It was a fine day. Jeremy, waking and turning over in his bed, could see beyond and above Stokesley’s slumbering1 form a thin strip of pale blue sky gleaming like a sudden revelation of water behind folds of amber2 mist. It would be a real thumping3 autumn day and he was to play half for the first fifteen against The Rest that afternoon. He also had three hundred lines to do for the French master that he had not even begun, and it must be handed up completed at exactly 11.30 that same morning. He had also every chance of swapping4 a silver frame containing a photograph of his Aunt Amy with Phipps minor5 for a silver pencil, and he was to have half Raseley’s sausage for breakfast that morning in return for mathematical favours done for him on the preceding day. As he thought of all these various things he rolled round like a kitten in his bed, curling up as it was his pleasantest habit into a ball so that his toes nearly met his forehead and he was one exquisite6 lump of warmth. Rending7 through this came the harsh sound of the first bell, murmurs8 from other rooms, patterings down the passage, and then suddenly both Stokesley and Raikes sitting up in bed simultaneously9, yawning and looking like bewildered owls10. In precisely11 five minutes the three boys were washed, dressed and down, herding12 with the rest in the long cold class-room waiting for call-over. When they had answered their names they slipped across the misty13 playground into chapel14 and sat there like all their companions in a confused state of half sleep, half wakefulness, responding as it were in a dream, screaming out the hymn15 and then all shuffling16 off to breakfast again like shadows in a Japanese pageant17.
It was not, in fact, until the first five minutes at breakfast, when Raseley strongly resisted the appeal for half his sausage, that Jeremy woke to the full labours of the day. Raseley was sitting almost opposite to him and he had a very nice sausage, large and fat and properly cracked in the middle. Jeremy’s sausage was a very small one, so that, whereas on other days he might have passed over the whole episode, being of a very generous nature, to-day he was compelled to insist on his rights. “I didn’t,” protested Raseley. “I said you could have half a sausage if you did the sums, and you only did two and a half.”
“I did them all,” said Jeremy stoutly18. “It wasn’t my fault that that beastly fraction one was wrong. I only said I’d do them. I never said I’d do them right.”
“Well, you can jolly well come and fetch it,” said Raseley, pursuing in the circumstances the wisest plan, which was to eat his sausage as fast as he could.
“All right,” said Jeremy indifferently. “You know what you’ll get afterwards if you don’t do what you said,” and this was bold of Jeremy because he was smaller than Raseley, but he was learning already whom he might threaten and whom he might not, and he knew that Raseley was as terrified of physical pain as Aunt Amy was of a cow in a field. With very bad grace Raseley pushed the smaller half of the sausage across, and Jeremy felt that his day was well begun.
He did not know why, but he was sure that this would be a splendid day. There are days when you feel that you are under a special care of the gods and that they are arranging everything for you, background, incident, crisis, and sleep at the end in a most delightful19, generous fashion. Nothing would go wrong to-day.
On the whole, human beings are divided into the two classes of those who realize when they may step out and challenge life, and those to whom one occasion is very much the same as another.
Jeremy, even when he was eight years old and had sat in his sister Helen’s chair on his birthday morning, had always realized when to step out. He was going to step out now.
The insufferable Baltimore, who was a wonderful cricketer and therefore rose to great glories in the summer term, but was no footballer at all, and equally, therefore, was less than the dust in the autumn, came with his watery20 eyes and froggy complexion21 to ask Jeremy to lend him twopence. Jeremy had at that moment threepence, but there were a number of things that he intended to do with it. Because he detested22 Baltimore he lent him his twopence with the air of Queen Elizabeth accepting Sir Walter Raleigh’s cloak, and got exquisite pleasure from doing so. All these little things, therefore, combined to put him in the best of spirits when, at half-past eleven, Monsieur Clemenceau (not then a name known the wide world over) requested Monsieur Cole to be kind enough to allow him to peruse23 the three hundred lines which should have been done several days before so admirably provided by him.
Jeremy wore the cloak of innocence24, sitting in the back row of the French class with several of his dearest friends and all the class ready to support him in any direction that he might follow.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Jeremy said. “Did you say three hundred lines?”
“That is the exact amount,” said M. Clemenceau, “that I require from you immediatement.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Jeremy politely.
“I need not repeat,” said M. Clemenceau. “Three hundred lines by you at once for impertinence three days previous.”
“Why, sir, surely,” said Jeremy, “you told me that I need not do them this term because . . .”
“No because,” interrupted M. Clemenceau at the top of a rather squeaky voice. “There is no because.”
“But, sir,” began Jeremy; and from all sides of the class there broke out: “Why, certainly, sir, don’t you remember——” and “Cole is quite right, sir; you said——” and “I think you’ve forgotten, sir, that——” and “It really wouldn’t be fair, sir, if——” A babel arose. As the boys very well knew, M. Clemenceau had a horror of too much noise, because Thompson was holding a class in the next room, and on two occasions that very term had sent a boy in to request that if it were possible M. Clemenceau should conduct his work a little more softly. And this had been agony for M. Clemenceau’s proud French spirit. “I will have silence,” he shrieked25. “This is no one’s business but mine and the young Cole. Let no one speak until I tell them to do so. Now, Cole, where are the three hundred lines?”
There was a complete and absolute silence.
“Vill you speak or vill you not speak?” M. Clemenceau cried.
“Do you mean me, sir?” asked Jeremy very innocently.
“Of course, I mean you.”
“You said, sir, that no one was to speak until you told them to.”
“Well, I tell you now.”
Jeremy looked very injured. “I didn’t understand,” he said. “If I could explain to you quietly.”
“Well, you shall explain afterwards,” said M. Clemenceau, and Jeremy knew that he was saved because he could deal à deux with M. Clemenceau by appealing to his French heart, his sense of honour, and a number of other things, and might even, with good fortune, extract an invitation to tea, when M. Clemenceau, in his very cosy26 room, had a large supply of muffins and played on the flute27. “Yes,” he thought to himself as they pursued up and down the class-room, sometimes ten at a time, sometimes only three or four, the intricacies of that French grammar that has to do with the pen of my aunt and the cat of my sister-in-law and “this is going to be a splendid day.”
II
Coming out of school at half-past twelve, he found to his exquisite delight that there was a letter for him. He was, of course, far from that grown-up attitude of terror and misgiving28 at the sight of the daily post. Not for him yet were bills and unwelcome reminiscence, broken promises and half-veiled threats. He received from his mother one letter a week, from his father perhaps three a term, and from his sister Mary an occasional confused scribbling29 that, like her stories, introduced so many characters one after another that the most you obtained from them was a sense of life and of people passing and of Mary’s warm and emotional heart. Once and again he had a letter from Uncle Samuel, and these were the real glories. It was natural that on this day of days there should be such a letter. The very sight of his uncle’s handwriting—a thin, spidery one that was in some mysterious way charged with beauty and colour—cockled his heart and made him warm all over. He sat in a corner of the playground where he was least likely to be disturbed and read it. It was as follows. It began abruptly30, as did all Uncle Samuel’s letters:
Your mother has just taken your Aunt Amy to Drymouth on a shopping expedition. The house is so quiet you wouldn’t know it. I am painting a very nice picture of two cows in a blue field. The cows are red. If you were here I would put you into the picture as a dog asleep under a tree. Because you aren’t here, I have to take that wretched animal of yours and use him instead. He is not nearly as like a dog as you are. I had two sausages for breakfast because your Aunt Amy is going to be away for two whole days. I generally have only one sausage and now just about five o’clock this evening I shall have indigestion which will be one more thing I shall owe your Aunt Amy. The woman came in yesterday and washed the floor of the studio. It looks beastly, but I shall soon make it dirty again, and if only you were here it would get dirty quicker. There’s a rumour31 that your Uncle Percy is coming back to stay with us again. I am training your dog to bite the sort of trousers that your Uncle Percy wears. I have a pair very like his and I draw them across the floor very slowly and make noises to your dog like a cat. The plan is very successful but to-morrow there won’t be any trousers and I shall have to think of something else. Mrs. Sampson asked your mother whether she thought that I would like to paint a portrait of her little girl. I asked your mother how much money Mrs. Sampson would give me for doing so and your mother asked Mrs. Sampson. Mrs. Sampson said that if she liked it when it was done she’d hang it up in her drawing-room where everybody could see and that that would be such a good advertisement for me that there wouldn’t need to be any payment, so I told your mother to tell Mrs. Sampson that I was so busy sweeping32 a crossing just now that I was afraid I wouldn’t have time to paint her daughter. When I have done these cows, if they turn out really well, perhaps I’ll send the best of them to Mrs. Sampson and tell her that that’s the best portrait of her daughter I was capable of doing. Some people in Paris like my pictures very much and two of them have been hanging in an exhibition and people have to pay to go in and see them. I sold one of them for fifty pounds and therefore I enclose a little bit of paper which if you take it to the right person will help you buy enough sweets to make yourself sick for a whole week. Don’t tell your mother I’ve done this.
Your sister Mary is breaking out into spots. She has five on her forehead. I think it’s because she sucks her pencil so hard.
Your sister Barbara tumbled all the way down the stairs yesterday but didn’t seem to mind. She is the best of the family and shortly I intend to invite her into the studio and let her lick my paint box.
Outside my window at this moment there is an apple tree and the hills are red, the same colour as the apples. Someone is burning leaves and the smoke turns red as it gets high enough and then comes white again when it gets near the moon, which is a new one and exactly like one of your Aunt Amy’s eyelashes.
I am getting so fat that I think of living in a barrel, as a very famous man about whom I’ll tell you one day, used to do. I think I’ll have a barrel with a lid on the top of it so that when people come into the studio whom I don’t want to see, I shall just shut the lid and they won’t know I’m there. I think I’ll have the barrel painted bright blue.
Your dog thinks there’s a rat just behind my bookcase. He lies there for hours at a time purring like a kettle. There may be a rat but knowing life as well as I do there never is a rat where you most expect one. That’s one of the things your father hasn’t learnt yet. He is writing his sermon in his study. If he knew there weren’t any rats he wouldn’t write so many sermons.
I’ve been reading a very funny book by a man called France, and the funny thing is that he is also a Frenchman. Isn’t that a funny thing? You shall read it one day when you’re older and then you’ll understand your Uncle Samuel better than you do now.
Uncle.
P.S.—I promise you that the lid shall never be on the barrel when you’re there, and if you don’t get too fat, there’s room for two inside.
He read the letter through three times before finishing with it; then, sitting forward on the old wooden bench scarred with a thousand penknives, he went over the delicious details of it. How exactly Uncle Samuel realized the things that he would want to know! No one else in the family wrote about anything that was exciting or intriguing34. Uncle Samuel managed in some way to make you see things. The studio, the sky with the little moon, the red apples, Hamlet flat on the floor, his head rigid35, his eyes fixed36; Aunt Amy shopping in Drymouth, Barbara tumbling downstairs. That whole world came towards him and filled the playground and blotted37 out the school, so that for a moment school life was unreal, shadowy, and did not matter. He sighed with happy contentment. Young though he was, he realized that great truth that one person in the world is quite enough. One human being who understands your strange mixture equalizes five million who think you are simply black, white or purple. All you want is to be reassured38 about your own suspicions of yourself. A devoted39 dog is almost enough, and one friend ample. Jeremy went in to dinner with his head in the air, trailing after him, like Peter Pan, one shadow of the world immediately around him, the world in which the school sergeant40 was carving41 the mutton at the end of the table so ferociously42 that it might have been the corpse43 of his dearest enemy, and the masters at the high table were getting fried potatoes and the boys only boiled, and Jeremy was not having even those because he had got to play football in an hour’s time; and the other world, where there was Aunt Amy’s eyelash high in the air, and the cathedral bells ringing, and Uncle Samuel painting cows. Jeremy would have liked to consider the strange way in which these two worlds refused to mingle44, to have developed the idea of Uncle Samuel carving the mutton instead of the sergeant, and the sergeant watching the evening sky instead of Uncle Samuel, and why it was that these two things were so impossible! His attention was occupied by the fact that Plummy Smith, who was a fat boy, was sitting in his wrong place and making a “squash” on Jeremy’s side of the table, which led quite naturally to the game of trying to squeeze Plummy from both ends of the table into a purple mass, and to do it without Thompson noticing. Little pathetic squeals45 came from Plummy, who loved his food, and saw his mutton mysteriously whisked away on to some other plate, and knew that he would be hungry all the afternoon in consequence. He was one of those boys who had on the first day of his arrival, a year earlier, unfortunately confided46 to those whom he thought his friends that he lived with two aunts, Maria and Alice. His fate was sealed from the moment of that unfortunate confidence. He did not know it, and he had been in puzzled bewilderment ever since as to why the way of life was made so hard for him. He meant no one any harm, and could not understand why the lower half of his person should be a constant receptacle for pins of the sharpest kind. The point in this matter about Jeremy was that, as with Miss Jones years before, he could not resist pleasant fun at the expense of the foolish. He had enough of the wild animal in him to enjoy sticking pins into Plummy, to enjoy squeezing the breath out of his fat body, to enjoy seeing him without any mutton; and yet, had it been really brought home to him that Plummy was a miserable47 boy, sick for his aunts, dazed and puzzled, spending his days in an orgy of ink, impositions and physical pain, he would have been horrified48 that himself could be such a cad. He was not a cad. It was a fine day, he was in splendid health and spirits, he had had a letter from Uncle Samuel, and so he stuck pins into Plummy.
When the meal was over he walked down to the football ground with Riley, and told him about Uncle Samuel. He told Riley everything, and Riley told him everything. He never considered Riley as an individual human being, but rather as part of himself, so that if he were kicked in the leg it must hurt Riley too; and there was something in Riley’s funny freckled49 forehead, his large mouth, and his funny, clumsy way of walking, as though he were a baby elephant, that was as necessary to Jeremy and his daily life as putting on his clothes and going to sleep. He showed Riley the piece of paper that Uncle Samuel had sent to him. “By gosh!” said Riley, “that’s a pound.”
“It’s an awful pity,” said Jeremy, “that you are not in Little Dorm. Perhaps you could come in to-night. I’m sure Stokesley and Pug wouldn’t mind. We’re going to have sardines50 and marmalade and dough-nuts.”
“If I get a chance, I will,” said Riley; “but I don’t want to be caught out just now, because I’ve been in two rows already this week. Perhaps you could keep two sardines for me, and I’ll have them at breakfast to-morrow.”
“All right; I’ll try,” said Jeremy. He looked about and sniffed51 the air. It was an ideal day for football. It was cold, and not too cold. The hills above the football field were veiled in mist. The ground was soft, but not too soft. It ought to be a good game.
“Do you feel all right?” asked Riley.
They proceeded in the accustomed manner to test this. Jeremy hurled52 himself at Riley, caught him round the middle, tried to twine53 his legs round Riley’s, and they both fell to the ground. They rolled there like two puppies. Jeremy exerted all his strength to bring off what he had never yet succeeded in doing, namely, to turn Riley over and pin his elbows to the ground. Riley wriggled54 like a fish. Jeremy was very strong to-day, and managed to get one elbow down and was in a very good way towards the other when they heard an awful voice above them. “And what may this be?” They scrambled55 to their feet, flushed and breathless, and there was old Thompson staring at them very gravely in that way that he had so that you could not tell whether he were displeased56 or no.
“We were only wrestling, sir,” said Jeremy, panting.
“Excellent thing for your clothes,” said Thompson. “What do you suppose the gym is for?”
“It was only a minute, sir,” said Riley. “Cole wanted to see whether he was all right.”
“And he is?” asked Thompson.
Jeremy perceived that Olympus was smiling.
“I’m a little out of breath,” he said, “but of course it’s just after dinner. The ground isn’t muddy yet.”
“You’d better wait until you’re in football things,” Thompson said, “then you can roll about as much as you like.”
He walked away, rolling a little as he went. The two boys looked after him and suddenly adored him. Their feelings about him were always undergoing lightning changes. At one moment they adored, at another they detested, at another they admired from a distance, and at another they wondered.
“Wasn’t that decent of him?” said Riley.
“That’s because he’s just had his dinner,” said Jeremy. “It’s his glass of beer. My uncle’s just the same.”
“Oh, you and your uncle,” said Riley. “I’ll race you to the end of the playground.”
They ran like hares, and Jeremy led by a second.
III
He was in the changing-room when suddenly the atmosphere of the coming game was close about him. He had that strange mixture of fear and excitement, terror and pleasure. He suddenly felt cold in his jersey57 and shorts, and shivered a little. At the other side of the room was Turnbull, one of the three-quarters playing for the “Rest,” a large, bony boy with projecting knees. The mere58 thought that he would have in all probability to collar Turnbull and bring him to the ground made Jeremy feel sick. His confidence suddenly deserted59 him. He knew that he was going to play badly. Worse than ever in his life before. He wished that he could suddenly develop scarlet60 fever and be carried off to the infirmary. He even searched his bare legs for spots. He had rather a headache and his throat felt queer, and he was not at all sure that he could see straight. One of those silly fools who always comes and talks to you at the wrong moment sniggered and said he felt awfully61 fit. It was all right for him; he was one of the forwards playing for the “Rest.” It would be perfectly62 easy for him to hide himself in the scrum and pretend to be pushing when he was not. No one ever noticed. But the isolation63 of a half was an awful thing to consider, and that desperate moment when you had to go down to the ball, with at least five hundred enormous boots all coming at your head at the same moment, was horrible to contemplate64. Millett, the scrum half playing for the “Rest,” and Jeremy’s bitterest rival for the place in the fifteen, was looking supremely65 self-confident and assured. Certainly he was not as good as Jeremy on Jeremy’s day, but was this Jeremy’s day? No, most certainly it was not.
They went out to the field, and everything was not improved by the fact that a large crowd was gathered behind the ropes to watch them. This was an important game. The big school match was a fortnight from to-day, and Millett might get his colours on to-day’s game quite easily. And then suddenly the feel of the turf under his feet, the long, sweeping distance of the good grey sky above his head, the tang of autumn in the air, brought him confidence again. He was not aware that a lady visitor who had come out with Mr. Thompson to watch the game was saying at that moment, “Why, what a tiny boy! You don’t mean to say, Mr. Thompson, that he’s going to play with all those big fellows?” And Thompson said, “He’s the most promising66 footballer we have in the school. The half-back has to be small, you know.”
“Oh, I do hope he won’t get hurt,” said the lady visitor.
“Won’t do him any harm if he is,” said Mr. Thompson.
The whistle went and the game began. Almost at once Jeremy was in trouble. Within the first minute the school fifteen were lining67 out in their own half of the field, and a moment later some of the “Rest” forwards had broken through, dribbled68, tried to pass, thrown forward, and there was a scrum within Jeremy’s twenty-five. This is the kind of thing to make you show your mettle69. To be attacked before you have found your atmosphere, realized the conditions of the day, got your feel of yourself as part of the picture, gained your first win, to have to fight for your team’s life with your own goal looming70 like the gallows71 just behind you, and to know that the loss of three or five points in the first few minutes of the game is very often a decisive factor in the issue of the battle—all this tests anybody’s greatness. Jeremy in that first five minutes was anything but great. He had a consciousness of his own miserable inadequacy72, a state not common to him at all. He seemed to be one large cranium spread out balloon-wise for the onrush of his enemies. As he darted73 about at the back of the scrum waiting for the ball to be thrown in, he felt as though he could not go down to it; and then, of course, the worst possible thing happened. The “Rest” forwards broke through the scrum; he tried to fling himself on the ball, and missed it, and there they were sliding away past him, making straight for the goal-line. Fortunately, the man with the ball was flung to touch just in time, and there was a breathing space. Jeremy, nevertheless, was tingling74 with his mistake as acutely as though a try had been scored. He knew what they were saying on the other side of the rope. He knew that Baltimore, for instance, was winking75 his bleary eyes with pleasure, that all the friends of his rival half were saying in chorus, “Well, young Cole’s no good; I always said so,” and that Riley was glaring fiercely about him and challenging anyone to say a word. He knew all this and, unfortunately, for more than a minute had time to think of it, because one of the cool three-quarters got away with the ball and then kicked it to touch, and there was a line out and a good deal of scrambling76 before the inevitable77 scrum. This time it was for him to throw in the ball, crying in his funny voice, now hoarse78, now squeaky, “Coming on the right, school—shove!” They did shove, and carried it on with them; and then the “Rest” half got it, threw it to one of his three-quarters, who started racing79 down the field, with only Jeremy in his way before he got to the back. It was that very creature with the bony knees whom Jeremy had watched in the changing-room. The legs wobbled towards him as though with a life of their own. He ran across, threw himself at the knees, and missed them. He went sprawling80 on to the ground, was conscious that he had banged his nose, that somebody near him was calling out “Butters,” and that his career as a football half was finally and for ever concluded. After that he could do nothing right. The ball seemed devilishly to slip away from him whenever he approached it. He was filled with a demon81 of anger, but that did not serve him. He again went now here, now there, and always he seemed to be doing the wrong thing. For once that strange sure knowledge innate82 in him, part of his blood and his bones, of the right, inevitable thing to do, had left him, and he could only act on impulse and hope that it would turn out well, which it never did. The captain, who was a forward, pausing beside him for a moment, said, “Go on, Cole, you can play better than that.” He knew that his worst forebodings were fulfilled.
Then just before the whistle went for half-time, just when he was at his busiest, he had a curious, distinct picture of Uncle Samuel, the red apple tree, and Hamlet lying on the floor of the studio waiting for his rat. People talk about concentration and its importance, and nobody who has ever played a game well but will agree that to let your mind wander at a very critical moment is fatal; but this was not so much the actual wandering of a mind as of a curious insistence83 from without of this other picture that went with the scene in which he was figuring. It was like the pouring of cold clear water upon his hot and muddled84 brain. It was also as though Uncle Samuel, in his thick, good-natured voice, had said to him, “Now, look here, I know nothing about this silly game that you’re trying to play, but I’m here to see you go through it, and the two of us together it’s impossible to beat.” The whistle went before he had time to realize the effects of this little intrusion. He stood about during the interval85 talking to no one, wishing he were dead, but armoured in a cold resolve. After all, he would not write to Uncle Samuel and tell him that he had been left out of the school fifteen because he had not played well enough. No one as yet had scored. The teams seemed to be very evenly matched, which was a bad thing for the school. Everyone in the school team was depressed86, and the men in the “Rest” were equally elated. If the whole truth were known, the play in the first half had been very ragged87 indeed, but, as Mr. Thompson explained to the lady visitor, “You mustn’t expect anything else early in the term.” She made the fatuous88 remark that “after all, they were such little boys,” which made Mr. Thompson reply, with more heat than true politeness required, that his boys, even though they were all under fourteen, could on their day show as good a game as any public school, to which the lady visitor replied that she was sure that they could—she thought they played wonderfully for such little boys.
The whistle sounded, and the game tumbled about, up and down, in and out. Jeremy knew now that all was well. His “game sense” had suddenly come back to him, and the ball seemed to know its master, to tumble to him just when he wanted it, to stick in his hands when he touched it, and even to smile at him when it was quite a long way away, as though it were saying to him, “I’m yours now, and you can do what you like with me.” He brought off a neat piece of collaring, then a little later passed the ball back to his three-quarters, who got, for the first time that day, a clear run, leading to a try in the far corner of the field. Then there came a moment when all the “Rest” forwards were dribbling89 the ball, the school forwards at their heels, but not fast enough to stop their opponents; and he was down on the ball, had it packed tight under his arm, lying flat upon it, and the whole world of boots, legs, knees, bodies seemed to charge over him. A queer sensation that was, everything falling upon him as though the ceiling of the world had suddenly collapsed90. Then the sensation of being buried deep in the ground, bodies wriggling91 and heaving on top of him, his nose, chin, eyes deep in earth, some huge leg with a gigantic boot at the end of it hovering92 like a wild animal just above his head; and then the whistle and the sudden clearing of the ground away from him; his impulse to move, and his discovery that his right leg hurt like a piercing sword. He tried to rise, and could not. He was quite alone now, the sky and the wind, the field and the distant hills encircling him, with nobody else in the world. The game stopped, people came back to him. They felt his leg, and it hurt desperately93, but not, he knew at once, so desperately that he never would be able to use it again. They rubbed his calf94 and jerked his knee. He heard somebody say, “Only a kick—no bones broken,” and he set his teeth and stumbled to his feet and stood for a moment feeling exquisite pain. Then, like an old man of ninety, tottered95 along. At this there was universal applause from behind the ropes. There were cries of “Well stopped, Stocky! Good old Stocky!” and he would not have exchanged that moment for all the prizes in the bookshop or all the tuckshops in Europe. “Are you all right?” his captain shouted across to him. He nodded his head because he certainly would have burst into tears if he had spoken, and he was biting his lower lip until his teeth seemed to go through to his gums. But, in that marvellous fashion that all footballers know, his leg became with every movement easier, and although there was a dull, grinding pain there, he found he could move about quite easily and soon was in the thick of it once more. He was only a “limper” to the end of that game, but he did one or two things quite nicely, and had the happiness of seeing the school score another two tries, which put the issue of the game beyond doubt. At the end, after cheers had been given and returned, the pain in his leg reasserted itself once more, and he could only limp very feebly off the field, but he had the delirious96 happiness of the captain—who was going to Rugby next year, and was therefore very nearly a man—putting his hand on his shoulder and saying, “That was a plucky97 game of yours, Cole. Hope your leg isn’t bad.”
“Oh, it isn’t bad at all, thank you,” he said very politely. “I almost don’t feel it,” which was a terrific lie. He had done well. He knew that from the comments on every side of him. The crowd had forgotten his earlier failure, which, if he had only known it, should have taught him that word of wisdom invaluable98 to artists and sportsmen alike: “Don’t be discouraged by a bad beginning. It’s the last five minutes that count.” Finally there was Riley. “You didn’t play badly,” he said. “You were better than Millett.”
IV
Later he was sitting with Riley, squashed into a corner of Magg’s, eating dough-nuts. The crowd in there was terrific and the atmosphere like a slab99 of chocolate. Riley and he were pressed close together, with boys on every side of them. The noise was deafening100. It was the last ten minutes before Magg’s closed. It was Saturday evening, and everyone had pocket-money. The two boys did not speak to one another. Jeremy’s leg was hurting him horribly, but he was as happy as “Five kings and a policeman,” which was one of Uncle Samuel’s ridiculous, meaningless phrases. His arm was round Riley’s neck, more for support than for sentiment, but he did like Riley and he did like Magg’s. He was, perhaps, at that moment as completely alive as he was ever to be. He was so small that he was almost entirely hidden, but somebody caught sight of his hair, which would never lie down flat, and cried across the room, “Three cheers for Stocky, the football hero!” The cheers were hearty101 if a little absent-minded, the main business of the moment being food, and not football. Jeremy, of course, was pleased, and in his pleasure overbalanced from the edge of the table where he was sitting, slipped forward, and disappeared from men. His leg hurt him too much, and he was too comfortable on the floor and too generally sleepy to bother to get up again, so he stayed there, his arm round Riley’s leg, swallowing his last dough-nut as slowly as possible, feeling that he would like to give dough-nuts in general to all the world.
Yes, it had been a fine day, a splendid day, and there would be days and days and days. . . .
Magg’s was closing. He limped to his feet, and, with their arms round one another’s necks, Riley and he vanished into the dark.
The End
The End
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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amber
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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4
swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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8
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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9
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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12
herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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13
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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14
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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16
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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17
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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18
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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19
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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20
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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21
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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22
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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24
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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25
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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27
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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28
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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29
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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31
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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32
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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33
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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34
intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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35
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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37
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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38
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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39
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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40
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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41
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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42
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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43
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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44
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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45
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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47
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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49
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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51
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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52
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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53
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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54
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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55
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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56
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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57
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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58
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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59
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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60
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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64
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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66
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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67
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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68
dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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69
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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70
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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71
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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72
inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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73
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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74
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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75
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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76
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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77
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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78
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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79
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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80
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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81
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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82
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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83
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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84
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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85
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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86
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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87
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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88
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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89
dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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90
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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91
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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92
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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93
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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94
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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95
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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96
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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97
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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98
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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99
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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100
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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101
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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