Failing a gentleman friend, Mr Bevan was obliged to do what he could bymeans of local talent. On Sheen's next visit he was introduced to aburly youth of his own age, very taciturn, and apparently ferocious.
He, it seemed, was the knife and boot boy at the "Blue Boar", "did abit" with the gloves, and was willing to spar with Sheen provided MrBevan made it all right with the guv'nor; saw, that is so say, that hedid not get into trouble for passing in unprofessional frivolitymoments which should have been sacred to knives and boots. These termshaving been agreed to, he put on the gloves.
For the first time since he had begun his lessons, Sheen experienced anattack of his old shyness and dislike of hurting other people'sfeelings. He could not resist the thought that he had no grudge againstthe warden of the knives and boots. He hardly liked to hit him.
The other, however, did not share this prejudice. He rushed at Sheenwith such determination, that almost the first warning the latter hadthat the contest had begun was the collision of the back of his headwith the wall. Out in the middle of the room he did better, and wasbeginning to hold his own, in spite of a rousing thump on his left eye,when Joe Bevan called "Time!" A second round went off in much the sameway. His guard was more often in the right place, and his leads lesswild. At the conclusion of the round, pressure of business forced hisopponent to depart, and Sheen wound up his lesson with a couple ofminutes at the punching-ball. On the whole, he was pleased with hisfirst spar with someone who was really doing his best and trying tohurt him. With Joe Bevan and Francis there was always the feeling thatthey were playing down to him. Joe Bevan's gentle taps, in particular,were a little humiliating. But with his late opponent all had beenserious. It had been a real test, and he had come through it veryfairly. On the whole, he had taken more than he had given--his eyewould look curious tomorrow--but already he had thought out a way offoiling the burly youth's rushes. Next time he would really show histrue form.
The morrow, on which Sheen expected his eye to look curious, was theday he had promised to play fives with Mr Spence. He hoped that at theearly hour at which they had arranged to play it would not have reachedits worst stage; but when he looked in the glass at a quarter to seven,he beheld a small ridge of purple beneath it. It was not large, nor didit interfere with his sight, but it was very visible. Mr Spence,however, was a sportsman, and had boxed himself in his time, so therewas a chance that nothing would be said.
It was a raw, drizzly morning. There would probably be fewfives-players before breakfast, and the capture of the second courtshould be easy. So it turned out. Nobody was about when Sheen arrived.
He pinned his slip of paper to the door, and, after waiting for a shortwhile for Mr Spence and finding the process chilly, went for a trotround the gymnasium to pass the time.
Mr Spence had not arrived during his absence, but somebody else had. Atthe door of the second court, gleaming in first-fifteen blazer,sweater, stockings, and honour-cap, stood Attell.
Sheen looked at Attell, and Attell looked through Sheen.
It was curious, thought Sheen, that Attell should be standing in thevery doorway of court two. It seemed to suggest that he claimed somesort of ownership. On the other hand, there was his, Sheen's, paper onthe....His eye happened to light on the cement flooring in front of thecourt. There was a crumpled ball of paper there.
When he had started for his run, there had been no such ball of paper.
Sheen picked it up and straightened it out. On it was written "R. D.
Sheen".
He looked up quickly. In addition to the far-away look, Attell's facenow wore a faint smile, as if he had seen something rather funny on thehorizon. But he spake no word.
A curiously calm and contented feeling came upon Sheen. Here wassomething definite at last. He could do nothing, however much he mightresent it, when fellows passed him by as if he did not exist; but whenit came to removing his landmark....
"Would you mind shifting a bit?" he said very politely. "I want to pinmy paper on the door again. It seems to have fallen down."Attell's gaze shifted slowly from the horizon and gradually embracedSheen.
"I've got this court," he said.
"I think not," said Sheen silkily. "I was here at ten to seven, andthere was no paper on the door then. So I put mine up. If you move alittle, I'll put it up again.""Go and find another court, if you want to play," said Attell, "and ifyou've got anybody to play with," he added with a sneer. "This ismine.""I think not," said Sheen.
Attell resumed his inspection of the horizon.
"Attell," said Sheen.
Attell did not answer.
Sheen pushed him gently out of the way, and tore down the paper fromthe door.
Their eyes met. Attell, after a moment's pause, came forward,half-menacing, half irresolute; and as he came Sheen hit him under thechin in the manner recommended by Mr Bevan.
"When you upper-cut," Mr Bevan was wont to say, "don't make it a swing.
Just a half-arm jolt's all you want."It was certainly all Attell wanted. He was more than surprised. He waspetrified. The sudden shock of the blow, coming as it did from sounexpected a quarter, deprived him of speech: which was, perhaps,fortunate for him, for what he would have said would hardly havecommended itself to Mr Spence, who came up at this moment.
"Well, Sheen," said Mr Spence, "here you are. I hope I haven't kept youwaiting. What a morning! You've got the court, I hope?""Yes, sir," said Sheen.
He wondered if the master had seen the little episode which had takenplace immediately before his arrival. Then he remembered that it hadhappened inside the court. It must have been over by the time Mr Spencehad come upon the scene.
"Are you waiting for somebody, Attell?" asked Mr Spence. "Stanning? Hewill be here directly. I passed him on the way."Attell left the court, and they began their game.
"You've hurt your eye, Sheen," said Mr Spence, at the end of the firstgame. "How did that happen?""Boxing, sir," said Sheen.
"Oh," replied Mr Spence, and to Sheen's relief he did not pursue hisinquiries.
Attell had wandered out across the gravel to meet Stanning.
"Got that court?" inquired Stanning.
"No.""You idiot, why on earth didn't you? It's the only court worth playingin. Who's got it?""Sheen.""Sheen!" Stanning stopped dead. "Do you mean to say you let a fool likeSheen take it from you! Why didn't you turn him out?""I couldn't," said Attell. "I was just going to when Spence came up.
He's playing Sheen this morning. I couldn't very well bag the courtwhen a master wanted it.""I suppose not," said Stanning. "What did Sheen say when you told himyou wanted the court?"This was getting near a phase of the subject which Attell was not eagerto discuss.
"Oh, he didn't say much," he said.
"Did you do anything?" persisted Stanning.
Attell suddenly remembered having noticed that Sheen was wearing ablack eye. This was obviously a thing to be turned to account.
"I hit him in the eye," he said. "I'll bet it's coloured byschool-time."And sure enough, when school-tune arrived, there was Sheen with hisface in the condition described, and Stanning hastened to spread abroadthis sequel to the story of Sheen's failings in the town battle. By theend of preparation it had got about the school that Sheen had cheekedAttell, that Attell had hit Sheen, and that Sheen had been afraid tohit him back. At the precise moment when Sheen was in the middle of awarm two-minute round with Francis at the "Blue Boar," an indignationmeeting was being held in the senior day-room at Seymour's to discussthis latest disgrace to the house.
"This is getting a bit too thick," was the general opinion. Moreover,it was universally agreed that something ought to be done. The feelingin the house against Sheen had been stirred to a dangerous pitch bythis last episode. Seymour's thought more of their reputation than anyhouse in the school. For years past the house had led on the cricketand football field and off it. Sometimes other houses would actuallywin one of the cups, but, when this happened, Seymour's was alwaystheir most dangerous rival. Other houses had their ups and downs, werevery good one year and very bad the next; but Seymour's had alwaysmanaged to maintain a steady level of excellence. It always had a manor two in the School eleven and fifteen, generally supplied one of theSchool Racquets pair for Queen's Club in the Easter vac., and when thisdid not happen always had one of two of the Gym. Six or Shooting Eight,or a few men who had won scholarships at the 'Varsities. The pride of ahouse is almost keener than the pride of a school. From the firstminute he entered the house a new boy was made to feel that, in comingto Seymour's, he had accepted a responsibility that his reputation wasnot his own, but belonged to the house. If he did well, the glory wouldbe Seymour's glory. If he did badly, he would be sinning against thehouse.
This second story about Sheen, therefore, stirred Seymour's to theextent of giving the house a resemblance to a hornet's nest into whicha stone had been hurled. After school that day the house literallyhummed. The noise of the two day-rooms talking it over could be heardin the road outside. The only bar that stood between the outragedSeymourites and Sheen was Drummond. As had happened before, Drummondresolutely refused to allow anything in the shape of an active protest,and no argument would draw him from this unreasonable attitude, thoughwhy it was that he had taken it up he himself could not have said.
Perhaps it was that rooted hatred a boxer instinctively acquires ofanything in the shape of unfair play that influenced him. He revoltedagainst the idea of a whole house banding together against one of itsmembers.
So even this fresh provocation did not result in any activeinterference with Sheen; but it was decided that he must be cut evenmore thoroughly than before.
And about the time when this was resolved, Sheen was receiving thecongratulations of Francis on having positively landed a blow upon him.
It was an event which marked an epoch in his career.
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