Part 7

"Not exactly," he explained. "We're very good friends--in fact more than just common or garden friends--and I never thought of fighting you, regarding you as cock of the Lower School and not supposing the question would ever arise between us, as I shall probably leave Merivale before you get into the Upper School--if ever you do. Still, as you feel your honour makes you want to fight me, you must, of course."

"There's no _casus belli_ otherwise," I said, and Sutherland answered that honour was the best _casus belli_ possible. He said:

"Of course, if you honestly feel that I have wounded your honour, Rice, we must fight."

And I said:

"You haven't wounded it exactly. In fact I don't know what the dickens you have done. But you've done something, and though you're my chum and I hope you always will be for evermore, yet I don't believe I shall get over this feeling, or, in fact, be any more good in the world till we've fought."

"As a matter of fact," said Sutherland, "you've wounded your honour yourself, by thoughtlessly agreeing to my suggestion that you couldn't lick me. Still, whatever has done it, the result is the same, I'm afraid."

"I'm afraid it is," I said.

I suppose no two chaps ever arranged a thing of this sort in a more regretful frame of mind, for we had always been peculiarly friendly, and the idea of ever fighting had never occurred to us; but it was just that fatal remark of Sutherland, showing his point of view, and showing me, with only too dreadful clearness, his opinion of me as compared with him. And the queerest thing of all was that I quite agreed with him really, only there was a feeling in me I couldn't possibly let it go at that; and, of course, there was also a secret hope that, after all, Sutherland and I might both be mistaken about his being such a mighty lot better than I was.

So we agreed to fight on the following Saturday afternoon, as there was only a second eleven match on our own ground, and we should have leisure to go into the wood close by, where these affairs were settled.

Needless to say, the world at large was fearfully surprised when it heard we were going to fight. We still pottered about together in our usual friendly way, and when we were asked, as of course we were, what we were fighting for, it was more than I could do to explain, or Sutherland either. Travers major understood the truth of the situation, and I think Thwaites did, and possibly Preston; but to have tried to explain to anybody else the frightfully peculiar situation would have been impossible, for they hadn't the minds to understand it. So we just said in a general sort of way, we were still chums, but felt such a tremendous interest in the question of which was the greatest fighter, that we were going to find out in the most friendly spirit possible.

Of course, being easily the two best in the school, the sensation was huge, but the general opinion seemed to be that I must be mad to think of beating Sutherland, and I never argued much about it, and said very likely I was, but that I hated uncertainty in a thing like that.

Pegram said:

"It will be your Sedan, Rice," meaning that I should be treated by Sutherland like the French were treated by the Germans on that occasion.

But I did not think so. I said:

"Most likely I shall be licked and badly licked, which is nothing against such a man as Sutherland; but it won't be my Sedan by long chalks, because we've agreed whichever wins it will make no difference."

"Certainly there will be no indemnity," said Pegram, "as you're both far too hard up for any such thing; but you needn't think the beaten one will ever feel the same again to the winner; because human nature is all against it."

"Your human nature may be," I said to Pegram, who was a foxy chap, great at strategy, but otherwise mean. "Your human nature may be like that, but mine and Sutherland's is not."

All the same, I had Pegram to second me, because he is full of cunning, and I also had Travers minor; and Sutherland had Abbott, who is a very fine second, and would be a fine boxer, too, but for a short leg on one side.

Williams was his other second, and Travers major consented to be referee.

Fighting was not allowed at Merivale, but Travers, though head of the school, and never known to break any other rule, supported fair fighting, because he believed it was good; and he also believed that the Doctor did not really much dislike it, though no doubt to parents he had to say he did. Brown, however, hated fighting, and as he was master in charge on the appointed day, we had to exercise precautions and keep the fight as quiet as possible.

Though favourable to fighting as a rule, Travers never cared much about my fight with Sutherland and even tried to make us change our minds. But he had no reasons that we thought good enough, or rather, that I thought good enough; because of course I was the challenger and Sutherland had no choice but to agree.

It turned out that Sutherland was rather glad of the fight, because it distracted his mind from sadness. A fortnight before, he had been home from Saturday till Monday, to see his mother, who was worse, because his brother Tom, or Sutherland major, was in the trenches; and his father had been very gloomy about it, so the fight served to cheer him up, and brighten his spirits, which was one good thing it did.

Then the eventful day arrived, and the fortunate chaps who knew that this was the appointed time, looked at me with awe; and as we were getting up in our dormitory, Percy Minimus whispered to me:

"You'll look a very different spectacle to-night from what you do now, Rice."

The morning seemed long and I jolly near messed up the whole thing and had a squeak of being kept in for the half-holiday, but I escaped, and at last the time came when the footer match was in full swing and Brown, with a lot of kids, watching it.

Then, one by one, about fifteen of us strolled off, including Sutherland and me and our seconds and Travers major and Preston and Blades and Saunders and Perkinson and Ash, and Percy Minimus, who liked the sight of blood, if it wasn't his own.

No time was lost, and a ring was made with a bit of rope while Sutherland and I prepared. They were two minute rounds, and Ash kept the time.

No two chaps ever shook hands in a more friendly spirit, and as to the fight itself, as I cannot relate it, I may copy the notes that Blades took. He missed a good many delicate things that we did, but the general description, though not at all in regular sporting language, gives a fair idea of how it went. He wrote these words:

_Round_ 1.--Sutherland seemed thoughtful and not so much interested as Rice. Rice advanced and dodged about and struck out into the air several times and danced on his feet; and once he would have hit Sutherland; but Sutherland ducked his head under the blow, and before Rice could recover, hit him with both fists on the body. Rice laughed and Sutherland smiled. They were dancing about doing nothing when Ash called time, and they rested, and their seconds wiped their faces and Rice blew his nose with his fingers.

_Round_ 2.--Now Sutherland began to hit Rice a good deal oftener than Rice hit him. But, in the middle of the round, Rice got in a very fine blow on Sutherland's face and knocked him down. Sutherland instantly rose bleeding, but by no means troubled. He praised Rice and said it was a beauty. And Rice said, "Don't patronize me, Sutherland," but Sutherland did not answer. For the rest of the round Sutherland hit Rice several times, but didn't make him bleed. It was a good round and both were panting at the end.

_Round_ 3.--Sutherland wouldn't let Rice get near enough to hit him and kept catching Rice's attempts on his arms. And his arms being longer than Rice's, he could land on Rice without being hit back. He did not hit so hard as Rice, but he hit Rice, whereas Rice hit the air. Still Rice got in a very good one just in the middle of Sutherland's body, which doubled up Sutherland, and before he could undouble again, Rice had hit him very hard on the face with an upper cut. Sutherland fairly poured with blood, but was quite cool and showed no signs of not liking it. He got in a very good blow with his left on Rice's neck before Ash called time.

_Round_ 4.--It was certainly a very fine fight of much higher class than we had ever seen before at Merivale. This round was the fiercest up to now, and Travers major had to caution Rice for being inclined to use his head. Still he fought very finely, but it worried him fearfully to be hit so often without getting one back. The hits were not heavy hits to the spectator, but they must have been harder than they looked, because Rice, who has black hair and a very pale skin by nature, was now getting a mottled sort of skin. In this round they were rather slower than before, and stood and panted a good deal, and while they panted, they looked at one another with a sort of doleful cheerfulness from time to time. But there was also fierce fighting, and Sutherland at last drew blood from Rice with a blow on the nose. At the sight of his blood, Rice gave a great display and kept Sutherland moving about, and at last hit him backwards out of the ring. But Sutherland instantly returned and went on fighting till the end of the round. It was a splendid round in every way.

_Round_ 5.---Both were now rather tired, and in this round they took it easy.

But at taking it easy Sutherland was much better than Rice and did not waste so much energy in feinting. He had the best of this round and hit Rice twice or three times on the face. At the end he fairly knocked Rice down, and when Ash said "Time," Pegram and Travers minor rushed to pick up Rice and carry him to his corner; but he rose and walked.

_Round_ 6.--This looked as though it was going to be the last, for Sutherland was now fresher than Rice and evidently stronger. Rice began the round well, but soon fell away, and Sutherland hit him several times, and once over the right eyebrow and cut him, and evidently did that eye no good. Rice made ferocious dashes and Sutherland got away from them; and then, while Rice was resting, Sutherland dashed in and Rice didn't get away. Sutherland hit Rice on the chest and knocked him down, and it looked as though he wasn't going to get up again; but he did, and still had good strength. He was being licked, but slowly. At the end of the round he got one good one in, though it was lucky.

I must here break off the account of the fight by Blades to describe a most amazing thing which made this fight far unlike any other that I or Sutherland had ever fought. After the sixth round we were being mopped up and Pegram was advising me to chuck it, and I was saying, in a gasping sort of way, I should try to stick a few more rounds and hope for a bit of luck, when, to our great horror, there suddenly appeared from the trees Brown and a man clad in black. At first we thought it was a policeman, and that Brown had heard of the fight and had called a constable to take us up; but it turned out that Brown hadn't heard of the fight, and the man in black was none other than the father of Sutherland, the famous middle-weight of other days!

He had called to see Sutherland, and had been sent to the playing field; and there he had been met by Brown. And Brown, guessing that the big chaps were in the wood, had brought Sutherland's father actually to the ring side!

Brown, of course, was furious and wanted to stop the fight and take down all our names; but the famous middle-weight would not hear of this. The moment he found that Sutherland was fighting, a wave of animation went over him and he begged Brown as a personal favour to let us finish. He even promised to put it all right with the Doctor if anything was said, which showed his fighting qualities were still there. Brown, of course, curled up; but his little eyes blazed, and he said that Sutherland's father must take the responsibility, which he gladly undertook to do. Then Brown, giving us a look which told without words what would happen when Sutherland's father was gone, went back to the kids.

In the meantime, I and Sutherland had a fine rest, and after that we went on again. I wished much that his father had seen the whole fight, because I knew now, only too well, that Sutherland had got me and that, of course, with his father there, he'd buck up and do something out of the common; and I deeply wished my father were there, and not far away buying horses at a guinea a day in Ireland. But I hoped now, with this good rest, to last at least two more rounds.

I may now go on with the description of Blades.

_Round_ 7.--Much refreshed by about six minutes' rest, Rice and Sutherland began again, and Sutherland's father watched the fight with a calm and sporting interest. He was a clean-shaved man of large size about the shoulders; but he had a pale, sad-looking face and very thin lips, and one ear larger than the other. Sutherland had to withstand a wild rush from Rice and hit Rice while he backed away from him, which pleased his father. But Rice was not stopped, and he got close to Sutherland and hit him very hard on the body until they fell into each other's arms. And Sutherland's father said, "Break! Break!" and then apologized to Travers major, who was referee. They parted, and Rice, evidently much refreshed, went after Sutherland and hit him about three or four times; then Sutherland hit him once. Then it was time.

_Round_ 8.--Sutherland's father certainly seemed to have brought Sutherland bad luck, for in the next round Rice held his own, and though knocked down at the beginning of the round, got up and went on. And Sutherland's father asked me how many rounds had been fought, and was very much interested in my notes. And, owing to him reading them, I could not describe this round. At the end both were tired, one not more than the other.

_Round_ 9.--Rice, feeling he had still a chance, fought as well as ever in this round, and Sutherland was clearly not taking anything like his old interest in the fight. He kept looking mournfully at his father and didn't seem to care where Rice hit him, and I could see that his father was a good deal disappointed. Rice had much the best of this round, and Sutherland bled again, though Rice did also.

_Round_ 10.--It began all right, though both could hardly keep up their arms, and then, without a blow, suddenly Sutherland shook his head and extended his hand to Rice, and Rice shook it and the battle was over.

That was the end of what Blades wrote, but much remains to be told, and the fight, which was extraordinary in the beginning, turned out far more extraordinary at the end. I couldn't believe my senses when Sutherland gave in, and more could his father, and then came out the truth, which was sad in a way, but really much sadder for me than Sutherland. Because what I had thought was a right down glorious victory, well worth the pint of blood I had shed and the tooth I had lost, turned out to be what you might really call very little better than winning on a foul.

After the fight, Sutherland hastened to his father and asked him about Sutherland major and heard he was all right and going strong. Then he actually began to blub; and his father rotted him and asked him what the dickens was the matter with him, and how he had given in to a chap sizes smaller than himself, and then Sutherland, between moments of undoubted weeping explained.

He said:

"I never saw you in black clothes before, because at home you always wear tweeds with squares and a red tie; and seeing you in pitch black, of course I thought Tom was dead. Till then I was winning, and Rice knows I was; but after you came and I felt positive Tom was dead----"

Then Sutherland was quite unable to go on, and his father asked him however he thought he could have stood there grinning at a kid fight under such sad circumstances. Then he led Sutherland away and explained that he happened to have been attending a funeral, near Plymouth, of some old lawyer friend; and he thought he would kill two birds with one stone, as they say, and come over and have a look at Sutherland and tell him they'd heard good news of his brother and that his mother had bucked up again.

Well, there it was, and much worse for me than Sutherland, because his grief was turned into joy; but my joy was turned into grief--winning in that footling way, which didn't amount to winning at all. In fact it was mere dust, and enough to make me weep myself, only that was a thing I had never been known to do, and never shall in this world, or the next.

However, Sutherland minor was jolly sporting about it, and thoroughly understood how it must look from my point of view. He even offered to come to Ireland in the Christmas Holidays, if my people would ask him, and fight me again on my own ground. He couldn't say more, but though I gladly accepted the idea of his coming to Ireland, which was a very happy thought on his part, I told him frankly that I should not fight him again at present.

"We may meet some happy day in the Amateur Championships, Sutherland," I said, "if I get large enough and you don't get too large."

"No, Rice," he answered; "for I shall be a heavyweight when I'm twenty, and you at best can never hope to be anything but a welter; but I hope we'll second each other many a time and oft."

PERCY MINIMUS AND HIS TOMMY

There were three Percys at Merivale, and they were all there together; and to masters they were, of course, known as Percy major, Percy minor, and Percy minimus, but we called them "the Three Maniacs."

Though mad, they were nice chaps in a way, and did unexpected things and always interested everybody because of their surprises. They were all very different but very original, owing to their father being a well-known actor. And Percy major was already an actor by nature, and could imitate anything with remarkable exactness, from Dr. Dunston to a monkey on a barrel organ. He could even imitate a hen with chickens, but he was going for much higher flights when he went on the stage, and knew the parts of Hamlet and Macbeth and Richard III by heart; though he said to Travers, and I heard him, that it would probably be many a long day before he got a chance to act these great tragical characters before a London audience. His father, on the contrary, was a comedian, and Blades had once seen him in a pantomime and liked him, and said that he was good.

Percy minor was not going on the stage, though when he liked he could be awfully funny. Only he was generally serious, and meant to be a painter. His great hope was to take likenesses, and he was always practising it, and his school books were full of portraits of chaps and masters. Some you could recognize.

As for Percy minimus, he was the maddest of the lot, and my special friend. We were in the Lower Third; and Forbes minimus was also our special friend. But he chucked Merivale, as his parents went to the Cape of Good Hope and took him, and then Percy and I were left.

Percy never came out much while his brothers were at Merivale, and his only strong point was singing in the choir. At music he was an undoubted dab, and he liked it, and he said that, if his voice turned into anything worth mentioning after it cracked, he should very likely be an opera singer of the first water. And if it failed and fizzled away to nothing after cracking, as treble voices sometimes do, then he was going to be a clergyman--if his father would let him.

He certainly sang like the devil, and Mr. Prowse, our music-master, was fearfully keen on him, and arranged solos in chapel for him. And people came from long distances on Sundays to hear him sing, though old Dunston always thought, when outsiders turned up to the chapel services, it was to hear him preach. But far from it.

Well, this Percy minimus was what you may call sentimental, and he certainly was a bit of a girl in some ways. I hated that squashy side of him, and tried to cure it; but I forgave him, because he liked me, and not many chaps did, owing to my having a stammer.

Percy minimus was frightfully interested in my stammer, and said it would very likely be cured when I grew up. He said that people who stammer when they talk can often sing quite well; so I tried and found it was so. But here, again, there was a drawback, because my singing voice, though quite without any stammer, was right bang off as a voice, and even funnier than my stammer.

Percy minimus said it was just the sound a fly made before it died, when it was caught by a spider; so naturally I chucked it.

But this about Percy, not me. He had very kind instincts, and was of a gentle disposition. For instance, when three of the masters went to the war, and Dr. Dunston said he was going to fill the breach and do extra work and take our class; while we much regretted it, Percy minimus thought it was fine of the Doctor.

He said:

"Though it is bad hearing for us, Cornwallis, we are bound to admit it is sporting of him. Because, at his great age, it must be very tiring to do a lot of extra work; and no doubt to take the Lower Third must be fairly deadly for such a learned man as him."

"It will be deadlier for us," I said; and, of course, it was. But that shows the queer views that Percy gets--hardly natural, I call it. And then, when the Doctor threw up the sponge and got a new master called Peacock to help and fill the gap till after the War, when Hutchings and Meadows would come back, if alive, Percy minimus was queer again.

This Peacock was old and dreadfully humble. I don't think he'd ever been a master before, and he was very unlike his name in every way, and had no idea of keeping order, but went in for getting our affection. He tried frantically to be friendly; but he failed, because he was too wormlike, being a crushed and shabby man with a thin, grey beard. And when he attempted to fling himself into a game of hockey and be young and dashing, he hurt himself and had to go in and get brandy.

I believe he was a sort of charity on old Dunston's part, really, for Mr. Peacock told Pegram that he had a wife and six children, and his eldest son was at the War, and his second son was in the General Post Office, and his eldest daughter was a schoolmistress at Bedford.

Fancy telling Pegram these things! All Pegram did afterwards was to make fun of Peacock and treat him with scorn, and many did the same; but Percy minimus encouraged him, and he liked Percy minimus, and told him several things about the General Post Office not generally known.

Peacock, finding that me and Percy minimus were rather above the common herd, told us that he was very anxious about his son at the War, and was very interested about the War in general, and made us interested in it, too. He read us a letter from his son at the Front, and Percy minimus said it brought home the horrors--especially in the matters of food.

Though not a great eater, Percy liked nice food better than any other kind, and then, owing to this great feeling for nice food, there happened the curious, and in fact most extraordinary, adventure of his life.

He came to me much excited one day with a newspaper. It was a week old, but otherwise perfect in every way, and it had started a scheme for sending the men at the Front a jolly good Christmas gift. For the sum of five shillings the newspaper promised to send off tobacco and cigarettes and sweets and chocolate and a new wooden pipe, all in one parcel; and so, as Percy minimus pointed out, if you could only rake up that amount and send it to the paper, it meant that one man in the trenches on Christmas Day would have the great joy of receiving all these luxuries in one simultaneous parcel from an unknown friend at home.

I said: