The school was always
anxious for a row, but it was the unwritten law that only in special circumstances
should they proceed to active measures. A curious dislike for school-and-town
rows and most misplaced severity in dealing with the offenders when they took place,
were among the few flaws in the otherwise admirable character of the headmaster
of Wrykyn. It was understood that one scragged town types at one’s own risk,
and, as a rule, it was not considered worth it.
But
after an excellent supper and much singing and joviality, one’s views are apt
to alter. Risks which before supper seemed great, show a tendency to dwindle.
When,
therefore, the twenty or so Wrykynians who were dancing round the lamp-post
were aware, in the midst of their festivities, that they were being observed
and criticized by an equal number of townees, and that the criticisms were, as
usual, essentially candid and personal, they found themselves forgetting the
headmaster’s prejudices and feeling only that these outsiders must be put to
the sword as speedily as possible, for the honour of the school.
Possibly,
if the town brigade had stuck to a purely verbal form of attack, all might yet
have been peace. Words can be overlooked.
But
tomatoes cannot.
No man
of spirit can bear to be pelted with over-ripe tomatoes for any length of time
without feeling that if the thing goes on much longer he will be reluctantly
compelled to take steps.
In the
present crisis, the first tomato was enough to set matters moving.
As the
two armies stood facing each other in silence under the dim and mysterious rays
of the lamp, it suddenly whizzed out from the enemy’s ranks, and hit Wyatt on
the right ear.
There
was a moment of suspense. Wyatt took out his handkerchief and wiped his face,
over which the succulent vegetable had spread itself.
“I
don’t know how you fellows are going to pass the evening,” he said quietly. “My
idea of a good after-dinner game is to try and find the chap who threw that. Anybody
coming?”
For the
first five minutes it was as even a fight as one could have wished to see. It
raged up and down the road without a pause, now in a solid mass, now splitting
up into little groups. The science was on the side of the school.
Most Wrykynians
knew how to box to a certain extent. But, at any rate at first, it was no time
for science. To be scientific one must have an opponent who observes at least
the more important rules of the ring. It is impossible to do the latest ducks
and hooks taught you by the instructor if your antagonist butts you in the
chest, and then kicks your shins, while some dear friend of his, of whose
presence you had no idea, hits you at the same time on the back of the head.
The greatest expert would lose his science in such circumstances.
Probably
what gave the school the victory in the end was the righteousness of their
cause. They were smarting under a sense of injury, and there is nothing that
adds a force to one’s blows and a recklessness to one’s style of delivering
them more than a sense of injury.
Wyatt,
one side of his face still showing traces of the tomato, led the school with a
vigour that could not be resisted. He very seldom lost his temper, but he did
draw the line at bad tomatoes.
Presently
the school noticed that the enemy were vanishing little by little into the
darkness which concealed the town. Barely a dozen remained. And their lonely
condition seemed to be borne in upon these by a simultaneous brain-wave, for
they suddenly gave the fight up, and stampeded as one man.
The
leaders were beyond recall, but two remained, tackled low by Wyatt and Clowes
after the fashion of the football field.
The school gathered round
its prisoners, panting. The scene of the conflict had shifted little by little
to a spot some fifty yards from where it had started. By the side of the road
at this point was a green, depressed-looking pond. Gloomy in the daytime, it
looked unspeakable at night. It struck
anxious for a row, but it was the unwritten law that only in special circumstances
should they proceed to active measures. A curious dislike for school-and-town
rows and most misplaced severity in dealing with the offenders when they took place,
were among the few flaws in the otherwise admirable character of the headmaster
of Wrykyn. It was understood that one scragged town types at one’s own risk,
and, as a rule, it was not considered worth it.
But
after an excellent supper and much singing and joviality, one’s views are apt
to alter. Risks which before supper seemed great, show a tendency to dwindle.
When,
therefore, the twenty or so Wrykynians who were dancing round the lamp-post
were aware, in the midst of their festivities, that they were being observed
and criticized by an equal number of townees, and that the criticisms were, as
usual, essentially candid and personal, they found themselves forgetting the
headmaster’s prejudices and feeling only that these outsiders must be put to
the sword as speedily as possible, for the honour of the school.
Possibly,
if the town brigade had stuck to a purely verbal form of attack, all might yet
have been peace. Words can be overlooked.
But
tomatoes cannot.
No man
of spirit can bear to be pelted with over-ripe tomatoes for any length of time
without feeling that if the thing goes on much longer he will be reluctantly
compelled to take steps.
In the
present crisis, the first tomato was enough to set matters moving.
As the
two armies stood facing each other in silence under the dim and mysterious rays
of the lamp, it suddenly whizzed out from the enemy’s ranks, and hit Wyatt on
the right ear.
There
was a moment of suspense. Wyatt took out his handkerchief and wiped his face,
over which the succulent vegetable had spread itself.
“I
don’t know how you fellows are going to pass the evening,” he said quietly. “My
idea of a good after-dinner game is to try and find the chap who threw that. Anybody
coming?”
For the
first five minutes it was as even a fight as one could have wished to see. It
raged up and down the road without a pause, now in a solid mass, now splitting
up into little groups. The science was on the side of the school.
Most Wrykynians
knew how to box to a certain extent. But, at any rate at first, it was no time
for science. To be scientific one must have an opponent who observes at least
the more important rules of the ring. It is impossible to do the latest ducks
and hooks taught you by the instructor if your antagonist butts you in the
chest, and then kicks your shins, while some dear friend of his, of whose
presence you had no idea, hits you at the same time on the back of the head.
The greatest expert would lose his science in such circumstances.
Probably
what gave the school the victory in the end was the righteousness of their
cause. They were smarting under a sense of injury, and there is nothing that
adds a force to one’s blows and a recklessness to one’s style of delivering
them more than a sense of injury.
Wyatt,
one side of his face still showing traces of the tomato, led the school with a
vigour that could not be resisted. He very seldom lost his temper, but he did
draw the line at bad tomatoes.
Presently
the school noticed that the enemy were vanishing little by little into the
darkness which concealed the town. Barely a dozen remained. And their lonely
condition seemed to be borne in upon these by a simultaneous brain-wave, for
they suddenly gave the fight up, and stampeded as one man.
The
leaders were beyond recall, but two remained, tackled low by Wyatt and Clowes
after the fashion of the football field.
The school gathered round
its prisoners, panting. The scene of the conflict had shifted little by little
to a spot some fifty yards from where it had started. By the side of the road
at this point was a green, depressed-looking pond. Gloomy in the daytime, it
looked unspeakable at night. It struck
Similar Books
