Outwood's rollicked considerably1 that night. Mike, if he had cared totake the part, could have been the Petted Hero. But a cordialinvitation from the senior day-room to be the guest of the evening atabout the biggest rag of the century had been refused on the plea offatigue. One does not make two hundred and seventy-seven runs on a hotday without feeling the effects, even if one has scored mainly by themedium of boundaries; and Mike, as he lay back in Psmith's deck-chair,felt that all he wanted was to go to bed and stay there for a week.
His hands and arms burned as if they were red-hot, and his eyes wereso tired that he could not keep them open.
Psmith, leaning against the mantelpiece, discoursed2 in a desultory3 wayon the day's happenings--the score off Mr. Downing, the undeniableannoyance of that battered5 bowler6, and the probability of his ventinghis annoyance4 on Mike next day.
"In theory," said he, "the manly7 what-d'you-call-it of cricket and allthat sort of thing ought to make him fall on your neck to-morrow andweep over you as a foeman worthy8 of his steel. But I am prepared tobet a reasonable sum that he will give no Jiu-jitsu exhibition of thiskind. In fact, from what I have seen of our bright little friend, Ishould say that, in a small way, he will do his best to make itdistinctly hot for you, here and there.""I don't care," murmured Mike, shifting his aching limbs in the chair.
"In an ordinary way, I suppose, a man can put up with having hisbowling hit a little. But your performance was cruelty to animals.
Twenty-eight off one over, not to mention three wides, would have madeJob foam10 at the mouth. You will probably get sacked. On the otherhand, it's worth it. You have lit a candle this day which can never beblown out. You have shown the lads of the village how ComradeDowning's bowling9 ought to be treated. I don't suppose he'll ever takeanother wicket.""He doesn't deserve to."Psmith smoothed his hair at the glass and turned round again.
"The only blot11 on this day of mirth and good-will is," he said, "thesingular conduct of our friend Jellicoe. When all the place wasringing with song and merriment, Comrade Jellicoe crept to my side,and, slipping his little hand in mine, touched me for three quid."This interested Mike, fagged as he was.
"What! Three quid!""Three jingling12, clinking sovereigns. He wanted four.""But the man must be living at the rate of I don't know what. It wasonly yesterday that he borrowed a quid from _me_!""He must be saving money fast. There appear to be the makings of afinancier about Comrade Jellicoe. Well, I hope, when he's collectedenough for his needs, he'll pay me back a bit. I'm pretty well cleanedout.""I got some from my brother at Oxford13.""Perhaps he's saving up to get married. We may be helping14 towardsfurnishing the home. There was a Siamese prince fellow at my dame's atEton who had four wives when he arrived, and gathered in a fifthduring his first summer holidays. It was done on the correspondencesystem. His Prime Minister fixed15 it up at the other end, and sent himthe glad news on a picture post-card. I think an eye ought to be kepton Comrade Jellicoe."* * * * *Mike tumbled into bed that night like a log, but he could not sleep.
He ached all over. Psmith chatted for a time on human affairs ingeneral, and then dropped gently off. Jellicoe, who appeared to bewrapped in gloom, contributed nothing to the conversation.
After Psmith had gone to sleep, Mike lay for some time running over inhis mind, as the best substitute for sleep, the various points of hisinnings that day. He felt very hot and uncomfortable.
Just as he was wondering whether it would not be a good idea to get upand have a cold bath, a voice spoke16 from the darkness at his side.
"Are you asleep, Jackson?""Who's that?""Me--Jellicoe. I can't get to sleep.""Nor can I. I'm stiff all over.""I'll come over and sit on your bed."There was a creaking, and then a weight descended17 in the neighbourhoodof Mike's toes.
Jellicoe was apparently18 not in conversational19 mood. He uttered no wordfor quite three minutes. At the end of which time he gave a soundmidway between a snort and a sigh.
"I say, Jackson!" he said.
"Yes?""Have you--oh, nothing."Silence again.
"Jackson.""Hullo?""I say, what would your people say if you got sacked?""All sorts of things. Especially my pater. Why?""Oh, I don't know. So would mine.""Everybody's would, I expect.""Yes."The bed creaked, as Jellicoe digested these great thoughts. Then hespoke again.
"It would be a jolly beastly thing to get sacked."Mike was too tired to give his mind to the subject. He was not reallylistening. Jellicoe droned on in a depressed20 sort of way.
"You'd get home in the middle of the afternoon, I suppose, and you'ddrive up to the house, and the servant would open the door, and you'dgo in. They might all be out, and then you'd have to hang about, andwait; and presently you'd hear them come in, and you'd go out into thepassage, and they'd say 'Hullo!'"Jellicoe, in order to give verisimilitude, as it were, to an otherwisebald and unconvincing narrative21, flung so much agitated22 surprise intothe last word that it woke Mike from a troubled doze23 into which he hadfallen.
"Hullo?" he said. "What's up?""Then you'd say. 'Hullo!' And then they'd say, 'What are you doinghere? 'And you'd say----""What on earth are you talking about?""About what would happen.""Happen when?""When you got home. After being sacked, you know.""Who's been sacked?" Mike's mind was still under a cloud.
"Nobody. But if you were, I meant. And then I suppose there'd be anawful row and general sickness, and all that. And then you'd be sentinto a bank, or to Australia, or something."Mike dozed24 off again.
"My pater would be frightfully sick. My mater would be sick. My sisterwould be jolly sick, too. Have you got any sisters, Jackson? I say,Jackson!""Hullo! What's the matter? Who's that?""Me--Jellicoe.""What's up?""I asked you if you'd got any sisters.""Any _what_?""Sisters.""Whose sisters?""Yours. I asked if you'd got any.""Any what?""Sisters.""What about them?"The conversation was becoming too intricate for Jellicoe. He changedthe subject.
"I say, Jackson!""Well?""I say, you don't know any one who could lend me a pound, do you?""What!" cried Mike, sitting up in bed and staring through the darknessin the direction whence the numismatist's voice was proceeding25. "Do_what_?""I say, look out. You'll wake Smith.""Did you say you wanted some one to lend you a quid?""Yes," said Jellicoe eagerly. "Do you know any one?"Mike's head throbbed26. This thing was too much. The human brain couldnot be expected to cope with it. Here was a youth who had borrowed apound from one friend the day before, and three pounds from anotherfriend that very afternoon, already looking about him for furtherloans. Was it a hobby, or was he saving up to buy an aeroplane?
"What on earth do you want a pound for?""I don't want to tell anybody. But it's jolly serious. I shall getsacked if I don't get it."Mike pondered.
Those who have followed Mike's career as set forth27 by the presenthistorian will have realised by this time that he was a good long wayfrom being perfect. As the Blue-Eyed Hero he would have been a rankfailure. Except on the cricket field, where he was a natural genius,he was just ordinary. He resembled ninety per cent. of other membersof English public schools. He had some virtues28 and a good manydefects. He was as obstinate29 as a mule30, though people whom he likedcould do as they pleased with him. He was good-natured as a generalthing, but on occasion his temper could be of the worst, and had, inhis childhood, been the subject of much adverse31 comment among hisaunts. He was rigidly32 truthful33, where the issue concerned onlyhimself. Where it was a case of saving a friend, he was prepared toact in a manner reminiscent of an American expert witness.
He had, in addition, one good quality without any defect to balanceit. He was always ready to help people. And when he set himself to dothis, he was never put off by discomfort34 or risk. He went at the thingwith a singleness of purpose that asked no questions.
Bob's postal35 order, which had arrived that evening, was reposing36 inthe breast-pocket of his coat.
It was a wrench37, but, if the situation was so serious with Jellicoe,it had to be done.
* * * * *Two minutes later the night was being made hideous38 by Jellicoe'salmost tearful protestations of gratitude39, and the postal order hadmoved from one side of the dormitory to the other.
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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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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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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