The Sailor Part 22

Seated in a third smoker, on the way to his natal city of Blackhampton, upon which he had not set eyes for seven long and incredible years, the emotions of Henry Harper were very complex. He was in a dream. He had been made to realize by the Force seated opposite smoking Log Cabin and reading _Pearson's Weekly_, that romance had come at last into a mean and hopeless life--into a life which had never looked for such things to happen.

The Sailor knew now the ordeal before him. He was to be tried as a goalkeeper by the great and famous Blackhampton Rovers, the G.o.ds of his youth. The fact was very hard to believe, but according to the relentless Force to the wheel of whose chariot he was tied such was the case. And there was his new gear to prove it.

When they got past Luton, they had the compartment to themselves. It was then that the Force, _alias_ Ginger, laid _Pearson's Weekly_ aside and admonished the Sailor out of the store of his wisdom.

"First thing you bear in mind, young feller, is your name's Cuc.u.mber.

That's the hallmark o' cla.s.s. It's the coolest player what takes the kitty. Did you ever see Jock Norton o' the Villa?"

The Sailor did not remember having done so.

"It don't matter," said Ginger. "This afternoon you'll see me. I've formed myself on Jock Norton o' the Villa. There's no better model for a young and risin' player. But as I say, Cuc.u.mber's your docket.

That's my first an' my last word to you, young feller. It's Cuc.u.mber what'll put the half Nelson on the kermittee. And, o' course, everythink else yer leave to me. Understand?"

The Sailor did his best to do so.

"Everythink I tells yer, you'll do. Everythink I says, you'll stand by. What I says you've said, you've pleadin' well said, young feller, an' don't forget it."

The Sailor was not likely to forget. The look in the eyes of Ginger, slightly flecked with green in a good light--why they should have a.s.sumed that color is part of the eternal paradox--sent little chills down the Sailor's spine.

They steamed into the Central Station of the famous but murky city of Blackhampton at half-past twelve. The Sailor was still in a dream, but of so vivid a hue that he was fairly trembling with excitement. And the first person he saw, who actually opened the door of their compartment, was a certain grim railway policeman, who, on Henry Harper's last appearance at Blackhampton Central Station, had led him outside by the ear and cuffed him soundly for having ventured to appear in it. The final words of this stern official had been, "If ever you come in here again, you'll see what I'll do."

Well, Henry Harper had come in again, and he was now seeing what the policeman did. He felt subconsciously that fate was laughing at this obsequious figure in uniform opening the door of a third smoker for a new goalkeeper, who had come specially from London to be tried by the Rovers.

Ginger considered it an economy of time, also the part of policy, to have a light repast at the refreshment buffet. While they were in the act of consuming egg sandwiches, bananas, and a pint of bitter--they were good to play on--the throng around the buffet was swollen by three or four smart individuals not quite so well dressed as themselves perhaps, but each carrying a handbag which if not so new as theirs was very similar in shape, design, and general importance.

There was a little commotion near the beer engine. "Play up, Rovers,"

cried an enthusiast in a chocolate and blue necktie. The quick ear of Ginger caught the sound; his eye envisaged the cause of it. He gave the Sailor a nudge so shrewd and sudden as to involve disaster to his pint of bitter.

"There's d.i.n.k," he said, in a thrilling whisper.

One less than Ginger would have waited for the situation to evolve. He would have been modestly content for the famous and redoubtable d.i.n.kie Dawson, already an idol of the public and the press, to confer notice upon those whose reputations were in the womb of time. But that was not Ginger's way.

"Come on, Sailor boy, I'll introjuice yer. But mind--Cuc.u.mber. And leave the lip ter me."

The Sailor didn't feel like being introduced to anybody just then, certainly not to d.i.n.kie Dawson, or the Prince of Wales, or Lord Salisbury, or anyone of equal eminence. In spite of new clothes and a Gladstone bag, he knew his limit. But the relentless Force to the wheel of whose chariot he was tied, the amazing Ginger, sauntered up to the beer engine and struck d.i.n.kie Dawson a blow on the shoulder.

"Hullo, Ginge," said the great man. Moreover he spoke with the large geniality of one who has really arrived.

"Hullo, d.i.n.k." Cuc.u.mber was not the word for Ginger. "Where are ye playin'?"

"At Durbee agen the Countee."

"Mind yer put it acrost 'em," said Ginger, in the ready and agreeable tone of the man of the world. "Let me introjuice Mr. Enery Arper. Mr.

d.i.n.kie Dawson."

"'Ow do," said d.i.n.kie. But it was not the tone he had used to Ginger.

There was inquiry, condescension, keep-your-distance and quite a lot of other things in it. Ginger, whom d.i.n.kie knew and liked, had described Mr. Enery Arper as a Nonesuch, but d.i.n.kie, who was himself a Nonesuch of a very authentic breed, was not all inclined to make concessions to a Nonesuch in embryo.

Mr. Harper's shyness was so intense that it might easily have been mistaken for Lift. But Ginger, wary and alert, stepped into the breach with his accustomed gallantry.

"I told yer in my letter he had been a sailor," whispered Ginger in the great man's ear. "He's sailed eight years afore the mast. Three times wrecked. Seed the serpent. Gee, what that chap's done an' seen--it fair makes you dizzy. Not that you would think it to look at him, would yer?"

"No, I wouldn't," said d.i.n.kie, who measured men by one standard only.

"But what about his goalkeeping? Can he keep goal or can't he?

There's a big chance for a chap as can really _keep_ goal. But he must be cla.s.s."

"He's cla.s.s," said Ginger--coolly.

"Can he clear well?"

"He's a daisy, I tell yer."

"That's got to be seen," said d.i.n.kie. "But he looks green to me. An'

I tell you this, Ginger Jukes, it's not a bit o' use anybody trying to lumber a green un on to a club like the Rovers."

"I know that," said Ginger urbanely. "But you'll see--if he keeps his thatch. By the way, d.i.n.k, you didn't say in your letter whether the Rovers had a vacancy for a right full back."

"We've got Mullins and Pretyman, the best pair o' backs in England."

Ginger knew that perfectly well, but he did not allow it to defeat him.

"There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it," said he.

"I don't know about that," said d.i.n.kie Dawson coldly.

It was clear that Ginger Jukes did not realize where he was or what he was up against.

X

Ginger and the Sailor drove to the ground of the Blackhampton Rovers on the roof of a two-horse bus. It was a long way from the Central Station, but they had time in hand; the match did not begin until half-past two, and it was only a little after one at present. As together they made what both felt to be as fateful a journey as they would ever take in the whole course of their lives, their emotions were many and conflicting.

"There y'are, young feller." Ginger pointed to a h.o.a.rding on which a chocolate and blue poster was displayed. In spite of his religion of Cuc.u.mber, the thrill in his voice was perceptible. "There's a bill of the match."

"Who are we p-playin'?" stammered the Sailor, half choked by a sudden rush of emotion that threatened to unman him.

"Can't yer read?"

"No," gasped the Sailor.

"No?" gasped Ginger.

"I--I mean, I can't see very well."

"_Can't see!_"