‘Gone! Where’s he gone to?’
‘Lord’s.’
‘What lord’s?’
Psmith waved his hand gently.
‘You misunderstand me. Comrade Jackson has not gone to mix with any member of our gay and thoughtless aristocracy. He has gone to Lord’s cricket ground.’
Mr Gregory’s beard bristled even more than was its wont.
‘What!’ he roared. ‘Gone to watch a cricket match! Gone—!’
‘Not to watch. To play. An urgent summons I need not say. Nothing but an urgent summons could have wrenched him from your very delightful society, I am sure.’
Mr Gregory glared.
‘I don’t want any of your impudence,’ he said.
Psmith nodded gravely.
‘We all have these curious likes and dislikes,’ he said tolerantly. ‘You do not like my impudence. Well, well, some people don’t. And now, having broken the sad news, I will return to my own department.’
‘Half a minute. You come with me and tell this yarn of yours to Mr Bickersdyke.’
‘You think it would interest, amuse him? Perhaps you are right. Let us buttonhole Comrade Bickersdyke.’
Mr Bickersdyke was disengaged. The head of the Fixed Deposits Department stumped into the room. Psmith followed at a more leisurely pace.
‘Allow me,’ he said with a winning smile, as Mr Gregory opened his mouth to speak, ‘to take this opportunity of congratulating you on your success at the election. A narrow but well-deserved victory.’
There was nothing cordial in the manager’s manner.
‘What do you want?’ he said.
‘Myself, nothing,’ said Psmith. ‘But I understand that Mr Gregory has some communication to make.’
‘Tell Mr Bickersdyke that story of yours,’ said Mr Gregory.
‘Surely,’ said Psmith reprovingly, ‘this is no time for anecdotes. Mr Bickersdyke is busy. He—’
‘Tell him what you told me about Jackson.’
Mr Bickersdyke looked up inquiringly.
‘Jackson,’ said Psmith, ‘has been obliged to absent himself from work today owing to an urgent summons from his brother, who, I understand, has suffered a bereavement.’
‘It’s a lie,’ roared Mr Gregory. ‘You told me yourself he’d gone to play in a cricket match.’
‘True. As I said, he received an urgent summons from his brother.’
‘What about the bereavement, then?’
‘The team was one short. His brother was very distressed about it. What could Comrade Jackson do? Could he refuse to help his brother when it was in his power? His generous nature is a byword. He did the only possible thing. He consented to play.’
Mr Bickersdyke spoke.
‘Am I to understand,’ he asked, with sinister calm, ‘that Mr Jackson has left his work and gone off to play in a cricket match?’
‘Something of that sort has, I believe, happened,’ said Psmith. ‘He knew, of course,’ he added, bowing gracefully in Mr Gregory’s direction, ‘that he was leaving his work in thoroughly competent hands.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mr Bickersdyke. ‘That will do. You will help Mr Gregory in his department for the time being, Mr Smith. I will arrange for somebody to take your place in your own department.’
‘It will be a pleasure,’ murmured Psmith.
‘Show Mr Smith what he has to do, Mr Gregory,’ said the manager.
They left the room.
‘How curious, Comrade Gregory,’ mused Psmith, as they went, ‘are the workings of Fate! A moment back, and your life was a blank. Comrade Jackson, that prince of Fixed Depositors, had gone. How, you said to yourself despairingly, can his place be filled? Then the cloud broke, and the sun shone out again. I came to help you. What you lose on the swings, you make up on the roundabouts. Now show me what I have to do, and then let us make this department sizzle. You have drawn a good ticket, Comrade Gregory.’
27. At Lord’s
Mike got to Lord’s just as the umpires moved out into the field. He raced round to the pavilion. Joe met him on the stairs.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘No hurry. We’ve won the toss. I’ve put you in fourth wicket.’
‘Right ho,’ said Mike. ‘Glad we haven’t to field just yet.’
‘We oughtn’t to have to field today if we don’t chuck our wickets away.’
‘Good wicket?’
‘Like a billiard-table. I’m glad you were able to come. Have any difficulty in getting away?’
Joe Jackson’s knowledge of the workings of a bank was of the slightest. He himself had never, since he left Oxford, been in a position where there were obstacles to getting off to play in first-class cricket. By profession he was agent to a sporting baronet whose hobby was the cricket of the county, and so, far from finding any difficulty in playing for the county, he was given to understand by his employer that that was his chief duty. It never occurred to him that Mike might find his bank less amenable in the matter of giving leave. His only fear, when he rang Mike up that morning, had been that this might be a particularly busy day at the New Asiatic Bank. If there was no special rush of work, he took it for granted that Mike would simply go to the manager, ask for leave to play in the match, and be given it with a beaming smile.
Mike did not answer the question, but asked one on his own account.
‘How did you happen to be short?’ he said.
‘It was rotten luck. It was like this. We were altering our team after the Sussex match, to bring in Ballard, Keene, and Willis. They couldn’t get down to Brighton, as the ‘Varsity had a match, but there was nothing on for them in the last half of the week, so they’d promised to roll up.’
Ballard, Keene, and Willis were members of the Cambridge team, all very capable performers and much in demand by the county, when they could get away to play for it.
‘Well?’ said Mike.
‘Well, we all came up by train from Brighton last night. But these three asses had arranged to motor down from Cambridge early today, and get here in time for the start. What happens? Why, Willis, who fancies himself as a chauffeur, undertakes to do the driving; and naturally, being an absolute rotter, goes and smashes up the whole concern just outside St Albans. The first thing I knew of it was when I got to Lord’s at half past ten, and found a wire waiting for me to say that they were all three of them crocked, and couldn’t possibly play. I tell you, it was a bit of a jar to get half an hour before the match started. Willis has sprained his ankle, apparently; Keene’s damaged his wrist; and Ballard has smashed his collar-bone. I don’t suppose they’ll be able to play in the ‘Varsity match. Rotten luck for Cambridge. Well, fortunately we’d had two reserve pros, with us at Brighton, who had come up to London with the team in case they might be wanted, so, with them, we were only one short. Then I thought of you. That’s how it was.’
‘I see,’ said Mike. ‘Who are the pros?’
‘Davis and Brockley. Both bowlers. It weakens our batting a lot. Ballard or Willis might have got a stack of runs on this wicket. Still, we’ve got a certain amount of batting as it is. We oughtn’t to do badly, if we’re careful. You’ve been getting some practice, I suppose, this season?’
‘In a sort of a way. Nets and so on. No matches of any importance.’
‘Dash it, I wish you’d had a game or two in decent class cricket. Still, nets are better than nothing, I hope you’ll be in form. We may want a pretty long knock from you, if things go wrong. These men seem to be settling down all right, thank goodness,’ he added, looking out of the window at the county’s first pair, Warrington and Mills, two professionals, who, as the result of ten minutes’ play, had put up twenty.
‘I’d better go and change,’ said Mike, picking up his bag. ‘You’re in first wicket, I suppose?’
‘Yes. And Reggie, second wicket.’
Reggie was another of Mike’s brothers, not nearly so fine a player as Joe, but a sound bat, who generally made runs if allowed to stay in.