The White FeatherWodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)
General
The White Feather
Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)
Children's stories; Schools -- Fiction
"What's happened here, sir," he said, "is that there's a plank gone
from the bottom. Smashed clean out, it is. Not started it isn't.
Smashed clean out. That's what it is. Some one must have been here and
done it."
Sheen looked at the boat, and saw that he was right. A plank in the
middle had been splintered. It looked as if somebody had driven some
heavy instrument into it. As a matter of fact, Albert had effected the
job with the butt-end of an oar.
The damage was not ruinous. A carpenter could put the thing right at no
great expense. But it would take time. And meanwhile the minutes were
flying, and lock-up was now little more than half an hour away.
"What'll you do, sir?" asked Bevan.
That was just what Sheen was asking himself. What could he do? The road
to the school twisted and turned to such an extent that, though the
distance from the "Blue Boar" to Seymour's was only a couple of miles
as the crow flies, he would have to cover double that distance unless
he took a short cut across the fields. And if he took a short cut in
the dark he was certain to lose himself. It was a choice of evils. The
"Blue Boar" possessed but one horse and trap, and he had seen that
driven away to the station in charge of a fisherman's luggage half an
hour before.
"I shall have to walk," he said.
"It's a long way. You'll be late, won't you?" said Mr Bevan.
"It can't be helped. I suppose I shall. I wonder who smashed that
boat," he added after a pause.
Passing through the inn on his way to the road, he made inquiries. It
appeared that two young gentlemen from the school had been there to
tea. They had arrived in a boat and gone away in a boat. Nobody else
had come into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested upon them.
"Do you remember anything about them?" asked Sheen.
Further details came out. One of the pair had worn a cap like Sheen's.
The other's headgear, minutely described, showed him that its owner was
a member of the school second eleven.
Sheen pursued the inquiry. He would be so late in any case that a
minute or so more or less would make no material difference; and he was
very anxious to find out, if possible, who it was that had placed him
in this difficulty. He knew that he was unpopular in the school, but he
had not looked for this sort of thing.
Then somebody suddenly remembered having heard one of the pair address
the other by name.
"What name?" asked Sheen.
His informant was not sure. Would it be Lindon?
"Linton," said Sheen.
That was it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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