Read Online Mike at Wrykyn by P.G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online

think so), but in the present case, it was the direct cause of epoch-making
trouble.
    The
tomato hit Wyatt. Wyatt, with others, went to look for the thrower. The
remnants of the thrower’s friends were placed in the pond, and “with them,” as
they say in the courts of law, Police Constable Alfred Butt.
    Following
the chain of events, we find Mr. Butt, having prudently changed his clothes,
calling upon the headmaster.
    The
headmaster was grave and sympathetic; Mr. Butt fierce and revengeful.
    The
imagination of the Force is proverbial. Nurtured on motor-cars and fed with
stop-watches, it has become world-famous. Mr. Butt gave free rein to it.
    “Threw
me in, they did, sir. Yes, sir.”
    “Threw
you in!”
    “Yes,
sir. Plop!” said Mr. Butt, with a certain sad relish.
    “Really,
really!” said the headmaster. “Indeed! This is—dear me! I shall certainly—They
threw you in !—Yes, I shall—certainly—”
    Encouraged
by this appreciative reception of his story, Mr. Butt started it again, right
from the beginning.
    “I was
on my beat, sir, and I thought I heard a disturbance. I says to myself, “Allo,’
I says, ‘a frakkus. Lots of them all gathered together, and fighting.’ I says,
beginning to suspect something, ‘Wot’s this all about, I wonder?’ I says. ‘Blow
me if I don’t think it’s a frakkus.’ And,” concluded Mr. Butt, with the air of
one confiding a secret, “and it was a frakkus!”
    “And
these boys actually threw you into the pond?”
    “Plop, sir! Mrs. Butt is drying my uniform at home at this
very moment as we sit talking here, sir. She says to me, ‘Why, whatever ‘ave you been a-doing? You’re all wet.’ And,” he added, again with the
confidential air, “I was, too. Wringin’ wet.”
    The
headmaster’s frown deepened.
    “And
you are certain that your assailants were boys from the school?”
    “Sure
as I am that I’m sitting here, sir. They all ‘ad their caps on their heads,
sir.”
    “I have
never heard of such a thing. I can hardly believe that it is possible. They
actually seized you, and threw you into the water—”
    “Splish, sir!” said the policeman, with a vividness of
imagery both surprising and gratifying.
    The
headmaster tapped restlessly on the floor with his foot.
    “How
many boys were there?” he asked.
    “Couple
of ‘undred, sir,” said Mr. Butt promptly.
    “Two
hundred!”
    “It was
dark, sir, and I couldn’t see not to say properly; but if you ask me my frank
and private opinion I should say couple of ‘undred.”
    “H’m—
Well, I will look into the matter at once. They shall be punished.”
    “Yes,
sir.”
    “Ye-e-s—H’m—Yes—Most
severely.”
    “Yes,
sir.”
    “Yes—Thank
you, constable. Good night.”
    “Good
night, sir.”
    The
headmaster of Wrykyn was not a motorist. Owing to this disadvantage he made a
mistake. Had he been a motorist, he would have known that statements by the
police in the matter of figures must be divided by any number from two to ten,
according to discretion. As it was, he accepted Constable Butt’s report almost
as it stood. He thought that he might possibly have been mistaken as to the
exact numbers of those concerned in his immersion; but he accepted the
statement in so far as it indicated that the thing had been the work of a
considerable section of the school, and not of only one or two individuals. And
this made all the difference to his method of dealing with the affair. Had he
known how few were the numbers of those responsible for the cold in the head
which subsequently attacked Constable Butt, he would have asked for their
names, and an extra lesson would have settled the entire matter.
    As it
was, however, he got the impression that the school, as a whole, was culpable,
and he proceeded to punish the school as a whole.
    It
happened that, about a week before the pond episode, a certain member of the
Royal Family had recovered from a dangerous illness. No official holiday had
been