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‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Tony,

‘Certainly not. Look here, there’s a train starts from Stapleton at three. I can catch that all right. Gets to Rutton at three-twenty. Sports begin at three-fifteen. At least, they are supposed to. Over before five, I should think. At least, my race will be, though I must stop to see the Oldest Inhabitant’s nevvy win the egg and spoon canter. But that ought to come on before the strangers’ race. Train back at a quarter past five. Arrives at a quarter to six. Lock up six-fifteen. That gives me half an hour to get here from Stapleton. What more do you want? I shall do it easily, and … the odds against my being booked are about twenty-five to one. At which price if any gent present cares to deposit his money, I am willing to take him. Now I’ll treat you to a tune, if you’re good.’

He went to the cupboard and produced his gramophone. Charteris’s musical instruments had at one time been strictly suppressed by the authorities, and, in consequence, he had laid in a considerable stock of them. At last, when he discovered that there was no rule against the use of musical instruments in the House, Merevale had yielded. The stipulation that Charteris should play only before prep. was rigidly observed, except when Merevale was over at the Hall, and the Sixth had no work. On such occasions Charteris felt justified in breaking through the rule. He had a gramophone, a banjo, a penny whistle, and a mouth organ. The banjo, which he played really well, was the most in request, but the gramophone was also popular.

‘Turn on “Whistling Rufus”,’ observed Thomson.

‘Whistling Rufus’ was duly turned on, giving way after an encore to ‘Bluebells’.

‘I always weep when I hear this,’ said Tony.

‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Charteris.

I’ll be your sweetheart, if you–will be–mine,
All my life, I’ll be your valentine.
Bluebells I’ve gathered–grrhhrh.

The needle of the gramophone, after the manner of its kind, slipped raspingly over the surface of the wax, and the rest of the ballad was lost.

‘That,’ said Charteris, ‘is how I feel with regard to the Old Man. I’d be his sweetheart, if he’d be mine. But he makes no advances, and the stain on my scutcheon is not yet wiped out. I must say I haven’t tried gathering bluebells for him yet, nor have I offered my services as a perpetual valentine, but I’ve been very kind to him in other ways.’

‘Is he still down on you?’ asked the Babe.

‘He hasn’t done much lately. We’re in a state of truce at present. Did I tell you how I scored about Stapleton?’

‘You’ve only told us about a hundred times,’ said the Babe brutally. ‘I tell you what, though, he’ll score off you if he finds you going to Rutton.’

‘Let’s hope he won’t.’

‘He won’t,’ said Welch suddenly.

‘Why?’

‘Because you won’t go. I’ll bet you anything you like that you won’t go.’

That settled Charteris. It was the sort of remark that always acted on him like a tonic. He had been intending to go all the time, but it was this speech of Welch’s that definitely clinched the matter. One of his mottoes for everyday use was ‘Let not thyself be scored off by Welch.’

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Of course I shall go. What’s the next item you’d like on this machine?’

The day of the sports arrived, and the Babe, meeting Charteris at Merevale’s gate, made a last attempt to head him off from his purpose.

‘How are you going to take your things?’ he asked. ‘You can’t carry a bag. The first beak you met would ask questions.’

If he had hoped that this would be a crushing argument, he was disappointed.

Charteris patted a bloated coat pocket.

‘Bags,’ he said laconically. ‘Vest,’ he added, doing the same to his other pocket. ‘Shoes,’ he concluded, ‘you will observe I am carrying in a handy brown paper parcel, and if anybody wants to know what’s in it, I shall tell them it’s acid drops. Sure you won’t come, too?’