sheet, he had played a fi ne, free game during af-

  ternoon school, and Mr Dexter, who objected to fi ne, free games

  – or, indeed, any games – during school hours, had increased the

  total to six hundred, when stumps were drawn for the day.

  So on a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, when he should have

  been out in the fi eld cheering the house-team on to victory against

  the School House, Jackson sat in the junior day-room at Dexter’s

  copying out portions of Virgil, Aeneid Two.

  To him, later on in the afternoon, when he had fi nished half his

  task, entered Painter, with the news that Dexter’s had taken thirty

  points off the School House just after half-time.

  “Mopped them up,” said the terse and epigrammatic Painter.

  “Made rings round them. Haven’t you fi nished yet? Well, chuck it,

  and come out.”

  “What’s on?” asked Jackson.

  “We’re going to have a boat race.”

  “Pile it on.”

  “We are, really. Fact. Some of these School House kids are aw-

  fully sick about the match, and challenged us. Th

  at chap Tomlin

  thinks he can row.

  “He can’t row for nuts,” said Jackson. “He doesn’t know which

  end of the oar to shove into the water. I’ve seen cats that could row

  better than Tomlin.”

  “Th

  at’s what I told him. At least, I said he couldn’t row for tof-

  fee, so he said all right, I bet I can lick you, and I said I betted he

  couldn’t, and he said all right, then, let’s try, and then the other

  45

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  chaps wanted to join in, so we made an inter-house thing of it. And

  I want you to come and stroke us.”

  Jackson hesitated. Mr Dexter, setting the lines on Friday, had

  certainly said that they were to be shown up “tomorrow evening.”

  He had said it very loud and clear. Still, in a case like this....After all,

  by helping to beat the School House on the river he would be giving

  Dexter’s a leg-up. And what more could the man want?

  “Right ho,” said Jackson.

  Down at the School boat-house the enemy were already afl oat

  when Painter and Jackson arrived.

  “Buck up,” cried the School House crew.

  Dexter’s embarked, fi ve strong. Th

  ere was room for two on

  each seat. Jackson shared the post of stroke with Painter. Crowle

  steered.

  “Ready?” asked Tomlin from the other boat.

  “Half a sec.,” said Jackson. “What’s the course?”

  “Oh, don’t you know that yet? Up to the town, round the island

  just below the bridge, – the island with the croquet ground on it, you

  know – and back again here. Ready?”

  “In a jiff y. Look here, Crowle, remember about steering. You

  pull the right line if you want to go to the right and the other if you

  want to go to the left.”

  “All right,” said the injured Crowle. “As if I didn’t know that.”

  “Th

  ought I’d mention it. It’s your fault. Nobody could tell by

  looking at you that you knew anything except how to eat. Ready,

  you chaps?”

  “When I say ‘Th

  ree,’” said Tomlin.

  It was a subject of heated discussion between the crews for weeks

  afterwards whether Dexter’s boat did or did not go off at the word

  “Two.” Opinions were divided on the topic. But it was certain that

  Jackson and his men led from the start. Pulling a good, splashing

  stroke which had drenched Crowle to the skin in the fi rst thirty

  yards, Dexter’s boat crept slowly ahead. By the time the island was

  reached, it led by a length. Encouraged by success, the leaders re-

  doubled their already energetic eff orts. Crowle sat in a shower-bath.

  He was even moved to speech about it.

  “When you’ve fi nished,” said Crowle.

  Jackson, intent upon repartee, caught a crab, and the School

  House drew level again. Th

  e two boats passed the island abreast.

  46

  THE WHITE FEATHER

  Just here occurred one of those unfortunate incidents. Both

  crews had quickened their stroke until the boats had practically been

  converted into submarines, and the rival coxswains were observing

  bitterly to space that this was jolly well the last time they ever let

  themselves in for this sort of thing, when round the island there

  hove in sight a fl otilla of boats, directly in the path of the racers.

  Th

  ere were three of them, and not even the spray which played

  over them like a fountain could prevent Crowle from seeing that

  they were manned by Judies. Even on the river these outcasts wore

  their mortar-boards.

  “Look out!” shrieked Crowle, pulling hard on his right line.

  “Stop rowing, you chaps. We shall be into them.”

  At the same moment the School House oarsmen ceased pulling.

  Th

  e two boats came to a halt a few yards from the enemy.

  “What’s up?” panted Jackson, crimson from his exertions. “Hul-

  lo, it’s the Judies!”

  Tomlin was parleying with the foe.

  “Why the dickens can’t you keep out of the way? Spoiling our

  race. Wait till we get ashore.”

  But the Judies, it seemed, were not prepared to wait even for

  that short space of time. A miscreant, larger than the common run

  of Judy, made a brief, but popular, address to his men.

  “Splash them!” he said.

  Instantly, amid shrieks of approval, oars began to strike the wa-

  ter, and the water began to fl y over the Wrykyn boats, which were

  now surrounded. Th

  e latter were not slow to join battle with the

  same weapons. Homeric laughter came from the bridge above. Th

  e

  town bridge was a sort of loafers’ club, to which the entrance fee

  was a screw of tobacco, and the subscription an occasional remark

  upon the weather. Here gathered together day by day that section

  of the populace which resented it when they “asked for employ-

  ment, and only got work instead”. From morn till eve they lounged

  against the balustrades, surveying nature, and hoping it would be

  kind enough to give them some excitement that day. An occasional

  dog-fi ght found in them an eager audience. No runaway horse ever

  bored them. A broken-down motor-car was meat and drink to them.

  Th

  ey had an appetite for every spectacle.

  When, therefore, the water began to fl y from boat to boat,

  kind-hearted men fetched their friends from neighbouring public

  47

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  houses and craned with them over the parapet, observing the sport

  and commenting thereon. It was these comments that attracted Mr

  Dexter’s attention. When, cycling across the bridge, he found the

  south side of it entirely congested, and heard raucous voices urging

  certain unseen “little ’uns” now to “go it” and anon to “vote for Ped-

  der”, his curiosity was aroused. He dismounted and pushed his way

  through the crowd until he got a clear view of what was happening

  below.

  He was just in time to see the most stirring incident of the fi ght.

  Th

  e biggest of the Judy boats had been propelled by the current

  nearer and nearer to the Dexter Argo. No sooner was it within dis-

  tance than Jackson, dropping his oar, grasped the side and pulled it

  towards him. Th

  e two boats crashed together and rocked violently

  as the crews rose from their seats and grappled with one another. A

  hurricane of laughter and applause went up from the crowd upon

  the bridge.

  Th

  e next moment both boats were bottom upwards and drifting

  sluggishly down towards the island, while the crews swam like rats

  for the other boats.

  Every Wrykinian had to learn to swim before he was allowed on

  the river; so that the peril of Jackson and his crew was not extreme:

  and it was soon speedily evident that swimming was also part of

  the Judy curriculum, for the shipwrecked ones were soon climbing

  drippingly on board the surviving ships, where they sat and made

  puddles, and shrieked defi ance at their antagonists.

  Th

  is was accepted by both sides as the end of the fi ght, and the

  combatants parted without further hostilities, each fl eet believing

  that the victory was with them.

  And Mr Dexter, mounting his bicycle again, rode home to tell

  the headmaster.

  Th

  at evening, after preparation, the headmaster held a recep-

  tion. Among distinguished visitors were Jackson, Painter, Tomlin,

  Crowle, and six others.

  On the Monday morning the headmaster issued a manifesto to

  the school after prayers. He had, he said, for some time entertained

  the idea of placing the town out of bounds. He would do so now. No

  boy, unless he was a prefect, would be allowed till further notice to

  cross the town bridge. As regarded the river, for the future boating

  Wrykinians must confi ne their attentions to the lower river. Nobody

  48

  THE WHITE FEATHER

 

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