Their eyes met. Attell, after a moment’s pause, came forward, half-menacing, half irresolute; and as he came Sheen hit him under the chin in the manner recommended by Mr. Bevan.
“When you uppercut,” 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 was petrified. The sudden shock of the blow, coming as it did from so unexpected a quarter, deprived him of speech: which was, perhaps, fortunate for him, for what he would have said would hardly have commended itself to Mr. Spence, who came up at this moment.
“Well, Sheen,” said Mr. Spence, “here you are. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. 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 taken place immediately before his arrival. Then he remembered that it had happened inside the court. It must have been over by the time Mr. Spence had come upon the scene.
“Are you waiting for somebody, Attell?” asked Mr. Spence. “Stanning? He will 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 first game. “How did that happen?”
“Boxing, sir,” said Sheen.
“Oh,” replied Mr. Spence, and to Sheen’s relief he did not pursue his inquiries.
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 playing in. Who’s got it?”
“Sheen.”
“Sheen!” Stanning stopped dead. “Do you mean to say you let a fool like Sheen 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 court when a master wanted it.”
“I suppose not,” said Stanning. “What did Sheen say when you told him you wanted the court?”
This was getting near a phase of the subject which Attell was not eager to discuss.
“Oh, he didn’t say much,” he said.
“Did you do anything?” persisted Stanning.
Attell suddenly remembered having noticed that Sheen was wearing a black 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 by school-time.”
And sure enough, when school-tune arrived, there was Sheen with his face in the condition described, and Stanning hastened to spread abroad this sequel to the story of Sheen’s failings in the town battle. By the end of preparation it had got about the school that Sheen had cheeked Attell, that Attell had hit Sheen, and that Sheen had been afraid to hit him back. At the precise moment when Sheen was in the middle of a warm two-minute round with Francis at the “Blue Boar,” an indignation meeting was being held in the senior day-room at Seymour’s to discuss this 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 feeling in the house against Sheen had been stirred to a dangerous pitch by this last episode. Seymour’s thought more of their reputation than any house in the school. For years past the house had led on the cricket and football field and off it. Sometimes other houses would actually win one of the cups, but, when this happened, Seymour’s was always their most dangerous rival. Other houses had their ups and downs, were very good one year and very bad the next; but Seymour’s had always managed to maintain a steady level of excellence. It always had a man or two in the School eleven and fifteen, generally supplied one of the School Racquets pair for Queen’s Club in the Easter vac., and when this did 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 a house is almost keener than the pride of a school. From the first minute he entered the house a new boy was made to feel that, in coming to Seymour’s, he had accepted a responsibility that his reputation was not his own, but belonged to the house. If he did well, the glory would be Seymour’s glory. If he did badly, he would be sinning against the house.
This second story about Sheen, therefore, stirred Seymour’s to the extent of giving the house a resemblance to a hornet’s nest into which a stone had been hurled. After school that day the house literally hummed. The noise of the two day-rooms talking it over could be heard in the road outside. The only bar that stood between the outraged Seymourites and Sheen was Drummond. As had happened before, Drummond resolutely refused to allow anything in the shape of an active protest, and no argument would draw him from this unreasonable attitude, though why it was that he had taken it up he himself could not have said. Perhaps it was that rooted hatred a boxer instinctively acquires of anything in the shape of unfair play that influenced him. He revolted against the idea of a whole house banding together against one of its members.
So even this fresh provocation did not result in any active interference with Sheen; but it was decided that he must be cut even more thoroughly than before.
And about the time when this was resolved, Sheen was receiving the congratulations of Francis on having positively landed a blow upon him. It was an event which marked an epoch in his career.
XII
Dunstable and Linton Go Up the River
There are some proud, spirited natures which resent rules and laws on principle as attempts to interfere with the rights of the citizen. As the Duchess in the play said of
