The White Feather | Page 3

the only chap we have who's up to Aldershot form. And
nobody else'll take the trouble to practice. They're all too slack."

"In fact," said Clowes, getting up, "as was only to be expected, the
school started going to the dogs directly I left. We shall have to be
pushing on now, Allardyce. We promised to look in on Seymour before
we went to bed. Friend let us away."
"Good night," said Allardyce.
"What you want," said Clowes solemnly, "is a liver pill. You are
looking on life too gloomily. Take a pill. Let there be no stint. Take
two. Then we shall hear your merry laugh ringing through the old
cloisters once more. Buck up and be a bright and happy lad,
Allardyce."
"Take more than a pill to make me that," growled that soured
footballer.
Mr Seymour's views on the school resembled those of Allardyce.
Wrykyn, in his opinion, was suffering from a reaction.
"It's always the same," he said, "after a very good year. Boys leave, and
it's hard to fill their places. I must say I did not expect quite such a
clearing out after the summer. We have had bad luck in that way.
Maurice, for instance, and Robinson both ought to have had another
year at school. It was quite unexpected, their leaving. They would have
made all the difference to the forwards. You must have somebody to
lead the pack who has had a little experience of first fifteen matches."
"But even then" said Clowes, "they oughtn't to be so rank as they were
this afternoon. They seemed such slackers."
"I'm afraid that's the failing of the school just now," agreed Mr
Seymour. "They don't play themselves out. They don't put just that last
ounce into their work which makes all the difference."
Clowes thought of saying that, to judge by appearances, they did not
put in even the first ounce; but refrained. However low an opinion a
games' master may have--and even express--of his team, he does not
like people to agree too cordially with his criticisms.
"Allardyce seems rather sick about it," said Trevor.
"I am sorry for Allardyce. It is always unpleasant to be the only
survivor of an exceptionally good team. He can't forget last year's
matches, and suffers continual disappointments because the present
team does not play up to the same form."
"He was saying something about rows with the town," said Trevor,
after a pause.

"Yes, there has certainly been some unpleasantness lately. It is the
penalty we pay for being on the outskirts of a town. Four years out of
five nothing happens. But in the fifth, when the school has got a little
out of hand--"
"Oh, then it really has got out of hand?" asked Clowes.
"Between ourselves, yes," admitted Mr Seymour.
"What sort of rows?" asked Trevor.
Mr Seymour couldn't explain exactly. Nothing, as it were, definite--as
yet. No actual complaints so far. But still--well, trouble--yes, trouble.
"For instance," he said, "a boy in my house, Linton--you remember
him?--is moving in society at this moment with a swollen lip and minus
a front tooth. Of course, I know nothing about it, but I fancy he got into
trouble in the town. That is merely a straw which shows how the wind
is blowing, but if you lived on the spot you would see more what I
mean. There is trouble in the air. And now that this election is coming
on, I should not wonder if things came to a head. I can't remember a
single election in Wrykyn when there was not disorder in the town.
And if the school is going to join in, as it probably will, I shall not be
sorry when the holidays come. I know the headmaster is only waiting
for an excuse to put the town out of bounds.'
"But the kids have always had a few rows on with that school in the
High Street--what's it's name--St Something?" said Clowes.
"Jude's," supplied Trevor.
"St Jude's!" said Mr Seymour. "Have they? I didn't know that."
"Oh yes. I don't know how it started, but it's been going on for two or
three years now. It's a School House feud really, but Dexter's are mixed
up in it somehow. If a School House fag goes down town he runs like
an antelope along the High Street, unless he's got one or two friends
with him. I saved dozens of kids from destruction when I was at school.
The St Jude's fellows lie in wait, and dash out on them. I used to find
School House fags fighting for their lives in back alleys. The enemy
fled on my approach. My air of majesty overawed them."
"But a junior school feud matters very little," said Mr Seymour. "You
say it