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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
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"NOW, remember, Frank, I count on you."
"My dearest girl, I do wish you'd understand I've got nothing to do with it."
"But you're the game master. I thought you could do as you liked."
Frank Fleming laughed.
"Yes, I'm game master, as you call it, but I have nothing do with making up the team. We leave that to the boys themselves. Carter, the captain, does most of it. But you needn't worry, Dora. George has been doing so well lately that he's practically certain to be played against Mill House, and you know well enough that, if he does, he'll get his colours. Now I must go. Good-night."
A strong arm was slipped round Dora's slim waist, and a minute later Fleming was walking briskly through the bright March night back to his rooms at St. Giles.
Fleming was one of the assistant-masters at St. Giles', and for the last three months he had been engaged to pretty Dora Chester, whose younger brother George was one of the most promising young football players in the school. Fleming, himself an old Blue, had coached the boy, and George did credit to his tutor. The whole Chester family were absolutely mad on football, Dora being perhaps the worst, or best, of the lot. It was her one desire that her brother should get his colours. As he was barely fifteen, and had been at St. Giles' only four terms, it would be a great triumph if he did, especially as his runner-up for eleventh place was Anthony Philpotts, nephew of Mr. Armstrong, the mathematical master, who was a year and a half his senior.
The Mill-House match, the biggest event of the football season at St. Giles's, was fixed for the Saturday following, and the list of players would be posted on Thursday afternoon. Fleming watched the mob round the notice-board as Carter himself posted the notice. The master was as interested as any of them, but he could not well go and push and shove with fifty Lower School boys. However, he had not long to wait. There was a knock, and George Chester's beaming face appeared.
"It's all right, sir; I'm in the team."
"Capital! Mind you do yourself justice, George. We've got to beat Mill-House."
"I'll try, sir," replied George modestly, and departed.
George Chester was in Mr. Fleming's form. The lesson for first school next morning was mathematics, taken by Mr. Armstrong. The second was history, under Mr. Fleming. History was a subject at which George did not shine. He had no memory for dates.
But on this occasion he was letter- or, rather figure- perfect, so much so that by the time the hour was half over he had gone up no fewer than ten places, and found himself sitting next to Philpotts, his beaten rival. Presently Philpotts missed a question, Chester snapped out an answer, and "Right, Go up!" said Mr. Fleming.
As George moved out of his place a piece of paper fell from his exercise-book. Just a thin, insignificant-looking slip, which fluttered gently under the desk and out on to the floor behind. George never even noticed it, but took his new place and sat down.
The questions were over. Mr. Fleming set the class an essay to write on what they had learnt. Presently the master came strolling round, looking over boys' shoulders, giving a hint here, a correction there. He stopped behind George, said a word of commendation, then, seeing the paper on the floor, idly stooped and picked it up.
As his eyes fell upon the writing his face changed. An expression of intense surprise changed to anger, but he controlled himself and walked back to his desk. From that minute to the end of the lesson the master never spoke. Just as the hour struck he looked up. "Chester, wait; I want to see you," he said, in an odd, strained voice. George, looking rather surprised, waited upon the rest of the form had gone out.
Before dinner-time it was all over the school that there was an awful row on. George Chester had been caught with a crib in history class. He had been given a tremendous imposition, was gated for a week, and would not be able to play in next day's match against Mill-House.
Mr. Fleming had an engagement to tea with the Chesters that afternoon. He would have given a good deal to get out of it, but he felt that Dora must learn from his own lips what had happened. On the way he met his brother master, Armstrong. The two were not particular friends, having few interests in common; also it was an open secret that Armstrong had been refused by Dora Chester. But on this occasion Armstrong pulled up and spoke.
"I say, Fleming, what's this I hear about young Chester? Was it cribbing?"
"It was; and it will cost him his place in the team," said Fleming shortly, and walked on.
To his surprise, Dora did not meet him, as usual, at the door. He found her sitting alone in a little morning-room, looking very white and miserable. Her first words were:
"Oh, Frank, how could you?"
"How could I what, Dora?"
"You know"—reproachfully. "Cut George out of the match. Mr. Armstrong has told me all about it."
"I don't know what you have heard, dearest; but George has been guilty of a very serious offence."
"Serious offence! What, just writing out a list of his dates to make him remember them! I don't call that serious."
"You don't understand. He must have used the list to answer his questions."
"I don't believe it. Did he tell you he had?"
"No," confessed Fleming. "He denied that. But he answered all his questions rightly—a thing he has never done before."
"So you think he told you a lie?" flashed the girl.
Fleming shook his head sadly.
"I don't know. Goodness knows, I don't want to think so. But anyhow, Dora, there's no denying that a list in his own writing was hidden in his exercise-book. I shouldn't be doing my duty if I failed to punish him."
"Ah, but not like this!" entreated Dora, getting up and laying two soft hands on the man's arm. "You couldn't be so cruel, Frank!"
Fleming looked her straight in the face. His heart was sore, for he loved her very dearly.
"Dora, think. You know I had to punish him. I should be guilty of the rankest favouritism if I let him off."
Dora's hands dropped. Her eyes flashed.
"So, just because you're afraid of being accused of favouritism, you go and make us all utterly miserable."
Fleming was silent.
"Very well, Mr. Fleming!" Dora had lost her temper completely. "The man who can do a thing like that is not the man for me." And with one quick movement she snatched his ring from her finger and flung it on the floor.
THIS year's match was at Mill-House. The distance was about thirty miles, and the team left immediately after morning school to catch the 12.20 train. Mr. Armstrong went with them. As for Fleming, he had not even the heart to see them off. He sat at the writing-table in his own room feeling about as miserable as he had ever felt in his life. Even now he could not believe that he had lost Dora. In front of him lay the fatal slip of paper, and he fingered it for the fiftieth time, wondering if it was possible he had been mistaken.
For though the writing was George's, and the dates were those of the morning's lesson. George had flatly denied using it as a crib, and Fleming had never known the boy tell him a lie.
A sudden suspicion flashed into Fleming's mind. Philpotts—could he have done it? It was all to his interest to get George out of the way. Had he got George to write out the crib? If so, that would explain it all, for George would never have sneaked, even to save his place in the team.
On the spur of the moment Fleming jumped up. He would go and ask George straight out if his suspicions were true. He flung open the door, and almost fell over a small boy just outside.
"Hallo, Graves, what are you doing here? Why are you not in the playing-field?"
"I—er—wanted to tell you, sir," stammered Graves. "I—ah—wanted to tell you—that is—Chester, sir."
"Chester." The master stiffened at the word. But he only said very kindly. "Yes, Graves?"
"That crib, sir—please, sir, it wasn't Chester."
Fleming took him gently by the arm. led him in, and shut the door.
"Tell me all about it, Graves. It will please me more than anything if you can clear Chester."
It took a great deal of coaxing to get anything out of Graves, who was evidently in an awful fright, but this is the astonishing story which Fleming pieced out.
Graves had an extra lesson for Mr. Armstrong, which was taken in the master's private room. When it was over he forgot his books and left them behind. Being always in hot water for untidiness, Graves resolved to sneak in when Mr. Armstrong was out and recover his property. He chose the five minutes' interval between first and second lessons; but had hardly slipped through the door when he heard Mr. Armstrong's step outside. In a horrid fright, he bolted behind the thick window-curtain, and hid there.
Mr. Armstrong came in, followed by Anthony Philpotts. The latter was complaining bitterly to his uncle of his hard luck in not being chosen for the match. The other sympathised, and made some sneering remarks about "Fleming's pet," adding, I'm not sure that he'll play after all, Anthony. Look here!" He then showed his nephew a slip of paper. Philpotts looked at it. "A crib, uncle! I didn't think it of Chester!"
"I found it lying in his place at the end of the last hour," returned Mr. Armstrong. "Of course he meant it for his friend Fleming's benefit."
According to Graves' account, Mr. Armstrong then handed the paper to Philpotts, saying significantly, "Perhaps you can make better use of it than I." And they both left the room, and Graves got his books and crept away.
Fleming was appalled. Yet he could not doubt the boy's story.
"You have done very right, Graves," he said at last. "Of course, you have said nothing to anyone else."
"No, sir," replied Graves, with a shiver.
"Then don't breathe a word even to your best chum. Understand, it might be serious for you as well as for others if you did. Now, remember, that is a secret between us."
IMAGINE George Chester's amazement when Mr. Fleming appeared at the door of the classroom where he was sitting surrounded with sheets of closely-written paper, and curtly ordered him to change his clothes instantly. He was almost speechless when, ten minutes later, he found himself in the headmaster's motor, dashing along the high road at a pace considerably exceeding the limit laid down by law.
Mr. Fleming was a first-class driver, and the road was broad and open; so they flew. George recognised that they were going to Mill-House. A miracle had happened, and he was cleared.
"I'll tell you later," was all Mr. Fleming had said. "I know you didn't crib. That's enough for the present."
They were not a minute too soon. The two teams were just pulling off their sweaters. Not paying the slightest attention to Armstrong, Fleming went straight up to Carter and said a few words. Carter at once called the Mill-House captain aside. The amazed St. Giles's saw the latter nod. Then Carter said loudly:
"Philpotts, you will not play. Chester takes your place!"
Philpotts, with a white face, crept off the field, but his uncle, furiously angry, marched up to Fleming. "What's this mean, Fleming?"
"I think you'd better not inquire too closely," answered the other coldly.
THE match began. In all the history of the two schools there had never been a hotter contest. Half-time came and no score. Mill-House had been forcing the game all through, but the ball had never reached the St. Giles's net. Shot after shot had been foiled by the brilliant work of young Chester. The boy played as if possessed.
In the second half Mill-House began to pay the penalty. The game worked across the ground, and suddenly Carter, by a clever bit of strategy, got clean through the Mill-House men, and a sudden shout proclaimed that St. Giles's had drawn first blood. There were still fifteen minutes to play, and Mill-House gathered themselves for a supreme effort. Down the field came the ball in a series of sharp zigzags.
They were checked for a minute or two by stubborn efforts on the part of the St. Giles's forwards; then suddenly Davies, the celebrated right wing of the Mill-House men, came through, and the ball came whizzing hard and high upon the St. Giles's net.
Up sprang George, and with a convulsive effort fisted it away. But next instant the attack was renewed. In the last five minutes Chester, by magnificent defence, which won cheers even from the Mill-House boys, saved no fewer than three goals, and St. Giles's had won a magnificent match by one goal to nothing.
NEXT day St. Giles's got a fresh shock. It was announced that Mr. Armstrong had left. It was given out that a relative was ill, and of the boys only three knew the real truth, and they kept silence.
Philpotts was not expelled. Mr. Fleming took the case to the Head, and it was agreed that the temptation partly excused him.
Next evening the post brought Fleming a letter, Dora's writing on the envelope. For a moment he hardly dared open it. At last he tore the envelope open. At last seven words:
"Dearest Frank,—Can you forgive me?—Dora."
A bunch of Lower School youngsters who were coming up from the tuck-shop were scattered by a tall figure, travelling at something like seven miles an hour.
"My hat!" exclaimed one, when he had recovered his breath, "It's Fleming!"
Another shook his head and observed sadly:
"He must be dotty."
But if he was, happiness had made him so.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.