Tales of St. Austins | Page 7

him, and went on his way.
Harrison watched him go with mixed feelings. Righteous indignation
struggled with the gravest apprehension regarding his own future. If
Merevale should see him! Horrible thought. He ran. He had just
reached the House, and was congratulating himself on having escaped,
when the worst happened. At the private entrance stood Merevale, and
with him the Headmaster himself. They both eyed him with
considerable interest as he shot in at the boys' entrance.
'Harrison,' said Merevale after breakfast.
'Yes, sir?'
'The Headmaster wishes to see you--again.'
'Yes, sir,' said Harrison.
There was a curious lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

[3]
L'AFFAIRE UNCLE JOHN (_A Story in Letters_)

I
From Richard Venables, of St Austin's School, to his brother Archibald

Venables, of King's College, Cambridge:
Dear Archie--I take up my pen to write to you, not as one hoping for an
answer, but rather in order that (you notice the Thucydidean
construction) I may tell you of an event the most important of those
that have gone before. You may or may not have heard far-off echoes
of my adventure with Uncle John, who has just come back from the
diamond-mines--and looks it. It happened thusly:
Last Wednesday evening I was going through the cricket field to meet
Uncle John, at the station, as per esteemed favour from the governor,
telling me to. Just as I got on the scene, to my horror, amazement, and
disgust, I saw a middle-aged bounder, in loud checks, who, from his
looks, might have been anything from a retired pawnbroker to a
second-hand butler, sacked from his last place for stealing the sherry,
standing in the middle of the field, on the very wicket the Rugborough
match is to be played on next Saturday (tomorrow), and
digging--_digging_--I'll trouble you. Excavating great chunks of our
best turf with a walking-stick. I was so unnerved, I nearly fainted. It's
bad enough being captain of a School team under any circs., as far as
putting you off your game goes, but when you see the wicket you've
been rolling by day, and dreaming about by night, being mangled by an
utter stranger--well! They say a cow is slightly irritated when her calf is
taken away from her, but I don't suppose the most maternal cow that
ever lived came anywhere near the frenzy that surged up in my bosom
at that moment. I flew up to him, foaming at the mouth. 'My dear sir,' I
shrieked, 'are you aware that you're spoiling the best wicket that has
ever been prepared since cricket began?' He looked at me, in a dazed
sort of way, and said, 'What?' I said: 'How on earth do you think we're
going to play Rugborough on a ploughed field?' 'I don't follow, mister,'
he replied. A man who calls you 'mister' is beyond the pale. You are
justified in being a little rude to him. So I said: 'Then you must be
either drunk or mad, and I trust it's the latter.' I believe that's from some
book, though I don't remember which. This did seem to wake him up a
bit, but before he could frame his opinion in words, up came Biffen, the
ground-man, to have a last look at his wicket before retiring for the
night. When he saw the holes--they were about a foot deep, and
scattered promiscuously, just where two balls out of three pitch--he
almost had hysterics. I gently explained the situation to him, and left

him to settle with my friend of the check suit. Biffen was just settling
down to a sort of Philippic when I went, and I knew that I had left the
man in competent hands. Then I went to the station. The train I had
been told to meet was the 5.30. By the way, of course, I didn't know in
the least what Uncle John was like, not having seen him since I was
about one-and-a-half, but I had been told to look out for a tall, rather
good-looking man. Well, the 5.30 came in all right, but none of the
passengers seemed to answer to the description. The ones who were tall
were not good looking, and the only man who was good looking stood
five feet nothing in his boots. I did ask him if he was Mr John Dalgliesh;
but, his name happening to be Robinson, he could not oblige. I sat out a
couple more trains, and then went back to the field. The man had gone,
but Biffen was still there. 'Was you expecting anyone today, sir?' he
asked, as I came up. 'Yes. Why?' I said. 'That was 'im,' said Biffen. By
skilful questioning, I elicited the whole thing. It seems that the
fearsome bargee, in checks, was the governor's