Mike by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (most popular novels .TXT) 📕

CHAPTER V

REVELRY BY NIGHT

 

A succession of events combined to upset Mike during his first

fortnight at school. He was far more successful than he had any right

to be at his age. There is nothing more heady than success, and if it

comes before we are prepared for it, it is apt to throw us off our

balance. As a rule, at school, years of wholesome obscurity make us

ready for any small triumphs we may achieve at the end of our time

there. Mike had skipped these years. He was older than the average new

boy, and his batting was undeniable. He knew quite well that he was

regarded as a find by the cricket authorities; and the knowledge was

not particularly good for him. It did not make him conceited, for his

was not a nature at all addicted to conceit. The effect it had on him

was to make him excessively pleased with life. And when Mike was

pleased with life he always found a difficulty in obeying Authority

and its rules. His state of mind was not improved by an interview with

Bob.

 

Some evil genius put it into Bob’s mind that it was his duty to be, if

only for one performance, the Heavy Elder Brother to Mike; to give him

good advice. It is never the smallest use for an elder brother to

attempt to do anything for the good of a younger brother at school,

for the latter rebels automatically against such interference in his

concerns; but Bob did not know this. He only knew that he had received

a letter from home, in which his mother had assumed without evidence

that he was leading Mike by the hand round the pitfalls of life at

Wrykyn; and his conscience smote him. Beyond asking him occasionally,

when they met, how he was getting on (a question to which Mike

invariably replied, “Oh, all right”), he was not aware of having done

anything brotherly towards the youngster. So he asked Mike to tea in

his study one afternoon before going to the nets.

 

Mike arrived, sidling into the study in the half-sheepish, half-defiant

manner peculiar to small brothers in the presence of their elders, and

stared in silence at the photographs on the walls. Bob was changing into

his cricket things. The atmosphere was one of constraint and awkwardness.

 

The arrival of tea was the cue for conversation.

 

“Well, how are you getting on?” asked Bob.

 

“Oh, all right,” said Mike.

 

Silence.

 

“Sugar?” asked Bob.

 

“Thanks,” said Mike.

 

“How many lumps?”

 

“Two, please.”

 

“Cake?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Silence.

 

Bob pulled himself together.

 

“Like Wain’s?”

 

“Ripping.”

 

“I asked Firby-Smith to keep an eye on you,” said Bob.

 

“What!” said Mike.

 

The mere idea of a worm like the Gazeka being told to keep an eye on

him was degrading.

 

“He said he’d look after you,” added Bob, making things worse.

 

Look after him! Him!! M. Jackson, of the third eleven!!!

 

Mike helped himself to another chunk of cake, and spoke crushingly.

 

“He needn’t trouble,” he said. “I can look after myself all right,

thanks.”

 

Bob saw an opening for the entry of the Heavy Elder Brother.

 

“Look here, Mike,” he said, “I’m only saying it for your good–-”

 

I should like to state here that it was not Bob’s habit to go about

the world telling people things solely for their good. He was only

doing it now to ease his conscience.

 

“Yes?” said Mike coldly.

 

“It’s only this. You know, I should keep an eye on myself if I were

you. There’s nothing that gets a chap so barred here as side.”

 

“What do you mean?” said Mike, outraged.

 

“Oh, I’m not saying anything against you so far,” said Bob. “You’ve

been all right up to now. What I mean to say is, you’ve got on so well

at cricket, in the third and so on, there’s just a chance you might

start to side about a bit soon, if you don’t watch yourself. I’m not

saying a word against you so far, of course. Only you see what I

mean.”

 

Mike’s feelings were too deep for words. In sombre silence he reached

out for the jam; while Bob, satisfied that he had delivered his

message in a pleasant and tactful manner, filled his cup, and cast

about him for further words of wisdom.

 

“Seen you about with Wyatt a good deal,” he said at length.

 

“Yes,” said Mike.

 

“Like him?”

 

“Yes,” said Mike cautiously.

 

“You know,” said Bob, “I shouldn’t—I mean, I should take care what

you’re doing with Wyatt.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, he’s an awfully good chap, of course, but still–-”

 

“Still what?”

 

“Well, I mean, he’s the sort of chap who’ll probably get into some

thundering row before he leaves. He doesn’t care a hang what he does.

He’s that sort of chap. He’s never been dropped on yet, but if you go

on breaking rules you’re bound to be sooner or later. Thing is, it

doesn’t matter much for him, because he’s leaving at the end of the

term. But don’t let him drag you into anything. Not that he would try

to. But you might think it was the blood thing to do to imitate him,

and the first thing you knew you’d be dropped on by Wain or somebody.

See what I mean?”

 

Bob was well-intentioned, but tact did not enter greatly into his

composition.

 

“What rot!” said Mike.

 

“All right. But don’t you go doing it. I’m going over to the nets. I

see Burgess has shoved you down for them. You’d better be going and

changing. Stick on here a bit, though, if you want any more tea. I’ve

got to be off myself.”

 

Mike changed for net-practice in a ferment of spiritual injury. It was

maddening to be treated as an infant who had to be looked after. He

felt very sore against Bob.

 

A good innings at the third eleven net, followed by some strenuous

fielding in the deep, soothed his ruffled feelings to a large extent;

and all might have been well but for the intervention of Firby-Smith.

 

That youth, all spectacles and front teeth, met Mike at the door of

Wain’s.

 

“Ah, I wanted to see you, young man,” he said. (Mike disliked being

called “young man.”) “Come up to my study.”

 

Mike followed him in silence to his study, and preserved his silence

till Firby-Smith, having deposited his cricket-bag in a corner of the

room and examined himself carefully in a looking-glass that hung over

the mantelpiece, spoke again.

 

“I’ve been hearing all about you, young man.” Mike shuffled.

 

“You’re a frightful character from all accounts.” Mike could not think

of anything to say that was not rude, so said nothing.

 

“Your brother has asked me to keep an eye on you.”

 

Mike’s soul began to tie itself into knots again. He was just at the

age when one is most sensitive to patronage and most resentful of it.

 

“I promised I would,” said the Gazeka, turning round and examining

himself in the mirror again. “You’ll get on all right if you behave

yourself. Don’t make a frightful row in the house. Don’t cheek your

elders and betters. Wash. That’s all. Cut along.”

 

Mike had a vague idea of sacrificing his career to the momentary

pleasure of flinging a chair at the head of the house. Overcoming this

feeling, he walked out of the room, and up to his dormitory to change.

 

*

 

In the dormitory that night the feeling of revolt, of wanting to

do something actively illegal, increased. Like Eric, he burned, not

with shame and remorse, but with rage and all that sort of thing.

He dropped off to sleep full of half-formed plans for asserting

himself. He was awakened from a dream in which he was batting against

Firby-Smith’s bowling, and hitting it into space every time, by a

slight sound. He opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure silhouetted

against the light of the window. He sat up in bed.

 

“Hullo,” he said. “Is that you, Wyatt?”

 

“Are you awake?” said Wyatt. “Sorry if I’ve spoiled your beauty

sleep.”

 

“Are you going out?”

 

“I am,” said Wyatt. “The cats are particularly strong on the wing just

now. Mustn’t miss a chance like this. Specially as there’s a good

moon, too. I shall be deadly.”

 

“I say, can’t I come too?”

 

A moonlight prowl, with or without an air-pistol, would just have

suited Mike’s mood.

 

“No, you can’t,” said Wyatt. “When I’m caught, as I’m morally certain

to be some day, or night rather, they’re bound to ask if you’ve ever

been out as well as me. Then you’ll be able to put your hand on your

little heart and do a big George Washington act. You’ll find that

useful when the time comes.”

 

“Do you think you will be caught?”

 

“Shouldn’t be surprised. Anyhow, you stay where you are. Go to sleep

and dream that you’re playing for the school against Ripton. So long.”

 

And Wyatt, laying the bar he had extracted on the window-sill,

wriggled out. Mike saw him disappearing along the wall.

 

*

 

It was all very well for Wyatt to tell him to go to sleep, but it was

not so easy to do it. The room was almost light; and Mike always found

it difficult to sleep unless it was dark. He turned over on his side

and shut his eyes,