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In all the stories he had read the whole school came back by the same train, and, having smashed in one another's hats and chaffed the porters, made their way to the school buildings in a solid column. But here they were alone. A remark of Bob's to Firby-Smith explained this. "Can't make out why none of the fellows came back by this train," he said.
"Nor do I. Rather rot, though, if he lugged your brother into a row by accident." "I should get blamed. I think I'll speak to him again." "I should, I think." "I hope he isn't idiot enough to go out at night with Wyatt. If Wyatt likes to risk it, all right. That's his look out. But it won't do for Mike to go playing the goat too." "Clowes suggested putting Firby-Smith on to him.
And only a prefects' meeting, thought Firby-Smith, could adequately avenge his lacerated dignity. "I want to speak to you, Burgess," he said. "What's up?" said Burgess. "You know young Jackson in our house." "What about him?" "He's been frightfully insolent." "Cheeked you?" said Burgess, a man of simple speech. "I want you to call a prefects' meeting, and lick him." Burgess looked incredulous.
"Frightful nuisance, all the same. Lots of things in it I wanted." "Oh, never mind, it's all right. I say, what have you been doing in the holidays? I didn't know you lived on this line at all." From this point onwards Mike was out of the conversation altogether. Bob and Firby-Smith talked of Wrykyn, discussing events of the previous term of which Mike had never heard.
But, as the poet has it, "Pleasure is pleasure, and biz is biz, and kep' in a sepyrit jug." The first duty of a captain is to have no friends. From small causes great events do spring. If Burgess had not picked up a particularly interesting novel after breakfast on the morning of Mike's interview with Firby-Smith in the study, the list would have gone up on the notice-board after prayers.
By the way, rather lucky you've met. He's in your house. Firby-Smith's head of Wain's, Mike." Mike gathered that Gazeka and Firby-Smith were one and the same person. He grinned again. Firby-Smith continued to look ruffled, though not aggressive. "Oh, are you in Wain's?" he said. "I say, Bob," said Mike, "I've made rather an ass of myself." "Naturally." "I mean, what happened was this.
Then the Jekyll and Hyde business completed itself. He suppressed his personal feelings, and became the cricket captain again. It was the cricket captain who, towards the end of the evening, came upon Firby-Smith and Mike parting at the conclusion of a conversation.
He was bowling now to one of the old colours whose name Mike did not know. Wyatt and one of the professionals were the other two bowlers. Two nets away Firby-Smith, who had changed his pince-nez for a pair of huge spectacles, was performing rather ineffectively against some very bad bowling. Mike fixed his attention on the first eleven man. He was evidently a good bat.
He was enjoying life amazingly, and, as is not uncommon with the prosperous, he waxed fat and kicked. Fortunately for him though he did not look upon it in that light at the time he kicked the one person it was most imprudent to kick. The person he selected was Firby-Smith.
All he considered was that the story of his dealings with Mike showed him, Firby-Smith, in the favourable and dashing character of the fellow-who-will-stand-no-nonsense, a sort of Captain Kettle on dry land, in fact; and so he proceeded to tell it in detail. Burgess parted with him with the firm conviction that Mike was a young slacker.
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