Wiggie pondered, expecting every minute to see the watchdogs round the corner, and felt again that frivolous longing for a last snap of the fingers in the relentless face of Fate. He had been a keen player in his early twenties, before the Moloch of music clasped him in its searing arms. There had even been international visions, at one time. It would be rather fun to feel the ugly old stick again, jumping and ready under his hand, to put out a foot in the path of the whizzing ball and nurse it neatly up the hugged touch-line. Of course, he couldn’t possibly last more than five minutes, and Harriet would be extremely angry if he went and died suddenly in front of a clean clearing-shot, but he wanted those five minutes very badly. Moreover, for some curious reason, he had never been able to disobey Harriet’s mandates. He did things for Dandy because it was as natural as eating and sleeping, not in the least because he felt he had to; but he was always conscious that Harriet was pushing him, and he seldom tried to resist, for, deep down somewhere in his drifting soul, was a queer sense of comfort in being pushed.
“Togs?” he asked weakly, and Harriet’s face brightened.
“Oh, Lanty will rig you out! He’s got all the necessary kit stowed away somewhere, if Helwise hasn’t shifted it to the nearest rummage-sale. I’ll tell him you’ll send over for it in the morning, if you don’t see him yourself. I say—it’s jolly decent of you! Hope you don’t really mind missing the old ’buses? It makes all the difference to me; and the fresh air will do you no end of good—you take my word for it!—that, and a bit of hopping about. D’you suppose those friends of yours are still kicking their heels? Perhaps they’re wanting to cocker you about the hammer-yell. Oughtn’t you to be scouting round?”
“They’re not friends,” Wiggie answered absently—he was trying to remember that neat little twist of the stick-point that had been such a favourite of his—“they’re police. At least, I mean——” He stammered, catching her surprised eye. “I say, my head is really rather bad! I think I’ll take the path across the fields, and miss everybody. You might shunt the—the friends for me, captain, and whisper a word in Hamer’s ear!”
“Right-o!” She swerved off with a nod as he opened the little gate and fled across the green to the stile in the opposite wall. There he heard her hail him a second time, just as he was stepping into safety.
“You know where the ground is, I suppose? The big meadow just below Wild Duck. Don’t forget. Bully-off at 2.30, sharp!”
He stood a moment with a foot on the hollowed stone. The feel of the farm came back to him, and the rocker, and the furry cat. He was glad the ground was just there—wherever it was. If he might not live at Wild Duck, he might at least, when the match was over, go and die in it.
He kept close to the hedge until he was safely out of the danger zone, like a hare lying low in its form for the wind to bring news of the pack. He began to feel a little better in the cool and the quiet, and the same mischievous excitement crept upon him that had roused at the sight of Gardner’s face. He would have a good run for his money, wherever it ended, but he must be careful, or the watchdogs would nab him before he was ready. For all he knew, they might be at Watters when he got there, which would be more than awkward. He must keep out of their way until he had stood long enough in front of a hockey-ball to please Harriet, even if he had to tell lies to do it. He wondered whether lies counted when you were finishing with everything, and breaking all the foolish little threads of life, or whether a special concession was made by the Angel of the Judgment, just as, in some fatal illnesses, you may eat anything that you fancy, because nothing can possibly harm you ever any more. He laughed a little. It was all quite amusing, and he wondered why he had felt so dismal under the juniper-tree. But of course he hadn’t remembered then just how that neat little point-twist snatched the ball from under an opponent’s nose. He pulled a stick out of the hedge, and began to practise with it, and when he found the old turn still oiled after all these years, he laughed again, and a farm lad heard him over the fence, and confided to his dog that there was somebody on the loose “as mun sewerly be a bit wrang in t’ garrets!”
At Watters there was no sign of the long gray car, but he reconnoitred carefully before committing himself to the prisoning of four walls. Dandy was a little bit hurt because he had elected to walk home alone, escaping all laudation. She was very excited about the performance, and perfectly convinced that it must have been faultless in every detail, seeing that she herself hadn’t sung a single wrong note from beginning to end. But her momentary chagrin vanished at sight of the star’s drawn face, and she pushed him into a chair and brought him tea, comforting him with pleasant little words of praise. He received her attentions without protest because he was still thinking about that point-twist, and practised it mentally with the teaspoon.
“You’ll have to take a long rest, Cyril, my boy!” Hamer said kindly. “You must have to raise a deal of steam to keep that rock-breaking business going up to time. It made me feel sore inside, just watching you breathe! It can’t be good for you, to my way of thinking. You’ll please just keep quiet for a bit, or we’ll have you going to pieces altogether.”