“I tell you what,” said Charteris. “Do you know a place called Worbury? I thought you wouldn’t, probably. It’s only a sort of hamlet, two cottages, three public-houses, and a duck-pond, and that sort of thing. I only know it because Welch and I ran there once last year. It’s in the Badgwick direction, about three miles by road, mostly along the level. I vote we muffle up fairly well, blazers and sweaters and so on, run to Worbury, tea at one of the cottages, and back in time for lockup. How does that strike you?”
“It sounds all right. How about tea though? Are you certain you can get it?”
“Rather. The Oldest Inhabitant is quite a pal of mine.”
Charteris’s circle of acquaintances was a standing wonder to the Babe and other Merevalians. He seemed to know everybody in the county.
When once he was fairly started on any business, physical or mental, Charteris generally shaped well. It was the starting that he found the difficulty. Now that he was actually in motion, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. He wondered why on earth he had been so reluctant to come for this run. The knowledge that there were three miles to go, and that he was equal to them, made him feel a new man. He felt fit. And there is nothing like feeling fit for dispelling boredom. He swung along with the Babe at a steady pace.
“There’s the cottage,” he said, as they turned a bend of the road, and Worbury appeared a couple of hundred yards away. “Let’s sprint.” They sprinted, and arrived at the door of the cottage with scarcely a yard between them, much to the admiration of the Oldest Inhabitant, who was smoking a thoughtful pipe in his front garden. Mrs. Oldest Inhabitant came out of the cottage at the sound of voices, and Charteris broached the subject of tea. The menu was sumptuous and varied, and even the Babe, in spite of his devotion to strict training, could scarce forbear to smile happily at the mention of hot cakes.
During the mauvais quart d’heure before the meal, Charteris kept up an animated conversation with the Oldest Inhabitant, the Babe joining in from time to time when he could think of anything to say. Charteris appeared to be quite a friend of the family. He enquired after the Oldest Inhabitant’s rheumatics. It was gratifying to find that they were distinctly better. How had Mrs. O. I. been since his last visit? Prarper hearty? Excellent. How was the O. I.’s nevvy?
At the mention of his nevvy the O. I. became discursive. He told his audience everything that had happened in connection with the said nevvy for years back. After which he started to describe what he would probably do in the future. Amongst other things, there were going to be some sports at Rutton today week, and his nevvy was going to try and win the cup for what the Oldest Inhabitant vaguely described as “a race.” He had won it last year. Yes, prarper good runner, his nevvy. Where was Rutton? the Babe wanted to know. About eight miles out of Stapleton, said Charteris, who was well up in local geography. You got there by train. It was the next station.
Mrs. O. I. came out to say that tea was ready, and, being drawn into the conversation on the subject of the Rutton sports, produced a programme of the same, which her nevvy had sent them. From this it seemed that the nevvy’s “spot” event was the egg and spoon race. An asterisk against his name pointed him out as the last year’s winner.
“Hullo,” said Charteris, “I see there’s a strangers’ mile. I’m a demon at the mile when I’m roused. I think I shall go in for it.”
He handed the programme back and began his tea.
“You know, Babe,” he said, as they were going back that evening, “I really think I shall go in for that race. It would be a most awful rag. It’s the day before the House-match, so it’ll just get me fit.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said the Babe. “There would be a fearful row about it if you were found out. You’d get extras for the rest of your life.”
“Well, the final Houser comes off on a Thursday, so it won’t affect that.”
“Yes, but still—”
“I shall think about it,” said Charteris. “You needn’t go telling anyone.”
“If you’ll take my advice, you’ll drop it.”
“Your suggestion has been noted, and will receive due attention,” said Charteris. “Put on the pace a bit.”
They lengthened their stride, and conversation came to an abrupt end.
IV
“I shall go, Babe,” said Charteris on the following night.
The Sixth Form had a slack day before them on the morrow, there being a temporary lull in the form-work which occurred about once a week, when there was no composition of any kind to be done. The Sixth did four compositions a week, two Greek and two Latin, and except for these did not bother themselves very much about overnight preparation. The Latin authors which the form were doing were Livy and Virgil, and when either of these were on the next day’s programme, most of the Sixth considered that they were justified in taking a night off. They relied on their ability to translate both authors at sight and without previous acquaintance. The popular notion that Virgil is hard rarely appeals to a member of a public school. There are two ways of translating Virgil, the conscientious and the other. He prefers the other.
On this particular night, therefore, work was “off.” Merevale was over at the Great Hall, taking preparation, and the Sixth-Form Merevalians had assembled in Charteris’s study to talk about things in general. It was after a pause of some moments, that had followed upon a lively discussion of the House’s prospects in the forthcoming final, that Charteris had spoken.
“I shall go, Babe,” said he.
“Go where?” asked Tony, from the depths of
