Tales of St. Austins | Page 6

clean out. So was the lbw. I say, did you
think that ball that bowled you was a chuck? That one in my first over,
you know.'
'Chuck! My dear Tony, you don't mean to say that man pulled you up
for chucking? I thought your foot must have gone over the crease.'
'I believe the chap's mad,' said Tony.
'Perhaps he's taking it out of you this way for treading on his corns
somehow. Have you been milling with this gentle youth lately?'
'By Jove,' said Tony, 'you're right. I gave him beans only the other night
for ragging in the dormitory.'
Scott laughed.
'Well, he seems to have been getting a bit of his own back today. Lucky
the game was only a friendly. Why will you let your angry passions rise,
Tony? You've wrecked your analysis by it, though it's improved my
average considerably. I don't know if that's any solid satisfaction to
you.'
'It isn't.'
'You don't say so! Well, so long. If I were you, I should keep an eye on
that conscientious umpire.'
'I will,' said Tony. 'Good-night.'
The process of keeping an eye on Harrison brought no results. When he
wished to behave himself well, he could. On such occasions Sandford
and Merton were literally not in it with him, and the hero of a
Sunday-school story would simply have refused to compete. But
Nemesis, as the poets tell us, though no sprinter, manages, like the
celebrated Maisie, to get right there in time. Give her time, and she will

arrive. She arrived in the case of Harrison. One morning, about a
fortnight after the House-match incident, Harrison awoke with a new
sensation. At first he could not tell what exactly this sensation was, and
being too sleepy to discuss nice points of internal emotion with himself,
was just turning over with the intention of going to sleep again, when
the truth flashed upon him. The sensation he felt was loneliness, and
the reason he felt lonely was because he was the only occupant of the
dormitory. To right and left and all around were empty beds.
As he mused drowsily on these portents, the distant sound of a bell
came to his ears and completed the cure. It was the bell for chapel. He
dragged his watch from under his pillow, and looked at it with
consternation. Four minutes to seven. And chapel was at seven. Now
Harrison had been late for chapel before. It was not the thought of
missing the service that worried him. What really was serious was that
he had been late so many times before that Merevale had hinted at
serious steps to be taken if he were late again, or, at any rate, until a
considerable interval of punctuality had elapsed.
That threat had been uttered only yesterday, and here he was in all
probability late once more.
There was no time to dress. He sprang out of bed, passed a sponge over
his face as a concession to the decencies, and looked round for
something to cover his night-shirt, which, however suitable for
dormitory use, was, he felt instinctively, scarcely the garment to wear
in public.
Fate seemed to fight for him. On one of the pegs in the wall hung a
mackintosh, a large, blessed mackintosh. He was inside it in a moment.
Four minutes later he rushed into his place in chapel.
The short service gave him some time for recovering himself. He left
the building feeling a new man. His costume, though quaint, would not
call for comment. Chapel at St Austin's was never a full-dress
ceremony. Mackintoshes covering night-shirts were the rule rather than
the exception.
But between his costume and that of the rest there was this subtle
distinction. They wore their own mackintoshes. He wore somebody
else's.
The bulk of the School had split up into sections, each section making
for its own House, and Merevale's was already in sight, when Harrison

felt himself grasped from behind. He turned, to see Graham.
'Might I ask,' enquired Tony with great politeness, 'who said you might
wear my mackintosh?'
Harrison gasped.
'I suppose you didn't know it was mine?'
'No, no, rather not. I didn't know.'
'And if you had known it was mine, you wouldn't have taken it, I
suppose?'
'Oh no, of course not,' said Harrison. Graham seemed to be taking an
unexpectedly sensible view of the situation.
'Well,' said Tony, 'now that you know that it is mine, suppose you give
it up.'
'Give it up!'
'Yes; buck up. It looks like rain, and I mustn't catch cold.'
'But, Graham, I've only got on--'
'Spare us these delicate details. Mack up, please, I want it.'
Finally, Harrison appearing to be difficult in the matter, Tony took the
garment off for