Mike by P. G. Wodehouse (readnow .txt) 📕

past six struck, and then Psmith made a suggestion which altered the game completely.

“Why don’t you have a shot this end?” he said to Adair, as they were crossing over.  “There’s a spot on the off which might help you a lot.  You can break like blazes if only you land on it.  It doesn’t help my leg-breaks a bit, because they won’t hit at them.”

Barnes was on the point of beginning to bowl, when Adair took the ball from him.  The captain of Outwood’s retired to short leg with an air that suggested that he was glad to be relieved of his prominent post.

The next moment Drummond’s off-stump was lying at an angle of forty-five.  Adair was absolutely accurate as a bowler, and he had dropped his first ball right on the worn patch.

Two minutes later Drummond’s successor was retiring to the pavilion, while the wicket-keeper straightened the stumps again.

There is nothing like a couple of unexpected wickets for altering the atmosphere of a game.  Five minutes before, Sedleigh had been lethargic and without hope.  Now there was a stir and buzz all round the ground.  There were twenty-five minutes to go, and five wickets were down.  Sedleigh was on top again.

The next man seemed to take an age coming out.  As a matter of fact, he walked more rapidly than a batsman usually walks to the crease.

Adair’s third ball dropped just short of the spot.  The batsman, hitting out, was a shade too soon.  The ball hummed through the air a couple of feet from the ground in the direction of mid-off, and Mike, diving to the right, got to it as he was falling, and chucked it up.

After that the thing was a walk-over.  Psmith clean bowled a man in his next over; and the tail, demoralised by the sudden change in the game, collapsed uncompromisingly.  Sedleigh won by thirty-five runs with eight minutes in hand.

Psmith and Mike sat in their study after lock-up, discussing things in general and the game in particular.

“I feel like a beastly renegade, playing against Wrykyn,” said Mike.  “Still, I’m glad we won.  Adair’s a jolly good sort, and it’ll make him happy for weeks.”

“When I last saw Comrade Adair,” said Psmith, “he was going about in a sort of trance, beaming vaguely and wanting to stand people things at the shop.”

“He bowled awfully well.”

“Yes,” said Psmith.  “I say, I don’t wish to cast a gloom over this joyful occasion in any way, but you say Wrykyn are going to give Sedleigh a fixture again next year?”

“Well?”

“Well, have you thought of the massacre which will ensue?  You will have left, Adair will have left.  Incidentally, I shall have left.  Wrykyn will swamp them.”

“I suppose they will.  Still, the great thing, you see, is to get the thing started.  That’s what Adair was so keen on.  Now Sedleigh has beaten Wrykyn, he’s satisfied.  They can get on fixtures with decent clubs, and work up to playing the big schools.  You’ve got to start somehow.  So it’s all right, you see.”

“And, besides,” said Psmith, reflectively, “in an emergency they can always get Comrade Downing to bowl for them, what?  Let us now sally out and see if we can’t promote a rag of some sort in this abode of wrath.  Comrade Outwood has gone over to dinner at the School House, and it would be a pity to waste a somewhat golden opportunity.  Shall we stagger?”

They staggered.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mike, by P. G. Wodehouse