The beginning of a big row, one of those rows which turn a schoolupside down like a volcanic eruption and provide old boys withsomething to talk about, when they meet, for years, is not unlike thebeginning of a thunderstorm.
You are walking along one seemingly fine day, when suddenly there is ahush, and there falls on you from space one big drop. The next momentthe thing has begun, and you are standing in a shower-bath. It is justthe same with a row. Some trivial episode occurs, and in an instantthe place is in a ferment. It was so with the great picnic at Wrykyn.
The bare outlines of the beginning of this affair are included in aletter which Mike wrote to his father on the Sunday following the OldWrykynian matches.
This was the letter:
"DEAR FATHER,--Thanks awfully for your letter. I hope you are quitewell. I have been getting on all right at cricket lately. My scoressince I wrote last have been 0 in a scratch game (the sun got in myeyes just as I played, and I got bowled); 15 for the third against aneleven of masters (without G. B. Jones, the Surrey man, and Spence);28 not out in the Under Sixteen game; and 30 in a form match. Ratherdecent. Yesterday one of the men put down for the second against theO.W.'s second couldn't play because his father was very ill, so Iplayed. Wasn't it luck? It's the first time I've played for thesecond. I didn't do much, because I didn't get an innings. They stopthe cricket on O.W. matches day because they have a lot of rottenGreek plays and things which take up a frightful time, and half thechaps are acting, so we stop from lunch to four. Rot I call it. So Ididn't go in, because they won the toss and made 215, and by the timewe'd made 140 for 6 it was close of play. They'd stuck me in eighthwicket. Rather rot. Still, I may get another shot. And I made rather adecent catch at mid-on. Low down. I had to dive for it. Bob played forthe first, but didn't do much. He was run out after he'd got ten. Ibelieve he's rather sick about it.
"Rather a rummy thing happened after lock-up. I wasn't in it, but afellow called Wyatt (awfully decent chap. He's Wain's step-son, onlythey bar one another) told me about it. He was in it all right.
There's a dinner after the matches on O.W. day, and some of the chapswere going back to their houses after it when they got into a row witha lot of brickies from the town, and there was rather a row. There wasa policeman mixed up in it somehow, only I don't quite know where hecomes in. I'll find out and tell you next time I write. Love toeverybody. Tell Marjory I'll write to her in a day or two.
"Your loving son,"MIKE.
"P.S.--I say, I suppose you couldn't send me five bob, could you? I'mrather broke.
"P.P.S.--Half-a-crown would do, only I'd rather it was five bob."And, on the back of the envelope, these words: "Or a bob would bebetter than nothing."* * * * *The outline of the case was as Mike had stated. But there were certaindetails of some importance which had not come to his notice when hesent the letter. On the Monday they were public property.
The thing had happened after this fashion. At the conclusion of theday's cricket, all those who had been playing in the four elevenswhich the school put into the field against the old boys, togetherwith the school choir, were entertained by the headmaster to supper inthe Great Hall. The banquet, lengthened by speeches, songs, andrecitations which the reciters imagined to be songs, lasted, as arule, till about ten o'clock, when the revellers were supposed to goback to their houses by the nearest route, and turn in. This was theofficial programme. The school usually performed it with certainmodifications and improvements.
About midway between Wrykyn, the school, and Wrykyn, the town, therestands on an island in the centre of the road a solitary lamp-post. Itwas the custom, and had been the custom for generations back, for thediners to trudge off to this lamp-post, dance round it for someminutes singing the school song or whatever happened to be the popularsong of the moment, and then race back to their houses. Antiquity hadgiven the custom a sort of sanctity, and the authorities, if theyknew--which they must have done--never interfered.
But there were others.
Wrykyn, the town, was peculiarly rich in "gangs of youths." Like thevast majority of the inhabitants of the place, they seemed to have nowork of any kind whatsoever to occupy their time, which they used,accordingly, to spend prowling about and indulging in a mild,brainless, rural type of hooliganism. They seldom proceeded topractical rowdyism and never except with the school. As a rule, theyamused themselves by shouting rude chaff. The school regarded themwith a lofty contempt, much as an Oxford man regards the townee. Theschool was always anxious for a row, but it was the unwritten law thatonly in special circumstances should they proceed to active measures.
A curious dislike for school-and-town rows and most misplaced severityin dealing with the offenders when they took place, were among the fewflaws in the otherwise admirable character of the headmaster ofWrykyn. It was understood that one scragged bargees 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'sviews are apt to alter. Risks which before supper seemed great, show atendency to dwindle.
When, therefore, the twenty or so Wrykynians who were dancing roundthe lamp-post were aware, in the midst of their festivities, that theywere being observed and criticised by an equal number of townees, andthat the criticisms were, as usual, essentially candid and personal,they found themselves forgetting the headmaster's prejudices andfeeling only that these outsiders must be put to the sword as speedilyas possible, for the honour of the school.
Possibly, if the town brigade had stuck to a purely verbal form ofattack, 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 tomatoe............