Willow the king

CONTRARY to expectation, breakfast was dispatched in sufficiently reasonable time to permit my match with Grace to start about eleven. Needless to say, Grace herself arranged the details. The seven cricketers who were not playing on this occasion, instead of being allowed to act the part of mere lookers-on, received orders to field for both sides. “And, Toddles,” said Grace, in an intimidating tone, “if you drop Dimmy and then take me, I’ll never forgive you.” Her father, to my great uneasiness, was to be installed as scorer, under his usual convenient willow tree; and the notorious Biffin she proposed to nominate as umpire. Acting on the joint advice of Toddles and Archie, I entered a formal protest against Biffin being allowed to stand in this important fixture. This matter, which involved much more than I had suspected, was debated at the breakfast-table.

“Oh,” said Grace, “you’ve nothing against Biffin’s personal character, I hope?”

“Oh, no,” said I; “it’s only that he don’t quite command my confidence, you know.”

“How funny!” said Grace; “’cause I have every confidence in Biffin. He knows the game, his eyesight’s good, his decisions are as prompt as possible, and his judgment’s wonderful. Can’t expect more of an umpire, can you? Of course, he might be better looking, but that’s his misfortune, poor man! Besides, I never think it’s wise to have an umpire who’s too good-looking. One’s liable to watch him, instead of the ball, don’t you see.”

“Dimsdale, don’t you be bluffed,” said Charlie. “She’s a regular Arthur Roberts at the game of bluff. She knows as well as anybody that Biffin’s umpiring is worth about five hundred runs a year to her. The darned impudent decisions I’ve seen that bounder Biffin give are something cruel. If he’s given her in once, he’s given her in six times when she’s been stumped yards out of her ground, simply on account of the tip of the wicket-keeper’s nose being in front of the wicket. Pretty barefaced to come it once, but six times is what I should call immoral.”

“Shows his knowledge o’ the game,” said Biffin’s defender, “and his attention to the fine points of it, too. There’s lots of umpires ’ud not have noticed that, and I should have had to have gone out.”

“They’d not, that’s a cert.,” said Charlie; “and that you would have had to have gone out is a dead cert.”

“I s’pose, Charlie,” said Grace, “that the tip o’ the wicket-keeper’s nose is a part of his person, isn’t it? And Rule 42 says——”

“Here, no more cucumbers!” cried T. S. M. hastily.

“Dimsdale, don’t you budge,” said Carteret. “If you consent to Biffin, you’ll be shamefully rooked.”

“What’s Dimmy got to do with it?” said Grace. “Is Dimmy the M.C.C., or what? If I say Biffin’s going to stand, Biffin will stand, and don’t you think he won’t; ’cause if you do, you’ll be in error.”

“Go it, Lord Harris!” said Toddles. “Just hear Harris! Oh, you autocratic person! Talk about George, why, you’re worse than a colonel of militia!”

The case was being conducted with great fervour by both sides. There was quite a formidable array of counsel for the prosecution. Indeed, Grace’s defence of the indefensible Biffin had for once caused her to stand absolutely alone. She was no whit abashed, though. Nor did she descend to mere argument. She was thoroughly satisfied with her own opinion, and was prepared to enforce it in the teeth of male criticism of the most destructive kind.

“Biffin’s an unmitigated ruffian,” said Archie. “And if I can help it, he’ll never stand again.”

“But you can’t help it, Archie,” said his sister; “’cause if I want him to stand, he will stand, don’t you see?”

“He’s an unprincipled person,” said the little parson. “And I marvel that Grace’s moral nature can countenance him.”

“I’ll have a bob each way on ‘moral nature,’ Toddles,” said Grace.

“His umpirin’s too thick to talk about,” said T. S. M. “Why, at Harrow——”

“Yes, at Harrow,” said Grace. This prompt seizure of her opportunity was of no avail, however. Public opinion was now entirely with T. S. M. Poor Grace stood alone. She consoled herself with a massive piece of toast, with butter and marmalade to match.

“Seeing that Dimsdale’s happiness is at stake,” said Toddles, with an air of patronage and protection that was perfectly insufferable, “we shall do well to stick by him in this, and give him our undivided support. We’ll admit that he’s not much chance under the most favourable conditions; but with Biffin as umpire he’s as good as plucked before he goes on the field. Besides, we want this to be a sporting event. Fair play all round, you know, and no favour, and may the best man win.”

“Toddles,” said the keen Grace, pausing an instant in her well-organized assault on the toast and marmalade, “you’re mixed. Sort yourself out a bit. Toddles, you’re talking rot.”

“Oh, but, my dear Grace,” said I, “it’s not rot for me, I can assure you. It’s a matter for earnest consideration.”

It was really enjoyable to feel such a weight of public opinion behind one. It was evidently a crisis that had been coming slowly to a head for years. Here was the opportunity of the long-suffering to test the legality of Grace’s uncompromising attitude on the Biffin question. In the somewhat technical language of the barrister, they were simply making a test case of it, in order to get a judicial pronouncement as to whether in future Grace was to be licensed to do as she liked.

“O’ course I shall, James,” said Grace; “I always do, don’t I?”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Archie, “I suggest that the question be submitted to arbitration. We’ll submit it to the Guv’nor, and take his verdict as final. Will you agree to that, Grace?”

“You know quite well, Archie,” said Grace, in a honeyed voice, “that I am always perfectly willing for you to fill up your spare time in a way that’s profitable and amusing to yourself, providing it’s not likely to do you personally any harm, or to lead astray those who are younger than you are. Talk it over by all means with your father, Archie, but if I say Biffin will stand, you can take my word for it.”

The high-wrought state of public opinion, that was enough to make the French pause and the Sultan tremble, merely appeared to incite the dauntless Grace to new audacity. She positively snapped her fingers at it, and ate her toast and marmalade with an air of the most victorious unconcern.

“H’m,” said the little parson, in his best clerical tone; “she seems to be a person of character and ideas. What’s to be done? We can’t let Dimsdale be knocked down and walked over on an occasion of this sort. Grace, I certainly think that your uncompromising attitude on this vexed question is greatly to be deplored.”

“Deplore away,” said Grace, helping herself to butter. “What an amusing little man you are, Toddles!”

Affairs were at a deadlock. How was it possible to negotiate if one side would insist on having its own way?

“It’s a sort of diplomatic impasse,” said Archie. “What’s to be done? Suppose we take Biffin by main force and put him under the cucumber frame, and keep him fastened down? There’d be no more bad decisions then.”

“Plenty of bad language, though,” said some person of wit.

“And we wouldn’t release him,” said Carteret, “until Grace had actually played an innings without damaging the eyesight of the cucumbers or otherwise mutilating them.”

“I call Grace’s behaviour beas’ly bad form,” said the Harrow captain.

“Oh, I know it’s beastly bad form,” said Grace; “but then, you see, Tommy, one has to play pretty low down to gain the appreciation of one’s family.”

Had Grace’s cause only been a just one, the manner in which she maintained it against all comers must have evoked unqualified admiration. The cabal was powerless in the face of her despotic attitude. They said hard things, and they said rude things, as brothers will, even if they have a sister who is a first-class angel of an unimpeachable appearance. But although Grace stood alone, discredited, out of favour, a fallen idol, and a mark for some very cutting observations, mostly the Harrow captain’s, who saw his moment, and, boylike, was exulting in it—despite all this, Grace continued to consume toast and marmalade as valiantly as ever. Now and then she diversified this proceeding by looking daggers at Toddles, when that irrepressible little clergyman made faces at her. Now and then she introduced a brief remark on her own account, that on examination proved to be as flinty and hard-edged as a chip of granite. It was plain that the exercise of a considerable force of character had been the secret of Grace’s ascendancy and pre-eminence in regard to these great men. And having obtained her power, she did not hesitate to abuse it, as they say her sex generally do.

“In my opinion,” said Archie, “there’s been a mistake in Grace’s destiny. Her arrogance and sweet unreasonableness makes her look a bit out of drawing, I think. Strikes me that Nature planned her for a Gladstone or a Mailyphist, and then made her a girl for fun. But I believe she simply doesn’t care what we think of her.”

“Oh, yes, I do, you know, Archie,” said Grace; “I’m as cut up as can be. I’m quite put off my game. You had better let us have some more toast, Jane. Toddles, pass the marmalade—and the butter. Yes, I think I’ll have the butter, too.”

However, in my eyes Grace’s splendid isolation had such a nobility, such a dignity, such a pathos of its own, that it struck me with some suddenness that a little magnanimity might not be altogether out of place. It was patent, however, that her brothers had such firm convictions on the point at issue that they were not likely to exercise it. Therefore, I had a try myself.

“My dear Grace,” said I, “don’t let’s worry about Biffin any more. I’m perfectly willing for him to stand, you know.”

“What!” cried the whole table with one voice.

Yet I ask you what could a fellow do under the circumstances? Splendid isolation is magnificent, of course, but not being one of Grace’s brothers, how could I help pitying the isolated?

The storm of contumely that my unconditional surrender provoked was woeful. Even the gallant Optimist reviled me. Their unanimity was crushing. It was not the question at issue that mattered so much; it was the general principle. It always is the general principle. They considered themselves betrayed. They had pledged themselves and their interests entirely in my cause, and then I calmly go over to the other side and merge that cause in the enemy’s. In fact, in the impassioned language of Toddles, the more they examined the fine points of my conduct, the deeper the iron entered into their souls.

“Jolly good o’ the iron,” said Grace; “improve ’em no end. Been wanting a tonic a long time.”

Grace, indeed, I am glad to state, took an entirely different view of my behaviour. Never had I seen her face so brightly eloquent as when she laid down her coffee-cup and looked at me.

“Dimmy,” said she, “you’re a good sort, that’s what you are—a ripping good sort. Dimmy, you’re A 1!”

Her tone implied that she meant it, too. And really it was decidedly consoling to feel that we stood together facing scorn and disfavour on every hand. But it seemed that the tactful Grace knew how, when, and where to be generous. Or, no, I’m quite sure her generosity was not studied at all. It was just unaided nature!

“Look here, you men,” said she; “as Dimmy’s such a good sort, he’s not going to be such a good sort, do you see? No, I don’t mean that exactly; I mean——”

“If it’s sheer cheek that you mean, which we’ve every reason to fear that it is,” said Toddles, “we shall be very grateful if you’ll be content to consider it said. If we have any more before lunch I’m thinking that some of the batting won’t be of a very high order at Tonbridge on Monday.”

“That’ll do, Toddles,” said Grace. “Have a rest now, there’s a good little man. What was I saying? Oh, as Dimmy’s done the right thing, I’m going to do the right thing, too. Father, will you stand to-day, please?”

A rousing cheer greeted this announcement.

“I’ve always said,” remarked George, “that more can be done by the kindness method in the treatment of these wild natures than cruelty, firearms, and that sort of thing. Here’s Grace lying down now, apparently as tame and docile as a kitten, without the use of red-hot irons or anything of the kind. And it’s so much better than burning her fur, don’t you know.”

The Rector consenting to stand, the affair terminated. Biffin, for that day at least, had to be content with the humbler functions of the scorer.

Breakfast over, we trooped out into the sun. And as we did so I am free to confess that my attire was a trifle irregular. Carteret being the most medium-built man amongst us, except in the matter of girth, and, therefore, the most resembling me, had very kindly lent me his buckskins; Charlie lent me one of his shirts, which, to my infinite pleasure, he assured me was the one he wore in the ’Varsity match, when he got so many Oxford wickets, and paid so very little for them; while Archie subscribed the identical pair of unmentionables in which he made his record score against Sussex at Brighton last year. In passing, it should be noted that record scores have quite a habit of getting themselves made against Sussex at Brighton. It is probably the sea air.

Despite this peculiar and rather extensive outfit, and an unbiassed umpire withal, I was earnestly assured that I could not possibly have a look in. In fact, Grace was popularly supposed to be invincible in single combat under Rectory rules, on the Rectory wicket. A copy of the rules aforesaid was duly deposited in the Rector’s hands before the match began. And, although I was privileged to peruse them, the one conclusion to which they helped me was, that although the laws of the M.C.C. had very kindly and thoughtfully provided nine several ways in which a batsman might get out, those of the Rectory had most generously furnished nine and ninety.

I’ll admit at once that I had not the least confidence in myself. Everybody took a simple-minded pleasure in telling me that Grace never had been beaten single-handed on her own playing-piece.

“My boy,” said the little parson, with his excruciating friendliness, “that brown-haired, brown-faced, brown-booted, brown-hollanded person, familiarly known as Grace, is as full of wiles, tricks, and low devices as a certain person with a toasting-fork and a curly tail whom I shall not even permit myself to mention. If you can take Grace down a peg, posterity becomes your servant. Your fame will be for all time, your name will be in Wisden. For I believe I’m right in saying that under these conditions Grace would knock spots off half the Middlesex eleven.”

“Certain of it,” said Archie pleasantly. “She’s a holy terror; and the charm of it is, Dimsdale, that she never has made a secret of what she’s going to do to you.”

“Why should I?” said Grace. “I’m going to give him a most awful licking for last night’s horrible behaviour.”

“All right,” said I meekly; “lick away.”

“Dimmy,” said she, “if I don’t, I’ll give you a scarf-pin.”

“I shall require more than a scarf-pin,” said I. And the emphasis I used was unmistakable.

“By Jove!” said Grace, “I was forgetting that. Thanks for the reminder, old chap. Will you call, or shall I?”

Next moment Grace had won the toss.

“Dimmy,” said she, “as your bowling’s so thoroughly depressing, and you’re not likely to have me out in a year, I think you’d better bat first. Get your pads on.”