When one has been working hard with a single end in view, the arrivaland departure of the supreme moment is apt to leave a feeling ofemptiness, as if life had been drained of all its interest, and leftnothing sufficiently exciting to make it worth doing. Horatius, as hefollowed his plough on a warm day over the corn land which hisgratified country bestowed on him for his masterly handling of thetraffic on the bridge, must sometimes have felt it was a little tame.
The feeling is far more acute when one has been unexpectedly baulked inone's desire for action. Sheen, for the first few days after hereceived Drummond's brief note, felt that it was useless for him to tryto do anything. The Fates were against him. In stories, as Mr Ansteyhas pointed out, the hero is never long without his chance ofretrieving his reputation. A mad bull comes into the school grounds,and he alone (the hero, not the bull) is calm. Or there is a fire, andwhose is that pale and gesticulating form at the upper window? Thebully's, of course. And who is that climbing nimbly up the Virginiacreeper? Why, the hero. Who else? Three hearty cheers for the pluckyhero.
But in real life opportunities of distinguishing oneself are lessfrequent.
Sheen continued his visits to the "Blue Boar", but more because heshrank from telling Joe Bevan that all his trouble had been fornothing, than because he had any definite object in view. It was bitterto listen to the eulogies of the pugilist, when all the while he knewthat, as far as any immediate results were concerned, it did not reallymatter whether he boxed well or feebly. Some day, perhaps, as Mr Bevanwas fond of pointing out when he approached the subject ofdisadvantages of boxing, he might meet a hooligan when he was crossinga field with his sister; but he found that but small consolation. Hewas in the position of one who wants a small sum of ready money, and istold that, in a few years, he may come into a fortune. By the time hegot a chance of proving himself a man with his hands, he would be anOld Wrykinian. He was leaving at the end of the summer term.
Jack Bruce was sympathetic, and talked more freely than was his wont.
"I can't understand it," he said. "Drummond always seemed a good sort.
I should have thought he would have sent you in for the house like ashot. Are you sure you put it plainly in your letter? What did yousay?"Sheen repeated the main points of his letter.
"Did you tell him who had been teaching you?""No. I just said I'd been boxing lately.""Pity," said Jack Bruce. "If you'd mentioned that it was Joe who'd beentraining you, he would probably have been much more for it. You see, hecouldn't know whether you were any good or not from your letter. But ifyou'd told him that Joe Bevan and Hunt both thought you good, he'd haveseen there was something in it.""It never occurred to me. Like a fool, I was counting on the thing somuch that it didn't strike me there would be any real difficulty ingetting him to see my point. Especially when he got mumps and couldn'tgo in himself. Well, it can't be helped now."And the conversation turned to the prospects of Jack Bruce's father inthe forthcoming election, the polling for which had just begun.
"I'm busy now," said Bruce. "I'm not sure that I shall be able to domuch sparring with you for a bit.""My dear chap, don't let me--""Oh, it's all right, really. Taking you to the 'Blue Boar' doesn't landme out of my way at all. Most of the work lies round in this direction.
I call at cottages, and lug oldest inhabitants to the poll. It's raresport.""Does your pater know?""Oh, yes. He rots me about it like anything, but, all the same, Ibelieve he's really rather bucked because I've roped in quite a dozenvoters who wouldn't have stirred a yard if I hadn't turned up. That'swhere we're scoring. Pedder hasn't got a car yet, and these old rottersround here aren't going to move out of their chairs to go for a ride inan ordinary cart. But they chuck away their crutches and hop into amotor like one o'clock.""It must be rather a rag," said Sheen.
The car drew up at the door of the "Blue Boar". Sheen got out and ranupstairs to the gymnasium. Joe Bevan was sparring a round with Francis.
He watched them while he changed, but without the enthusiasm of whichhe had been conscious on previous occasions. The solid cleverness ofJoe Bevan, and the quickness and cunning of the bantam-weight, were asmuch in evidence as before, but somehow the glamour and romance whichhad surrounded them were gone. He no longer watched eagerly to pick upthe slightest hint from these experts. He felt no more interest than hewould have felt in watching a game of lawn tennis. He _had_ beenkeen. Since his disappointment with regard to the House Boxing he hadbecome indifferent.
Joe Bevan noticed this before he had been boxing with him a minute.
"Hullo, sir," he said, "what's this? Tired today? Not feeling well? Youaren't boxing like yourself, not at all you aren't. There's no weightbehind 'em. You're tapping. What's the matter with your feet, too? Youaren't getting about as quickly as I should like to see. What have youbeen doing to yourself?""Nothing that I know of," said Sheen. "I'm sorry I'm so rotten. Let'shave another try."The second try proved as unsatisfactory as the first. He was listless,and his leads and counters lacked conviction.
Joe Bevan, who identified himself with his pupils with thatthoroughness which is the hall-mark of the first-class boxinginstructor, looked so pained at his sudden loss of form, that Sheencould not resist the temptation to confide in him. After all, he musttell him some time.
"The fact is," he said, as they sat on the balcony overlooking theriver, waiting for Jack Bruce to return with his car, "I've had a bitof a sickener.""I thought you'd got sick of it," said Mr Bevan. "Well, have a bit of arest.""I don't mean that I'm tired of boxing," Sheen hastened to explain.
"After all the trouble you've taken with me, it would be a bit thick ifI chucked it just as I was beginning to get on. It isn't that. But youknow how keen I was on boxing for the house?"Joe Bevan nodded.
"Did you get beat?""They wouldn't let me go in," said Sheen.
"But, bless me! you'd have made babies of them. What was the instructordoing? Couldn't he see that you were good?""I didn't get a chance of showing what I could do." He explained thedifficulties of the situation.
Mr Bevan nodded his head thoughtfully.
"So naturally," concluded Sheen, "the thing has put me out a bit. It'sbeastly having nothing to work for. I'm at a loose end. Up till now,I've always had the thought of the House Competition to keep me going.
But now--well, you see how it is. It's like running to catch a train,and then finding suddenly that you've got plenty of time. There doesn'tseem any point in going on running.""Why not Aldershot, sir? said Mr Bevan.
"What!" cried Sheen.
The absolute novelty of the idea, and the gorgeous possibilities of it,made him tingle from head to foot. Aldershot! Why hadn't he thought ofit before! The House Competition suddenly lost its importance in hiseyes. It was a trivial affair, after all, compared with Aldershot, thatMecca of the public-school boxer.
Then the glow began to fade. Doubts crept in. He might have learned agood deal from Joe Bevan, but had he learned enough to be able to holdhis own with the best boxers of all the public schools in the country?
And if he had the skill to win, had he the heart? Joe Bevan had saidthat he would not disgrace himself again, and he felt that the chanceswere against his doing so, but there was the terrible possibility. Hehad stood up to Francis and the others, and he had taken their blowswithout flinching; but in these encounters there was always at the backof his mind the comforting feeling that there was a limit to the amountof punishment he would receive. If Francis happened to drive him into acorner where he could neither attack, nor defend himself againstattack, he did not use his advantage to the full. He indicated ratherthan used it. A couple of blows, and he moved out into the open again.
But in the Public Schools Competition at Aldershot there would be noquarter. There would be nothing but deadly earnest. If he allowedhimself to be manoeuvred into an awkward position, only his own skill,or the call of time, could extricate him from it.
In a word, at the "Blue Boar" he sparred. At Aldershot he would have tofight. Was he capable of fighting?
Then there was another difficulty. How was he to get himself appointedas the Wrykyn light-weight representative? Now that Drummond was unableto box, Stanning would go down, as the winner of the SchoolCompetition. These things were worked by an automatic process. Sheenfelt that he could beat Stanning, but he had no means of publishingthis fact to the school. He could not challenge him to a trial ofskill. That sort of thing was not done.
He explained this to Joe Bevan.
"Well, it's a pity," said Joe regretfully. "It's a pity."At this moment Jack Bruce appeared.
"What's a pity, Joe?" he asked.
"Joe wants me to go to Aldershot as a light-weight," explained Sheen,"and I was just saying that I couldn't, because of Stanning.""What about Stanning?""He won the School Competition, you see, so they're bound to send himdown.""Half a minute," said Jack Bruce. "I never thought of Aldershot for youbefore. It's a jolly good idea. I believe you'd have a chance. And it'sall right about Stanning. He's not going down. Haven't you heard?""I don't hear anything. Why isn't he going down?""He's knocked up one of his wrists. So he says.""How do you mean--so he says?" asked Sheen.
"I believe he funks it.""Why? What makes you think that?""Oh, I don't know. It's only my opinion. Still, it's a little queer.
Stanning says he crocked his left wrist in the final of the HouseCompetition.""Well, what's wrong with that? Why shouldn't he have done so?"Sheen objected strongly to Stanning, but he had the elements of justicein him, and he was not going to condemn him on insufficient evidence,particularly of a crime of which he himself had been guilty.
"Of course he may have done," said Bruce. "But it's a bit fishy that heshould have been playing fives all right two days running just afterthe competition.""He might have crocked himself then.""Then why didn't he say so?"A question which Sheen found himself unable to answer.
"Then there's nothing to prevent you fighting, sir," said Joe Bevan,who had been listening attentively to the conversation.
"Do you really think I've got a chance?""I do, sir.""Of course you have," said Jack Bruce. "You're quite as good asDrummond was, last time I saw him box.""Then I'll have a shot at it," said Sheen.
"Good for you, sir," cried Joe Bevan.
"Though it'll be a bit of a job getting leave," said Sheen. "How wouldyou start about it, Bruce?""You'd better ask Spence. He's the man to go to.""That's all right. I'm rather a pal of Spence's.""Ask him tonight after prep.," suggested Bruce.
"And then you can come here regular," said Joe Bevan, "and we'll trainyou till you're that fit you could eat bricks, and you'll make babiesof them up at Aldershot."
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