The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Lad of Mettle, by Nat Gould

A LAD OF METTLE

NAT GOULD’S SPORTING NOVELS

Crown 8vo., Picture Boards.

THE DOUBLE EVENT
RUNNING IT OFF
JOCKEY JACK
HARRY DALE’S JOCKEY
BANKER AND BROKER
THROWN AWAY
STUCK UP
ONLY A COMMONER
THE MINERS’ CUP
THE MAGPIE JACKET
WHO DID IT?
HORSE OR BLACKSMITH?
NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL
SEEING HIM THROUGH

Also, uniform with the above,

ON AND OFF THE TURF IN AUSTRALIA
TOWN AND BUSH
THE DOCTOR’S DOUBLE
A LAD OF METTLE

A LAD OF METTLE

BY
NAT GOULD

AUTHOR OF ‘THE DOUBLE EVENT,’ ETC.

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited
Broadway, Ludgate Hill

To
MY SONS.

CONTENTS

A LAD OF METTLE

CHAPTER I.
BULLY RAKES TAKEN DOWN.

Lessons were over for the day, and the boys at Redbank School came running with shouts and whoops of joy into the playing-fields. They were like young colts freed from restraint for a few hours, and eager to make the most of their liberty.

Redbank was the home of brilliant cricketers and all-round athletes. Many a noted cricketer had received his first lessons in the great game on Redbank cricket ground. The lads were proud of the men who played in the All England eleven, and who were never slow to acknowledge that to Redbank they owed what prowess they possessed.

The Redbank lads were born runners, so many an old hand training them for races vowed. Something in the atmosphere of Redbank seemed to make the lads athletic. Perhaps the traditions attached to the school had much to do with this, for lads are very proud, and justly so, of the feats of scholars who have preceded them.

But Redbank was not merely a training ground for famous athletes. Redbank scholars had taken high honours at the Universities, and afterwards distinguished themselves in various walks of life. The Bishop of Flaxham was proud of the fact that he was ‘grounded’ at Redbank. He was an eloquent and distinguished man, an ornament to the Church, and a brilliant writer of readable books.

When the Bishop of Flaxham came to Redbank, and preached in the chapel, the lads with difficulty restrained themselves from giving him a hearty cheer at the end of his address. The Bishop knew how to talk to boys, and never forgot that at one period of his life he had been bored with wearisome sermons about the world, the flesh, and the devil, which he did not in the least understand. So he took warning, and told the lads to run the race set before them much in the same manner as they would a hundred yards sprint, each striving to win the prize and do the distance in even time. The Bishop believed that well-trained muscles and a healthy body were conducive to an active and moral state of mind. The Redbank lads gloried in the fact that the Bishop of Flaxham had been one of themselves.

Field-Marshal Lord Kingcraft was a Redbank boy, and his warlike deeds and bravery were celebrated in song on the fly-leaves of school-books, and occasionally on the panels of doors and the insides of desks.

‘Lord Kingcraft’s won the great V.C.,

May Redbank do the same for me.’

was discovered carved, evidently with much labour and pains, on the lid of a desk at which the celebrated Field-Marshal formerly worried his brains over Euclid and algebra.

This inscription was pointed out to the brave leader of men when he visited his old school, and he never forgot it. He hoped, from the bottom of his heart, the lad who carved it would one day win his V.C.

Redbank was represented in the navy and in the diplomatic world, and one day it was hoped a Redbank lad would become Prime Minister.

So, with all these successful public men constantly before them as an example, the lads of Redbank felt bound to endeavour to do great deeds, and win renown for themselves and their school.

The head-master of Redbank was the Rev. Henry Hook, and it was universally acknowledged that no more suitable man could have been selected. He ruled his lads with a firm hand, but he was no tyrant or hard task-master. The boys knew he meant what he said, and that his word to them could be implicitly relied upon. He had confidence in his boys, and they returned it.

When Edgar Foster came to Redbank School he was sixteen, small for his age, but muscular and active. At this time there were between two and three hundred scholars at Redbank, and naturally out of such a number there were several lads whose absence would not have been regretted.

Young Edgar Foster soon became popular. For one thing, his father was a well-known man, who had worthily upheld the honour of Redbank in the cricket field, and had captained the All England eleven. This was quite sufficient to give Edgar a standing in the school.

Bullies exist in almost every walk of life, and a few of this undesirable species were to be found at Redbank. The leader of these bullies was a lad named Raymond Rakes—‘Bully Rakes’ as he was generally called. He was a big, hulking fellow, powerful and strong, but deficient in courage, as bullies generally are.

There was nothing manly about Bully Rakes, and the boys knew it. So far he had held his own, for he was the biggest boy in the school. Any new scholar he at once endeavoured to inspire with awe, and generally succeeded.

Our story commences about a week after Edgar Foster’s arrival at Redbank. The boys were bounding out of school and soon spread over the fields in groups; the bulk of them, however, went towards the cricketing nets.

Edgar Foster had not had any opportunity of showing what he could do with the bat. He was a lad who did not push himself forward, but quietly bided his time, knowing full well that when that time came he would not be found wanting. The boy is father to the man, and it will be gathered from this story of a lad of mettle that Edgar Foster acted in this wise during many trying periods of his after-life.

Edgar watched the practice with keen and critical eyes. His father had taught him how to handle a bat as only a skilful player can.

‘Here, Foster, take a turn,’ said the lad who had just finished batting. ‘We’ve not had the chance of seeing how you shape yet.’

‘I’m ready,’ said Edgar, pulling off his coat and eagerly holding out a hand for the bat.

‘It’s my turn,’ said Bully Rakes. ‘Just you drop that bat, or I’ll make you.’

Edgar Foster looked up at the big fellow standing before him, but he did not flinch, nor did he drop the bat.

The boys crowded round, anticipating a row, and anxious to see how the new-comer would shape with Rakes.

‘If it is your turn,’ said Edgar quietly, ‘I will give you the bat. If it is not your turn, under no circumstances will I drop the bat.’

The tones were firm, there was no flinching, and the lad looked determined.

Bully Rakes was not accustomed to be addressed in this manner. He eyed Edgar scornfully, and said:

‘I shall have to teach you manners. I am the best judge of whose turn it is. Will you drop that bat?’

Edgar turned to the lad who had handed him the bat, and said:

‘Do you bat in turns? Has Rakes any right to bat before me?’

Courage is infectious. Will Brown had never defied Rakes before, but he felt he must back up his plucky schoolmate.

‘Rakes has no right to bat here at all,’ he replied. ‘He’s been batting at the other net, and has just finished his turn.’

Edgar Foster made no further remark, but walked coolly to the wicket.

This defiance of his demands gave Bully Rakes a shock. He knew if he allowed Foster to bat his hold over the boys would be gone. He strode up to Edgar and said savagely:

‘Give me the bat, or I’ll thrash you!’

‘Had you asked me politely at first, I should probably have handed you the bat,’ said Edgar. ‘I shall not do so now. As for thrashing me—well, that has to be decided.’

‘Bravo, Foster!’ shouted several lads.

‘Punch his head, Rakes,’ said one of the bully’s toadies.

‘Give me that bat, or fight me!’ shouted Rakes in a passion.

‘Shame!’ shouted the lads.

Rakes was much taller and more powerfully built than Edgar.

Edgar Foster handed the bat to Will Brown, and said:

‘Come on, I’m ready.’

Bully Rakes had his coat off, and the boys, seeing a fight about to take place, formed a ring. They would have given much to see Bully Rakes get a severe thrashing.

Now they were in a fighting attitude the disparity between the lads was more apparent. Edgar was lightly built, but active, and evidently in good condition. Bully Rakes was massive, heavy, and ponderous in his movements. The boys were determined to see fair play, and gave Edgar every encouragement. As usual, when he had to fight, Bully Rakes rushed in at close quarters, and tried to overwhelm his smaller opponent by the force of his onslaught.

Edgar, however, was ready for him. He knew how to box better than most lads of his age. His father had taught him, impressing upon him that because he knew how to use his fists he ought not to pick quarrels.

Seeing Bully Rakes rush at him, Edgar sprang nimbly to one side. The bigger lad stumbled forward and almost fell. Thus foiled at the first attempt, Rakes lost his temper. He heard the lads jeering at him, and he determined he would make Edgar suffer for the humiliation.

Recovering himself, Rakes glared at Edgar and then aimed a terrific blow at his ribs. Quick as lightning shot out Edgar’s left and caught Rakes on the ear. It was a stinging blow, and the bully did not take punishment well. Rakes again rushed at Edgar, and, closing with him, kicked him severely on the shin. It was a despicable act, and several lads pulled Rakes back, others shouting ‘Coward!’ and ‘Foul play!’

‘Hands off!’ shouted Rakes. ‘You’d better not interfere with me.’

‘Leave him to Foster,’ said Will Brown; ‘he’ll settle him.’

A roar of laughter followed this remark, and made Bully Rakes furious.

‘Stand up and fight fair,’ said Edgar. ‘Who taught you to kick? We’re not playing football.’

The boys were delighted. Here was young Foster taking it out of Bully Rakes, and chaffing him unmercifully.

Rakes again commenced the attack, but with more caution. He was not a match for his young opponent when it came to science. He managed to land a blow on Edgar’s right eye, but the return he received fairly between his own eyes staggered him. Edgar followed up his advantage and soon had the satisfaction of seeing Bully Rakes measure his length on the grass.

The younger boys danced with delight as the defeat of their enemy looked assured.

Rakes, however, was not yet beaten. He staggered to his feet and fought again with some determination. Feeling he had met his match, his courage, what little he possessed, gave way, and Edgar soon had the bully at his mercy. Edgar was not disposed to let him off lightly, and he knocked Rakes about in a manner that both astonished and alarmed him.

‘Have you had enough?’ said Edgar, standing over him after another knock-down blow. ‘If not, get up, and I’ll repeat the dose.’

‘I’ve done for to-day,’ growled Rakes; ‘but I’ll be even with you for this, see if I don’t.’

‘Take your defeat like a man,’ said Edgar, ‘and drop bullying in the future. Where’s the bat?’ he added, turning to Will Brown.

But the boys would not let him bat. They cheered him and shook hands with him, and Edgar felt he had quickly made a position for himself in the school.

Bully Rakes slunk away with one or two companions, who had been tempted by his example to bully on a smaller scale, and were downcast at his defeat.

‘You’ll get into a row,’ said Will Brown to Edgar. ‘The chief can’t bear fighting, but when he hears the truth, I fancy he’ll side with you.’

‘He’ll hear the truth then,’ said Edgar. ‘I shall ask to see him when we reach school.’

‘I shouldn’t,’ said Will Brown. ‘None of the masters may have noticed it.’

‘It makes no difference to me whether they have noticed it or otherwise,’ said Edgar; ‘I shall tell the doctor all about it, if he will see me. It is the most straightforward way, as I have only been about a week in the school.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Will Brown.

‘Sure of it,’ said Edgar.

That evening Dr. Hook received a polite note from Edgar Foster, in which he asked for an interview. Dr. Hook knew Edgar’s father, and admired him for his many manly qualities.

‘You wanted to see me, Foster,’ said Dr. Hook, when the lad came into his study.

Then, catching sight of Edgar’s discoloured eye, he frowned.

Edgar explained what had occurred in the cricket-field. Dr. Hook listened attentively, noting the boy’s face all the time. His scrutiny was evidently favourable.

‘I am glad you came to me,’ said the head-master; ‘I strongly object to fighting, but in this instance I think it may be overlooked. Send Rakes to me when you go out.’

‘Please, sir,’ said Edgar, and hesitated. ‘I hope you will not punish Rakes; I gave it him severely this afternoon.’

Dr. Hook smiled as he said:

‘No, I will not punish Rakes; I merely wish to speak to him about his conduct. You may go.’

‘That lad will get on in the world,’ thought Dr. Hook, when the door closed behind Edgar. ‘I’m glad he thrashed Rakes; it will do him good.’

Bully Rakes got a very different reception to Edgar Foster, and as he left the room he vowed he would have his revenge upon Edgar for ‘sneaking’ to the head-master.

CHAPTER II.
IN THE CRICKET-FIELD.

The thrashing of Bully Rakes gave Edgar Foster a hold over the affections of his schoolfellows, and he never lost it. In twelve months he became captain of the eleven, and led them to victory on many occasions. Edgar worked hard, both at lessons and play. He found it much easier to study when his body was in good order, and his athletic exercises helped to make his school tasks the easier. He could not be called a brilliant scholar by any means, but he was endowed with an amount of perseverance that generally pulled him through.

‘It’s got to be done, and I’ll do it,’ Edgar thought to himself when pondering over a difficult task, and he generally succeeded.

The Redbank lads took a defeat from their great opponents, the eleven of Fairfield College, with a very bad grace. Not that they allowed their successful opponents to see their chagrin, they were too manly for that, but they felt the defeat keenly.

Edgar Foster determined to win the return match if possible. He had taken great care to select his eleven, and felt confident of success. He was the more eager to win because his father was coming to Redbank to watch the game. Dr. Hook too was anxious his boys should regain their lost laurels, and he encouraged Edgar by his kindly advice.

It so happened that Raymond Rakes, despite his many bad qualities, was a very fair cricketer. He had not been chosen to play in the first match against Fairfield, and he put his being left out of the team down to Edgar’s animosity.

Edgar Foster, however, was not actuated by any such motive. He thought Rakes hardly good enough, and therefore did not select him. Since this match Rakes had shown such good form that Edgar decided to include him in the eleven for the return match.

Bully Rakes was much surprised when Edgar asked him to play. He said he would think over the matter, and complained about not being chosen in the first match.

‘You had not shown good enough form then,’ said Edgar; ‘you have come on wonderfully since, and therefore I ask you to play. It is for the honour of the school we are playing this time, so you ought to have no hesitation.’

‘Then I’ll play,’ said Rakes, in his usual surly manner.

‘And I hope you will make a good score,’ said Edgar.

As the captain of the Redbank eleven walked away, Rakes looked after him with no friendly eyes. He had never forgotten the humiliating defeat he sustained when Edgar first came to the school. No opportunity had yet occurred of paying off the grudge he owed Edgar on that account.

‘He’s set his heart on winning this match,’ muttered Rakes to himself; ‘he’d have left me out again if he could. I’ve a good mind to spoil his plans. What does it matter whether we win or lose the match? I don’t care much which way it goes, and I’d like to see Foster taken down a peg or two. I’ll wait and see how our side shapes. I may be able to carry out a plan of my own.’

Had Edgar Foster doubted Rakes, he would not have asked him to play; but he could not understand any lad throwing away a chance of victory merely to spite the captain of the team. Such conduct Edgar would not have suspected even in Raymond Rakes.

‘So you’ve asked Rakes to play?’ said Will Brown, who had become a stanch friend of Edgar’s ever since the fight with Bully Rakes.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘He’s not a bad bat at all; he’s a fair field, and will do to put on for a change bowler. We must win the match. I’m awfully anxious about it. My father will be here, and there’s sure to be a big crowd of people. We have a good team, and I’m pretty confident this time.’

‘All the same, I should not have played Rakes,’ said Will Brown.

‘Why?’ asked Edgar.

‘Because I don’t trust him. He’s never forgiven you for licking him, and if he gets half a chance he’ll throw us over in the match, just to spite you,’ said Will.

Edgar looked at his schoolmate in surprise. He could not believe in any lad doing such a thing.

‘He’ll never do that,’ said Edgar. ‘Even if it is as you say, and he still bears me a grudge, he would never be such a cad as to throw the school over in order to annoy me.’

‘I hope he won’t, for your sake,’ said Will; ‘but all the same, I have my doubts.’

Will Brown’s words made Edgar feel uneasy for a time, but he soon forgot them. It was universally agreed that a better eleven could not have been chosen to meet Fairfield College. Masters were not to play; it was to be purely a boys’ match.

Early and late Edgar was at the cricket nets watching the practice and debating how he should send his team in to bat. For such a young lad, he had keen powers of observation, and he made a pretty accurate calculation as to the pluck and nerve of each boy. Edgar’s father arrived the day before the match, and saw the final practice.

‘You have a real good team,’ he said to his son, ‘and ought to win. Remember, a good deal depends upon the captain.’

‘I’m not likely to forget that,’ said Edgar. ‘You have often told me a good captain wins many a game at cricket.’

Robert Foster was proud of his son, and naturally felt anxious to see him successful.

‘How’s my lad doing?’ he had said to the head-master.

‘Well—very well,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He is not a brilliant scholar, but he will get on in the world. He is like his father in one respect. He is about the best cricketer and all-round athlete we have in the school.’

Robert Foster’s eyes brightened, and he said:

‘I’m glad of that. I’m not a rich man, and my lad will have to fight his own battles. He has a great inclination to go abroad, and I don’t know that it will not be a good thing for him. His sister will be able to keep me from feeling lonely.’

Dr. Hook looked at Robert Foster with his kindly eyes, and replied:

‘Travel expands the mind. If a lad has plenty of ballast, he will take no harm in any part of the world. Your son is a lad of mettle, and you need have no fear about his future. If I am a judge of character, I should say Edgar Foster is a lad who will surmount difficulties and dangers, and he is bound to be a leader of men.’

Robert Foster was proud of the way in which the head-master spoke of his son. How little do thoughtless schoolboys know the pleasure a father feels in hearing praise bestowed upon his child, or of the pang he feels when the son he loves strays from the right path. Robert Foster loved his son devotedly, although he made very little demonstration of his affection, and Edgar thoroughly understood and appreciated the manly qualities of his father.

The eventful day arrived, and a glorious day it was. The sun shone brightly, and there was a slight cool breeze. Redbank cricket ground was charmingly situated. The pavilion was small, but there were several large trees growing at the back which afforded ample shade. The ground was level and well-kept, and the pitch had much care bestowed upon it. It was a great day at Redbank when this return match with Fairfield College was to be played. Flushed with the triumph of their previous victory, the Fairfield lads were eager for the fray, and had invited many friends to come and witness their further triumph. The captain of the Fairfield eleven, Harold Simpson, was almost as popular at Fairfield as Edgar Foster was at Redbank. The two captains had a mutual liking for each other, although each one was determined to beat the other in the great game they were about to play.

Edgar Foster lost the toss, and, as the ground was in such good order, Harold Simpson elected to send his men in first.

‘They are a strong batting team,’ said Edgar to his father. ‘It will take us some time to get rid of them.’

‘It is a one-day match, so you must do your level best to get them out quickly,’ said his father.

As the boys filed on to the field they were cheered by their comrades and the Redbank supporters, who had mustered in strong force.

Edgar Foster came in for a special share of applause, and he felt his pulses tingle and his heart beat high with hope as he bounded over the springy turf towards the wickets.

The two Fairfield batsmen were wildly cheered by their mates, and Harold Simpson decided on this occasion to go in first.

Will Brown and Sayers junior were put on to bowl.

An anxious moment is that during which the first ball in a match is delivered. The bowler goes back from the wicket, measuring his men; for a second or two he hesitates and looks round, then he glances at the batsman, sees all is ready, and prepares for the delivery. As he takes his run to the wicket the spectators hold their breath. Will this first ball be fatal? A sigh of relief goes round as the batsman plays it well forward.

Harold Simpson failed to score in Brown’s first over. Sayers junior then took the ball, and his first delivery made the bails fly, much to the delight of the Redbank boys, who shouted and cheered vociferously.

Edgar Foster felt they had commenced well, and was anxious for the good-fortune to continue. The Fairfield boys were determined bats, and a long stand took place before the second batsman was got rid of.

Harold Simpson still kept his wicket up, and runs came freely. At the fall of the fifth wicket Fairfield had put a hundred runs on, of which the captain had made forty.

Edgar Foster went on to bowl. He was not such a good bowler as Rakes, who thought he ought to have been tried before, and looked sullen.

In his first over Harold Simpson skied a ball to Raymond Rakes. It was an easy catch, but Rakes missed it, and so clumsily that the boys jeered at him.

Will Brown, who had been watching him, thought:

‘He dropped that on purpose, because Edgar bowled it.’

Nothing daunted at this stroke of bad luck, Edgar sent another similar ball down. Harold Simpson hesitated for a moment as to what he should do with it; then he struck out, and, strange to say, the ball went to Rakes again.

It was not such an easy catch as the former one, but, still, there ought to have been very little difficulty in a good fielder securing it. Rakes fumbled it badly, and again missed the catch.

Edgar Foster could not help thinking of what Will Brown had said to him. He was very much annoyed, and at the conclusion of his over said to Rakes:

‘Those were two easy catches to miss; they may cost us the match.’

‘They were not as easy as they looked,’ said Rakes. ‘You don’t suppose I dropped them on purpose, do you?’

‘I should be very sorry to think that,’ said Edgar; ‘but be more careful next time.’

At last Will Brown secured Harold Simpson’s wicket, and the others followed rapidly, the innings closing for a hundred and thirty-four, a good score in a one-day school match.

‘What do you think of it, Edgar?’ asked his father. ‘Shall you be able to wipe that off?’

‘I think so,’ replied Edgar. ‘We should have had a much easier task had Rakes held those two catches off my bowling.’

‘He made an awful mess of them,’ said Robert Foster. ‘How he dropped the first puzzles me; he had it fairly in his hands.’

‘Look here, Edgar!’ said Will Brown. ‘It’s no use mincing matters. I’m sure Rakes missed those catches purposely. When are you going to send him in?’

‘About seventh,’ said Edgar.

‘Put him in last,’ said Will.

‘That would only make matters worse,’ said Edgar; ‘he would know I doubted him, and act accordingly. He shall go in sixth wicket down. It will give him a chance of making up for missing those catches.’

‘As you wish,’ said Will. ‘Mind, if you are in with him, he does not run you out.’

‘No fear of that,’ said Edgar, laughing.

And he crossed over to speak to Raymond Rakes.

‘You go in sixth wicket down,’ he said.

‘All right,’ replied Rakes, ‘that will suit me.’

‘We’ve not been very good friends,’ said Edgar, ‘but you know it is not my fault. We want to win this match, and it may be that your batting will turn the scale in our favour at a critical point of the game. I shall rely upon you to do your best for the honour of the school. You missed two very easy catches; try and make up for it by playing your best when you go in to bat.’

‘I always do,’ said Rakes sulkily, and walked away.

Edgar Foster felt rather sorry he had included Raymond Rakes in the Redbank eleven.

CHAPTER III.
A CRITICAL MOMENT.

As Edgar Foster walked to the wickets he felt much depended upon him. He was going in first, taking first over, and if he failed to play with confidence it would set a bad example to the remainder of the team. It was, however, at such moments as these that Edgar Foster’s courage and spirit did not fail him.

As he took his position at the wicket he looked round him with a confident air to see how the field was placed. He saw Harold Simpson had so placed his men that not a chance would be thrown away, provided the bowlers were in good form. After a few moments’ delay Edgar handled his bat confidently, and prepared to receive the first ball of the over.

A lad named Winter was bowling, and Edgar knew he was a promising youngster. The first ball pitched short and then shot forward at a tremendous pace. It was a ball that might have deceived any batsman, and Edgar had only just time to change his mind and block it. The escape was narrow, and the boys saw it, but they knew the ball was well played, and cheered.

‘Thought it had him,’ said Robert Foster to one of the Redbank masters.

‘It would have been a stroke of bad luck for us if he had gone out,’ was the reply.

Off the next ball Edgar scored a couple, and the fourth ball of the over he skied on to the pavilion.

‘That first ball put him on his mettle,’ thought his father.

Strange to say, in the next over Edgar’s partner was dismissed first ball in a similar manner to that in which the Fairfield batsman was out.

Will Brown was next in, and he and Edgar made things lively. They fairly collared the bowling, and gave the Fairfield team plenty of leather-hunting. Fours came freely, and Harold Simpson began to look rather downcast. However, when Will Brown was bowled with the score at eighty, the Fairfield captain brightened up again. He knew how often a collapse followed a long stand, and how ‘glorious’ was the uncertainty of cricket.

Will Brown’s partnership with Edgar had put the Redbank boys into an excellent humour, and they were prepared to cheer every hit. What they were not prepared for happened. This was the collapse of the next four batsmen. Three of them were bowled in one over, and the fourth had his bails sent flying when he had scored two. Eighty for two wickets, and eighty-two for six wickets altered the game completely.

It was now the turn of the Fairfield boys to give vent to their delight. The prospect of defeat had not been pleasant, but this sudden change mended the fortunes of their side, and they were wild with the sudden revulsion of feeling. They chaffed the Redbank lads unmercifully, until at one time there was danger of a fistic war.

This was, however, happily averted by the appearance of Raymond Rakes, who was cheered as he went to the wickets. Although Rakes was unpopular, the boys knew he was a fair bat, and they wished to encourage him to make a stand with Edgar Foster.

As Rakes came to the wickets Edgar went forward to meet him.

‘Play steady,’ said Edgar; ‘I feel I am well set. If you play carefully for a few overs you will soon master the bowling. Remember how much depends upon you. We shall have to win the match between us.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Rakes. ‘It’s precious bad luck four of our best bats going out like this.’

‘Don’t think of that,’ said Edgar. ‘Try and make up for it by piling up a good score.’

Raymond Rakes followed Edgar’s advice, and soon found he had very little difficulty in playing the bowling. He knew how anxious Edgar was, not only to win the match, but to make fifty because his father was present.

‘I’m well set,’ thought Rakes. ‘I’d like to get him out. It would cut him up terribly to be run out. Even if he got out we have a chance. I can make a fair score, and our tail-end is not a bad one.’

Still harbouring such thoughts as these Raymond Rakes batted steadily, and Edgar was immensely pleased to see him scoring freely, and the Redbank boys were cheering every stroke. They watched the scoring-board intently, and grew more and more excited with every run. Suddenly there was a loud cry of dismay from the boys. Some shouted ‘Run, Rakes!’ others ‘Go back, Foster!’

Edgar Foster hit a ball forward, and called to Rakes to run. Had Rakes come at once it would have been an easy but smart run. Rakes started late, and then when Edgar Foster was three parts of the way down the pitch shouted to him to go back, and ran back himself. This left Edgar in a most unenviable position. The ball was smartly fielded, and as Edgar ran back he saw it flash past him straight for the wicket-keeper.

‘I’m done,’ thought Edgar, but he ran on as fast as possible.

It was a critical moment. The wicket-keeper in some unaccountable way fumbled the ball, and only knocked the bails off as Edgar reached the crease.

‘How’s that?’ came from wicket-keeper, bowler, and fielders in a general chorus.

They were anxious to see Edgar out, for he had given them a lot of trouble, and seemed likely to give more.

‘Not out!’ promptly came the decision of the umpire, and a roar of applause echoed over the field as the Redbank lads danced with delight, and flung their caps high into the air because their captain had another chance given him. Edgar knew the decision of the umpire was correct, and he thanked his lucky star that the wicket-keeper had fumbled the ball. When he thought of Raymond Rakes he felt inclined to give him a bit of his mind, but he determined to treat the matter as a pure accident until the close of the game. As for Raymond Rakes he was savage at the non-success of his plan. He had deliberately tried to run Edgar out. It was a dirty trick, and he knew it, but he was bitterly disappointed that it had not been successful.

‘Hang the fellow! he seems to have all the luck,’ thought Raymond. ‘I wonder if he suspects anything?’

The idea of Edgar Foster suspecting he had acted in such a manner made Rakes feel uneasy, for he had not forgotten the punishment Edgar gave him when he first came to the school. He did not bat with such confidence, and Edgar put this down to its proper cause. Runs came freely again, for Edgar felt the result of the match depended almost entirely upon himself. When his score reached fifty the cheering broke out again, and made Rakes turn green with envy.

‘He shall have a new bat for that,’ said Robert Foster. ‘By Jove! he deserves it. He’s batting splendidly. I’m glad that big hulking fellow did not run him out.’

Before the score reached a hundred Rakes was caught. He was not very warmly greeted as he returned to the pavilion. The boys knew how matters stood between him and Edgar, and they had a shrewd suspicion Bully Rakes had tried to get Edgar run out.

Rakes flung his bat down in a corner of the dressing-room and took off his pads.

‘You didn’t manage to run him out,’ said Will Brown.

‘Who wanted to run him out?’ said Rakes angrily; ‘I didn’t. It was his own fault. There was no run, and I didn’t want to get out through his foolishness.’

‘You’d better tell him that when the match is over,’ said Will Brown. ‘He’ll probably want an explanation. If he believes you, well and good; if not—oh my, won’t you just catch it!’

Bully Rakes took up a pad and hurled it at his tormentor.

‘Get out of this, you little beast!’ he said. ‘You know I can’t touch you here, or you’d not be so cheeky.’

‘Mind and keep clear of Edgar’s left if it comes to war,’ said Will Brown. ‘I fancy you know he’s a good fist at the end of his left arm.’

Bully Rakes jumped to his feet and made towards the speaker; but Will Brown was too quick for him, and shot out at the side door.

Meanwhile the game was at a critical stage. Edgar Foster was playing at his best. He did not give a chance, nor did he throw away an opportunity of stealing a run. He knew that every run was of vast importance. A run lost might mean the match lost. Sayers junior was in with him, and blocked steadily while his captain made the runs. The fielders were on the alert, and were smart and active, and many a run was saved. Harold Simpson was a good general, and handled his men well.

‘It does one good to watch a game like this,’ said Robert Foster to Dr. Hook. ‘I have seldom seen lads field better, and Edgar is batting really well. Who is the little chap keeping his end up so well?’

‘Sayers junior,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He’s helping your son famously.’

‘Playing a most unselfish game,’ said Robert Foster. ‘That is how matches are won. A selfish player at any game is a big handicap on his side.’

A burst of cheering from lusty throats stopped the conversation. It was caused by Edgar Foster hitting a ball over the pavilion—a mighty stroke for a lad.

‘Well hit!’ ‘Bravo, Foster!’ ‘Three cheers for our skipper!’ And the Redbank lads shouted until they were hoarse.

The match was, however, not yet won. Sayers junior played a ball on to his wicket when ten runs remained to be got to tie and eleven to win.

‘I am afraid we shall lose,’ said Dr. Hook, as the ninth man was clean bowled and the last of the team went in.

‘Can he bat at all?’ asked Robert Foster anxiously.

‘He is uncertain, but at times he shapes well,’ said one of the masters.

‘Then I hope it is his day for shaping well,’ said Edgar’s father.

‘Block them, Bull,’ said Edgar, as the lad came to the wicket.

‘I’ll do my level best,’ said Bull, ‘and I don’t feel a bit nervous.’

‘That’s right,’ said Edgar. ‘Then, between us we must win the match.’

Fortunately Edgar was batting, and he hit the first ball sent him after Bull came in for a single. It was fielded smartly, thrown in swiftly, the wicket-keeper could not quite reach it, and there was another run for an overthrow. This gave Edgar another chance before the over was finished, and he promptly took advantage of it, hitting the next ball round to leg for three. The excitement was intense. Would Bull be able to keep his wicket up during this over? The Redbank boys vowed they would make Bull a presentation if he managed to do so. It was a surprise to them when Bull fluked a ball past point, and another run followed. Edgar determined to finish the game if possible, and a couple of runs were got by a somewhat lucky stroke. This left three runs to win, and the boys of both schools were in a fever of excitement.

‘If Edgar can only manage to hit a three,’ said Will Brown, ‘then we shall be all right. He’s done wonders, considering everything.’

The next ball Edgar could do nothing with. It puzzled him, and nearly got past his bat.

Then came a comparatively easy ball, and Edgar lifted it over the ropes, amidst a perfect hurricane of cheers. This hit won the match, and the Redbank boys rushed wildly over the ground and, surrounding Edgar, bore him shoulder-high to the pavilion. It was a scene seldom witnessed even on this famous school-ground, and as Edgar’s father looked on he felt the moisture well up into his eyes, and his heart beat with pride. He knew what this moment of triumph would mean to his son, and he gloried in it. He made his way to the dressing-room, and as he came the boys stood on one side and cheered him again and again. They were proud of the father and proud of the son, and were not slow to show it.

‘Splendidly done, my lad!’ said Robert Foster, as he placed his hand on Edgar’s shoulder. ‘It was a plucky, uphill fight, and your schoolfellows are enthusiastic about it. I never saw you play a steadier or better game.’

‘It was hard work,’ said Edgar, ‘but I did not feel a bit nervous. We have won, but it was a narrow shave. I think it ought to have been an easier victory had Rakes done his best.’

‘Then, you think Rakes behaved badly? I should give a boy like that a wide berth.’

‘We are not friends,’ said Edgar, ‘but I bear him no animosity.’

The Redbank boys could do nothing but talk over their victory, and Edgar Foster found they gave most of the credit to himself.

Edgar gave Rakes to understand he believed he had tried to run him out.

‘I may be wrong, but that is my opinion,’ said Edgar.

‘Your opinion is worth nothing to me,’ said Rakes, ‘so you may keep it to yourself.’

‘That may be,’ replied Edgar; ‘but the honour of the school ought to be worth something to you. I shall not ask you to play again during the time I am captain of the eleven.’

CHAPTER IV.
LEAVING SCHOOL.

The time arrived, all too soon, when Edgar Foster was to leave Redbank. Unlike many lads, he was not eager to have done with lessons, and take his place in the busy world. During his stay at Redbank he had made many friends, Will Brown being an especial favourite with him. Dr. Hook was proud of his scholar, for Edgar had done as well at work as at play.

When the holiday time came round, Edgar Foster bade farewell to Redbank with feelings of regret. As he looked back at the school he was leaving he thought of the many happy hours he had spent within its walls. He had gone through trial and struggle, such as every lad must encounter, but they only made victory taste the sweeter.

‘I shall feel quite lonely next term,’ said Will Brown, who was going home with Edgar to spend a few days. ‘It’s lucky for some of us Rakes is leaving, or he would have made it uncomfortably hot. I shall never forget the thrashing you gave him. It did me good to see you punish him;’ and Will Brown chuckled with delight at the mere thought.

‘If I never have a harder battle to fight than that,’ said Edgar, ‘I shall be lucky.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Will Brown.

‘With my father’s permission I shall go to Australia,’ said Edgar. ‘You know how fond I have always been of reading and learning about our great colonies. I think it is a splendid thing to start life in a new country, where you are not bound down by a lot of old-world prejudices.’

‘And what shall you do in Australia?’ asked Will Brown.

‘I hardly know, but you may be sure I shall not remain idle very long. There ought to be plenty for an active young fellow like me to do out there.’

‘They are great cricketers, the Australians,’ said Brown. ‘You’re sure to get into one of the best elevens, and that will help you along.’

‘And give me a chance of a trip home perhaps,’ said Edgar. ‘I should hardly like playing against England.’

‘I expect you will become such an enthusiastic colonist that you will be only too eager to assist in lowering the flag of old England on the cricket-field.’

‘We shall see,’ replied Edgar. ‘Of one thing you may be quite sure: I shall look upon Australia as my home if I have to earn my living there.’

Robert Foster was heartily glad to welcome his son’s schoolmate at Elm Lodge. He was a believer in schoolboy friendships when judiciously made.

Elm Lodge was not a large place, but it was old-fashioned and picturesque, and overlooked the Thames near Twickenham. Robert Foster, in addition to being a great cricketer, was a skilful oarsman, and many a Thames waterman had found it a hard task to row with him. He was also an enthusiastic fisherman, and knew the favourite haunts of the famous Thames trout, and where many a good jack was to be found. There was a boathouse at Elm Lodge, and Edgar always anticipated a good time on the great river.

Doris Foster was a bright, merry girl of seventeen, a perfect picture of ruddy health, her cheeks untouched by any artificial beautifier. Nature was her lady’s-maid, and Doris Foster would not have changed her for the most skilful of tire-women. It was a difficult matter to keep Doris Foster indoors, no matter how bad the weather might be. She revelled in sunshine, but she loved the keen, sharp, frosty air of winter, and the sound of the frozen snow crunching beneath her tiny feet. She knew the names of the wild-flowers, and was well acquainted with their haunts, and also their habits. She was not a clever girl, but she was thoroughly domesticated, a far more desirable accomplishment. Her father and brother were her best friends, and she made but few new acquaintances. Doris Foster was a true-born English girl, not a forced artificial production such as may be encountered by the score in the Row, or the fashionable thoroughfares of the West End. She had not learned to talk slang, and to consider it correct to endeavour to make people think, ‘What a pity she is not a man!’

With the enthusiasm of a schoolboy, Will Brown adored Doris Foster. There was no maudlin, sentimental love nonsense about his adoration. It was the pure affection and liking a healthy youth feels for a healthy girl.

‘Excuse the expression, Edgar,’ he said one day, ‘but your sister is a brick.’

The schoolboy ‘brick’ is synonymous for everything that is good. When one lad calls another a ‘brick’ there’s a ring about the word that is unmistakable. So, when Will Brown called his sister a brick, Edgar Foster heartily endorsed the sentiment.

‘I’d like to know,’ said Will, ‘if there is anything she cannot do?’

‘Several things,’ said Edgar.

They were sitting in a boat close to the garden hedge, and passing their time pleasantly enough.

‘Enumerate some of them,’ said Will Brown incredulously.

‘She cannot smoke,’ said Edgar solemnly; ‘nor can she make a speech. She would be a ghastly failure as a woman politician, or a leader of fashion. I am afraid she could not write a book, and drag all her female friends through a moral pillory in it. Oh, there are heaps of things Doris cannot do!’

‘And a jolly good thing, too!’ said Will Brown. ‘I hate stuck-up girls—they’re worse than spoony girls. Now, your sister—well, a fellow can make a chum of her, and all that, don’t you know.’

‘Comprehensive, certainly,’ laughed Edgar. ‘What does “all that, don’t you know” mean?’

Will Brown waved his hand towards the flowing river, and was at a loss for an answer.

Splash!

‘What’s that?’ said Will, as he shook the water off his boating-jacket.

‘That is Miss “All that, don’t you know,”’ laughed Edgar.

‘Where is she?’ said Will, jumping up, and narrowly missing overturning the boat.

‘In safety, on the other side of the hedge,’ said Edgar loudly. ‘She dare not come nearer, for fear of the consequences.’

Splash!

‘We had better get out of this,’ said Will.

A merry peal of laughter sounded from the other side of the hedge.

‘You lazy boys! I thought I would rouse you. Pull the boat round to the steps, and take me for a row immediately.’

‘We decline to be ordered about,’ said Edgar. ‘Ask politely, and your request may be granted.’

‘Will Mr. William Brown and Mr. Edgar Foster, of Redbank School—ahem! College—have the goodness to row to the steps of Elm Lodge, where they will find Miss Doris Foster at home?’

‘That’s much better,’ said Edgar. ‘Our compliments to Miss Doris Foster, and we hasten to comply with her request.’

‘Pull, Edgar, you lazy beggar!’ said Will, ‘for Elm Lodge, home, and beauty.’

Doris Foster looked charming in her light summer dress and large river hat, as she stood on the steps leading from the lawn to the water.

‘Your ladyship has showered many favours upon us of late,’ said Will Brown, as he gave her his hand and she stepped into the boat; ‘in fact, we are in danger of being overwhelmed with them.’

‘Doris, you ought not to throw stones,’ said Edgar, with an attempt to be serious.

‘I did not throw stones,’ said Doris.

‘You hear her?’ said Edgar to Will. ‘She did not throw stones! I blush for my sister.’

‘They were two half-bricks,’ said Doris. ‘Didn’t they splash!’ And she laughed merrily.

‘There’s prevarication!’ said Edgar. ‘A brick in this instance is to all intents and purposes a stone.’

‘A brick is a brick,’ said Doris; ‘therefore it cannot be a stone.’

‘A brick is not a brick when it is only half a brick,’ said Edgar.

‘If you don’t stop it,’ said Will Brown, ‘I’ll——Look out!’ he shouted.

There was a bend in the river, and they did not see the small launch until it was nearly on to them. The swirl she made in the water caused their boat to dance up and down in the swell.

‘All your fault,’ said Edgar to his sister. ‘But, thank goodness! it has put an end to your argument.’

They had a pleasant row, and came back glowing with health, and very hungry. Luncheon proved most acceptable, and was thoroughly enjoyed by these young people with good appetites and no thoughts of indigestion.

Doris Foster missed Will Brown when he left Elm Lodge, for she had come to regard him as a sincere friend. She had, however, other things to occupy her mind now, for Edgar was to sail for Australia in a couple of months. She dreaded the parting with her brother, not only on her own account, but because she knew how much her father would miss him. She was half inclined to be angry with Edgar because he had chosen to go abroad. At the same time, she admired the spirit of adventure that tempted him away from a comparatively easy life in England. She knew if she had been a man she would have followed her brother’s example.

Robert Foster made the most of the time his son was to remain at home.

‘I shall be sorry to part with you,’ he said to Edgar; ‘but you are young, and I am not old. So I hope, ere many years have gone, we may meet again. I believe it will do you good to go abroad. One thing you must bear in mind: come home again if you do not like it.’

Edgar Foster was fond of the sea, and, as his father knew the owner of one of the principal lines of sailing ships trading to Australia, he had decided to make the voyage in the Distant Shore, a large vessel holding a quick record.

‘You are quite sure you prefer to go out in a sailing vessel?’ said Robert Foster. ‘It will be a tedious voyage.’

‘I am sure the time will pass quickly,’ said Edgar. ‘I love the sea. Those big steamers are too much like hotels, and I cannot bear hotel life.’

‘Please yourself, my boy. The Distant Shore is a fine vessel, and Captain Manton a good seaman. He’ll look after you well, I feel sure.’

The weeks rolled all too quickly by, and the time drew near when the Distant Shore was to sail for Sydney.

Edgar Foster paid a visit to Redbank, and was heartily welcomed by his old schoolmates, who wished him a prosperous voyage and success in the new country. Dr. Hook was very kind to him, and gave him some good advice.

As Edgar shook hands with him, Dr. Hook said:

‘An old friend of mine once gave me what I consider good advice. He said: “Don’t fret, keep your temper, and mind your own business.” If you carry out his precepts, I think you will do well.’

Edgar did not feel in very good spirits when his last night at home arrived. As he looked around the cosy room, he wondered how many years it would be before he saw it again, and the dear ones he must leave behind. He said to himself he must work hard and earn a good name, and then he would come home and be received with open arms.

His father was kinder than ever on this their evening of parting, and Doris did all in her power to make things bright and cheerful. Edgar never ceased to remember this particular night, and it came vividly before him on many occasions when far away.

Robert Foster and his daughter saw Edgar sail in the Distant Shore, and waved him a tearful farewell.