For an instant I regretted my achievement; then I told myself that as a man destined to take his place on the public stage and be in the public eye, a trifling matter like a presentation-bat was all in the day’s work. So I took the matter in a light spirit, and, though doubtless many felt very envious of my amazing luck, for there were five “not outs” in my average, I none the less treated it with great apparent coolness.
“You’ll have to make a speech,” said Mr. Blades, and I merely answered:
“Of course. You always have to in these cases”—just as though receiving testimonials was as common a thing with me as registering policies.
Behind the scenes, however, the case was very different, and, as the time drew nearer for the presentation of the bat, I found, rather to my surprise, that my pulse quickened when the thought came into my mind.
To quiet this effect, which was entirely owing to the fact of being unprepared, I planned a speech. Of course, a written speech was out of the question, as only monarchs read their speeches, which they take from the hand of a courtier at the critical moment; but there is no objection to writing a speech first and then learning it by heart and delivering it in a slightly halting manner, as though it was an impromptu. This can be done, and with my histrionic attainments and increasing command of deportment and voice production, I felt hopeful that I should make a good impression. I felt my future official career might depend to some extent on this speech, and I spent several evenings at home, writing it and touching it up, so that it should be worthy of the Apollo Fire Office, and of the occasion, and of me.
I never polished anything so much in my life, and after it was completed to my satisfaction I tried it on Aunt Augusta, to see how it struck her, as an unprejudiced person, ignorant of cricket and so on.
“You are to imagine the Board Room of the Apollo full of a seething and serried flood of officials,” I said. “The Secretary, the famous Mr. Septimus Trott, rises in his chair and addresses the meeting. The affairs of the cricket club are discussed, and its great success during the past season; then he mentions me by name, and very likely a few of my best friends will raise a cheer. This cheer may possibly spread to men from the other departments, until the whole assemblage honours me with congratulations. I don’t say it will, of course, but it may. Then I step out and go up to the secretarial chair, and Mr. Septimus Trott, doubtless with a passing thought of how very different was the last time I came before him, smiles genially, picks up the presentation-bat, which I have already chosen, and hands it to me. He bows; I bow. Then I accept the bat in the true spirit of sportsmanship, and speak as follows.”
After that I read my aunt the speech, which was cast in these memorable words:
“Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, it would be no exaggeration to say that I was amazed at my performance as a wielder of the willow during our past season on the tented field. In my earlier days, Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, such little success as I may claim for my efforts was with the leather; but I never thought that, even helped with such phenomenal luck as has fallen to my share, I should top our averages and find myself standing before you in this honourable and invidious position.”
“Surely not ‘invidious,’” said Aunt Augusta; but I held up my hand for silence, in the style of Mr. Merridew when interrupted, and proceeded with the speech.