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Updated: June 3, 2025
Adair was the exception. To Adair, Sedleigh was almost a religion. Both his parents were dead; his guardian, with whom he spent the holidays, was a man with neuralgia at one end of him and gout at the other; and the only really pleasant times Adair had had, as far back as he could remember, he owed to Sedleigh. The place had grown on him, absorbed him.
Wilson departed with the air of a man who has had a great deal of fun, and paid very little for it. Mr. Downing turned to Mike. "You will stay in on Saturday afternoon, Jackson; it will interfere with your Archaeological studies, I fear, but it may teach you that we have no room at Sedleigh for boys who spend their time loafing about and making themselves a nuisance.
The football fifteen had been hopeless, and had lost both the Ripton matches, the return by over sixty points. Sheen's victory in the light-weights at Aldershot had been their one success. And now, on top of all this, the captain of cricket was removed during the Easter holidays. Mike's heart bled for Wrykyn, and he found himself loathing Sedleigh and all its works with a great loathing.
They were useful at cricket, but apt not to take Sedleigh as seriously as he could have wished. As for Mike, he now found them pleasant company, and began to get out the tea things. "Those Fire Brigade meetings," said Stone, "are a rag. You can do what you like, and you never get more than a hundred lines." "Don't you!" said Mike. "I got Saturday afternoon." "What!" "Is Wilson in too?" "No.
Barlitt's mind was massive, but his topics of conversation were not Mike's. "Mr. Barlitt speaks very highly of Sedleigh," added Mr. Jackson. Mike said nothing, which was a good deal better than saying what he would have liked to have said.
But Adair and Psmith, helped by the wicket, had never been easy, especially Psmith, who had taken six wickets, his slows playing havoc with the tail. It would be too much to say that Sedleigh had any hope of pulling the game out of the fire; but it was a comfort, they felt, at any rate, having another knock.
Adair, as captain of cricket, had naturally selected the best for his own match. It was a good wicket, Mike saw. As a matter of fact the wickets at Sedleigh were nearly always good. Adair had infected the groundsman with some of his own keenness, with the result that that once-leisurely official now found himself sometimes, with a kind of mild surprise, working really hard.
He made no attempt to appeal against the sentence. He knew it would be useless, his father, when he made up his mind, having all the unbending tenacity of the normally easy-going man. Mr. Jackson was sorry for Mike. He understood him, and for that reason he said very little now. "I am sending you to Sedleigh," was his next remark. Sedleigh! Mike sat up with a jerk.
"For the school, sir?" inquired the solitary porter, bustling up, as if he hoped by sheer energy to deceive the traveller into thinking that Sedleigh station was staffed by a great army of porters. Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812, and said, "So you're back from Moscow, eh?" Mike was feeling thoroughly jaundiced.
Barlitt's mind was massive, but his topics of conversation were not Mike's. "Mr. Barlitt speaks very highly of Sedleigh," added Mr. Jackson. Mike said nothing, which was a good deal better than saying what he would have liked to have said.
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