The Pothunters | Page 8

inspecting the First Eleven pitch on
the morning of a match--a curious custom, by the way, but one very
generally observed.
Then the official news of the extent of the robbery was spread abroad.
It appeared that the burglar had by no means done the profession credit,
for out of a vast collection of prizes ranging from the vast and silver
Mile Challenge Cup to the pair of fives-gloves with which the 'under
twelve' disciple of Deerfoot was to be rewarded, he had selected only
three. Two of these were worth having, being the challenge cup for the
quarter and the non-challenge cup for the hundred yards, both silver,

but the third was a valueless flask, and the general voice of the School
was loud in condemning the business abilities of one who could select
his swag in so haphazard a manner. It was felt to detract from the merit
of the performance. The knowing ones, however, gave it as their
opinion that the man must have been frightened by something, and so
was unable to give the matter his best attention and do himself justice
as a connoisseur.
'We had a burglary at my place once,' began Reade, of Philpott's House.
'The man--'
'That rotter, Reade,' said Barrett, also of Philpott's, 'has been telling us
that burglary chestnut of his all the morning. I wish you chaps wouldn't
encourage him.'
'Why, what was it? First I've heard of it, at any rate.' Dallas and
Vaughan, of Ward's, added themselves to the group. 'Out with it,
Reade,' said Vaughan.
'It's only a beastly reminiscence of Reade's childhood,' said Barrett. 'A
burglar got into the wine-cellar and collared all the coals.'
'He didn't. He was in the hall, and my pater got his revolver--'
'While you hid under the bed.'
'--and potted at him over the banisters.'
'The last time but three you told the story, your pater fired through the
keyhole of the dining-room.'
'You idiot, that was afterwards.'
'Oh, well, what does it matter? Tell us something fresh.'
'It's my opinion,' said Dallas, 'that Ward did it. A man of the vilest
antecedents. He's capable of anything from burglary--'
'To attempted poisoning. You should see what we get to eat in Ward's
House,' said Vaughan.
'Ward's the worst type of beak. He simply lives for the sake of booking
chaps. If he books a chap out of bounds it keeps him happy for a week.'
'A man like that's bound to be a criminal of sorts in his spare time. It's
action and reaction,' said Vaughan.
Mr Ward happening to pass at this moment, the speaker went on to ask
Dallas audibly if life was worth living, and Dallas replied that under
certain conditions and in some Houses it was not.
Dallas and Vaughan did not like Mr Ward. Mr Ward was not the sort of
man who inspires affection. He had an unpleasant habit of 'jarring', as it

was called. That is to say, his conversation was shaped to one single
end, that of trying to make the person to whom he talked feel
uncomfortable. Many of his jars had become part of the School history.
There was a legend that on one occasion he had invited his prefects to
supper, and regaled them with sausages. There was still one prefect
unhelped. To him he addressed himself.
'A sausage, Jones?'
'If you please, sir.'
'No, you won't, then, because I'm going to have half myself.'
This story may or may not be true. Suffice it to say, that Mr Ward was
not popular.
The discussion was interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing for
second lesson. The problem was left unsolved. It was evident that the
burglar had been interrupted, but how or why nobody knew. The
suggestion that he had heard Master R. Robinson training for his
quarter-mile, and had thought it was an earthquake, found much favour
with the junior portion of the assembly. Simpson, on whom Robinson
had been given start in the race, expressed an opinion that he, Robinson,
ran like a cow. At which Robinson smiled darkly, and advised the other
to wait till Sports Day and then he'd see, remarking that, meanwhile, if
he gave him any of his cheek he might not be well enough to run at all.
'This sort of thing,' said Barrett to Reade, as they walked to their
form-room, 'always makes me feel beastly. Once start a row like this,
and all the beaks turn into regular detectives and go ferreting about all
over the place, and it's ten to one they knock up against something one
doesn't want them to know about.'
Reade was feeling hurt. He had objected to the way in which Barrett
had spoiled a story that might easily have been true, and really