And in this her judgment was perfectly sound.
“Now, boys, look your best,” said she. “All smile, please. Just imagine you have knocked out the Villa, which, of course, you will next Saturday, because I’ve made up my mind that you are going to, and I’m a proper mascot, as they know in the North. Not too broad, Joe Pierce, because of the plate. Ve-ry nice—ve-ry nice in-deed. Thank you, boys; and just see if you don’t beat the Villa, although, of course, you are going to lose this afternoon.”
So much for her handling of the democracy, which was brilliantly successful. The whole team were her humble servants to command, now that she had exercised her powers upon them. Her handling of the aristocracy—not that these idle class distinctions obtain upon the field of play—was equally happy. She was entirely responsible for the fact that the game began seventeen minutes late, but nobody seemed to mind particularly, “Rule Britannia” having been twice repeated.
A very good game it was, and a keenly critical crowd was vastly entertained. The famous inside right had not been forgotten, although the public memory is short as a rule. At first, in his new boots, he had, like a certain Biblical hero, to walk delicately; but he soon began to improve, and presently got on better than he had expected. Although he had not played football for four years, he was in fairly hard condition, as he took pretty regular exercise of one sort or another. Still, the pace was so hot at first that he felt it would be bound to kill him. But when at last he had got his second wind, and beautiful slow-stealing passes began to come his way from the famous center forward with whom he had shared many a triumph, the old magic seemed somehow to return, he began to enjoy the proceedings thoroughly, and so did the spectators.
The Albion scored a good goal quite early in the game, but just before half-time the center forward made the scores equal. Then the band played again; collecting-boxes were sent round the ground for the benefit of the widow and young family of the late Joe McPherson; and Mary herself took charge of one of them, and, of course, her box got twice as much as anybody else’s, which was bound to be the case, since she looked so charming, and her way with the great British Public was very charming also.
Who was the lady wearing the ribbon of the Olympians, who was getting sixpences and shillings for her box, while the others had to be content with pence for the most part? Who was the lady with that wonderful way with her, whose handsome face—and it really did look handsome just now, for all that it was so square and sensible—was so familiar on picture-postcards and in illustrated papers?
The famous Miss Caspar from Drury Lane. No wonder her manner was so captivating. No wonder it was so pleasantly sure of itself, when all London had been times and again to watch her put on the Prince’s slipper, and the Honorable P. Shelmerdine, the son of a lord and in his day a very fine player, and doing very well this afternoon, had been lucky enough to marry her.
Yes, the lady with the collecting-box was undoubtedly lending rare distinction to the proceedings. Sixpences and shillings and even half-crowns were raining into her box from the reserved enclosure. The widow and young family of the late Joe McPherson would, undoubtedly, gain very substantially from her efforts, as other deserving objects had done in the past and were likely to do in the future.
The rakish green hats of Horace and Johnny were well to the fore, and the fact that Mary couldn’t possibly miss them cost their owners half-a-crown apiece. And Horace Allwright, as he proudly disbursed this sum, remembered that in the near future a benefit performance was going to be given at the Royal Italian Opera House, Blackhampton, for one who had served the public long and faithfully, but who now had fallen upon evil days.
“I say, Mary, old girl,” said Horace, “that reminds me, we are giving a complimentary matinée at Blackhampton on Tuesday week for poor old Harry Merino—you remember poor old Harry—and you are such a great power in Blackhampton that I thought perhaps—”