this side issue, the speaker lost his inspiration, and abruptly concluded his remarks by putting Mike on to translate in Cicero. Which Mike, who happened to have prepared the first half-page, did with much success.
The Old Boys' match was timed to begin shortly after eleven o'clock. During the interval most of the school walked across the field to look at the pitch. One or two of the Old Boys had already changed and were practicing in front of the pavilion.
It was through one of these batsmen that an accident occurred which had a good deal of influence on Mike's affairs.
Mike had strolled out by himself. Halfway across the field Jellicoe joined him. Jellicoe was cheerful, and rather embarrassingly grateful. He was just in the middle of his harangue when the accident happened.
To their left, as they crossed the field, a long youth, with the faint beginnings of a moustache and a blazer that lit up the surrounding landscape like a glowing beacon, was lashing out recklessly at a friend's bowling. Already he had gone within an ace of slaying a small boy. As Mike and Jellicoe proceeded on their way, there was a shout of "Heads!"
The almost universal habit of batsmen of shouting "Heads!" at whatever height from the ground the ball may be, is not a little confusing. The average person, on hearing the shout, puts his hands over his skull, crouches down and trusts to luck. This is an excellent plan if the ball is falling, but is not much protection against a skimming drive along the ground.
When "Heads!" was called on the present occasion, Mike and Jellicoe instantly assumed the crouching attitude.
Jellicoe was the first to abandon it. He uttered a yell and sprang into the air. After which he sat down and began to nurse his ankle.
The bright-blazered youth walked up.
"Awfully sorry, you know. Hurt?"
Jellicoe was pressing the injured spot tenderly with his fingertips, uttering sharp howls whenever, zeal outrunning discretion, he prodded himself too energetically.
"Silly ass, Dunster," he groaned, "slamming about like that."
"Awfully sorry. But I did yell."
"It's swelling up rather," said Mike. "You'd better get over to the house and have it looked at. Can you walk?"
Jellicoe tried, but sat down again with a loud "Ow!" At that moment the bell rang.
"I shall have to be going in," said Mike, "or I'd have helped you over."
"I'll give you a hand," said Dunster.
He helped the sufferer to his feet and they staggered off together, Jellicoe hopping, Dunster advancing with a sort of polka step. Mike watched them start and then turned to go in.
14
MIKE RECEIVES A COMMISSION
There is only one thing to be said in favor of detention on a fine summer's afternoon, and that is that it is very pleasant to come out of. The sun never seems so bright or the turf so green as during the first five minutes after one has come out of the detention room. One feels as if one were entering a new and very delightful world. There is also a touch of the Rip van Winkle feeling. Everything seems to have gone on and left one behind. Mike, as he walked to the cricket field, felt very much behind the times.
Arriving on the field he found the Old Boys batting. He stopped and watched an over of Adair's. The fifth ball bowled a man. Mike made his way toward the pavilion.
Before he got there he heard his name called, and turning, found Psmith seated under a tree with the bright-blazered Dunster.
"Return of the exile," said Psmith. "A joyful occasion tinged with melancholy. Have a cherry?--take one or two. These little acts of unremembered kindness are what one needs after a couple of hours in extra pupil room. Restore your tissues, Comrade Jackson, and when you have finished those, apply again."
"Is your name Jackson?" inquired Dunster, "because Jellicoe wants to see you."
"Alas, poor Jellicoe!" said Psmith. "He is now prone on his bed in the dormitory--there a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Jellicoe, the darling of the crew, faithful below he did his duty, but Comrade Dunster has broached him to. I have just been hearing the melancholy details."
"Old Smith and I," said Dunster, "were at prep school together. I'd no idea I should find him here."
"It was a wonderfully stirring sight when we met," said Psmith; "not unlike the meeting of Ulysses and the hound Argos, of whom you have doubtless read in the course of your dabblings in the classics. I was Ulysses; Dunster gave a lifelike representation of the faithful dawg."
"You still jaw as much as ever, I notice," said the animal delineator, fondling the beginnings of his moustache.
"More," sighed Psmith, "more. Is anything irritating you?" he added, eyeing the other's maneuvers with interest.
"You needn't be a funny ass, man," said Dunster, pained; "heaps of people tell me I ought to have it waxed."
"What it really wants is top-dressing with guano. Hello! another man out. Adair's bowling better today than he did yesterday."
"I heard about yesterday," said Dunster. "It must have been a rag! Couldn't we work off some other rag on somebody before I go? I shall be stopping here till Monday in the village. Well hit, sir--Adair's bowling is perfectly simple if you go out to it."
"Comrade Dunster went out to it first ball," said Psmith to Mike.
"Oh! chuck it, man; the sun was in my eyes. I hear Adair's got a match on with the M.C.C. at last."
"Has he?" said Psmith; "I hadn't heard. Archaeology claims so much of my time that I have little leisure for listening to cricket chitchat."
"What was it Jellicoe wanted?" asked Mike; "was it anything important?"
"He seemed to think so--he kept telling me to tell you to go and see him."
"I fear Comrade Jellicoe is a bit of a weak-minded blitherer--"
"Did you ever hear of a rag we worked off on Jellicoe once?" asked Dunster. "The man has absolutely no sense of humor--can't see when he's being rotted. Well, it was like this--hello! We're all out--I shall have to be going out to field again, I suppose, dash it! I'll tell you when I see you again."
"I shall count the minutes," said Psmith.
Mike stretched himself; the sun was very soothing after his two hours in the detention room; he felt disinclined for exertion.
"I don't suppose it's anything special about Jellicoe, do you?" he said. "I mean, it'll keep till teatime; it's no catch having to sweat across to the house now."
"Don't dream of moving," said Psmith. "I have several rather profound observations on life to make and I can't make them without an audience. Soliloquy is a knack. Hamlet had got it, but probably only after years of patient practice. Personally, I
