The Manor Wodehouse Collection CLICK ON TITLE TO BUY FROM AMAZON.COM Go to www.ManorWodehouse.com for more options and to download e-books The Little Warrior The Swoop William Tell Told Again Mike: A Public School Story Jill the Reckless The Politeness of Princes & Other School Stories The Man Upstairs & Other Stories The Coming of Bill A Man of Means: A Series of Six Stories The Gem Collector The Adventures of Sally The Clicking of Cuthbert A Damsel in Distress Jeeves in the Springtime & Other Stories The Pothunters My Man Jeeves The Girl on the Boat Mike & Psmith The White Feather The Man With Two Left Feet & Other Stories Piccadilly Jim Psmith in the City Right Ho, Jeeves Uneasy Money A Prefect’s Uncle Psmith Journalist The Prince and Betty Something New The Gold Bat & Other Stories Head of Kay’s The Intrusion of Jimmy The Little Nugget Love Among the Chickens Tales of St. Austin’s Indiscretions of Archie Jeeves, Emsworth and Others Mike A Public School Story P. G. Wodehouse Illustrations By T. M. R. Whitwell The Manor Wodehouse Collection Tark Classic Fiction an imprint of MANOR Rockville, Maryland 2008 Mike - A Public School Story by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, in its current format, copyright © Arc Manor 2008. Th is book, in whole or in part, may not be copied or reproduced in its current format by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise without the permission of the publisher. Th e original text has been reformatted for clarity and to fi t this edition. Arc Manor, Arc Manor Classic Reprints, Manor Classics, TARK Classic Fiction, Th e and the Arc Manor logo are trademarks or registered trademarks of Arc Manor Publishers, Rockville, Maryland. All other trademarks are properties of their respective owners. Th is book is presented as is, without any warranties (implied or otherwise) as to the accuracy of the production, text or translation. Th e publisher does not take responsibility for any typesetting, format- ting, translation or other errors which may have occurred during the production of this book. ISBN: 978-1-60450-048-6 Published by TARK Classic Fiction An Imprint of Arc Manor P. O. Box 10339 Rockville, MD 20849-0339 www.ArcManor.com Printed in the United States of America/United Kingdom To Alan Durand Please Visit www.ManorWodehouse.com for a complete list of titles available in our Manor Wodehouse Collection Chapters Mike The Journey Down Mike Finds a Friendly Native At the Nets Revelry By Night In Which a Tight Corner Is Evaded In Which Mike Is Discussed A Row With the Town Before the Storm The Great Picnic The Conclusion of the Picnic Mike Gets His Chance The M.C.C. Match A Slight Imbroglio Mike Creates A Vacancy An Expert Examination Another Vacancy Bob Has News to Impart Mike Goes to Sleep Again The Team Is Filled Up Marjory the Frank Wyatt Is Reminded of an Engagement A Surprise for Mr. Appleby Caught Marching Orders The Aftermath The Ripton Match Mike Wins Home Wyatt Again Mr. Jackson Makes Up His Mind Sedleigh Psmith Staking Out a Claim Guerrilla Warfare Unpleasantness in the Small Hours Adair Mike Finds Occupation The Fire Brigade Meeting Achilles Leaves His Tent The Match With Downing’s The Singular Behaviour of Jellicoe Jellicoe Goes on the Sick-List Mike Receives a Commission And Fulfils It Pursuit The Decoration of Sammy Mr. Downing on the Scent The Sleuth-Hound A Check The Destroyer of Evidence Mainly About Boots On the Trail Again The Kettle Method Adair Has a Word With Mike Clearing the Air In Which Peace Is Declared Mr. Downing Moves The Artist Claims His Work Sedleigh V. Wrykyn Chapter Mike It was a morning in the middle of April, and the Jackson family were consequently breakfasting in comparative silence. Th e cricket season had not begun, and except during the cricket season they were in the habit of devoting their powerful minds at breakfast al- most exclusively to the task of victualling against the labours of the day. In May, June, July, and August the silence was broken. Th e three grown-up Jacksons played regularly in fi rst-class cricket, and there was always keen competition among their brothers and sisters for the copy of the Sportsman which was to be found on the hall table with the letters. Whoever got it usually gloated over it in silence till urged wrathfully by the multitude to let them know what had happened; when it would appear that Joe had notched his seventh century, or that Reggie had been run out when he was just getting set, or, as sometimes occurred, that that ass Frank had dropped Fry or Hayward in the slips before he had scored, with the result that the spared expert had made a couple of hundred and was still going strong. In such a case the criticisms of the family circle, particularly of the smaller Jackson sisters, were so breezy and unrestrained that Mrs. Jackson generally felt it necessary to apply the closure. Indeed, Marjory Jackson, aged fourteen, had on three several occasions been fi ned pudding at lunch for her caustic comments on the batting of her brother Reggie in important fi xtures. Cricket was a tradition in the family, and the ladies, unable to their sorrow to play the game themselves, were resolved that it should not be their fault if the stan- dard was not kept up. 11 P. G. WODEHOUSE On this particular morning silence reigned. A deep gasp from some small Jackson, wrestling with bread-and-milk, and an occa- sional remark from Mr. Jackson on the letters he was reading, alone broke it. “Mike’s late again,” said Mrs. Jackson plaintively, at last. “He’s getting up,” said Marjory. “I went in to see what he was doing, and he was asleep. So,” she added with a satanic chuckle, “I squeezed a sponge over him. He swallowed an awful lot, and then he woke up, and tried to catch me, so he’s certain to be down soon.” “Marjory!” “Well, he was on his back with his mouth wide open. I had to. He was snoring like anything.” “You might have choked him.” “I did,” said Marjory with satisfaction. “Jam, please, Phyllis, you pig.” Mr. Jackson looked up. “Mike will have to be more punctual when he goes to Wrykyn,” he said. “Oh, father, is Mike going to Wrykyn?” asked Marjory. “When?” “Next term,” said Mr. Jackson. “I’ve just heard from Mr. Wain,” he added across the table to Mrs. Jackson. “Th e house is full, but he is turning a small room into an extra dormitory, so he can take Mike after all.” Th e fi rst comment on this momentous piece of news came from Bob Jackson. Bob was eighteen. Th e following term would be his last at Wrykyn, and, having won through so far without the infl ic- tion of a small brother, he disliked the prospect of not being allowed to fi nish as he had begun. “I say!” he said. “What?” “He ought to have gone before,” said Mr. Jackson. “He’s fi fteen. Much too old for that private school. He has had it all his own way there, and it isn’t good for him.” “He’s got cheek enough for ten,” agreed Bob. “Wrykyn will do him a world of good.” “We aren’t in the same house. Th at’s one comfort.” Bob was in Donaldson’s. It softened the blow to a certain ex- tent that Mike should be going to Wain’s. He had the same feeling for Mike that most boys of eighteen have for their fi fteen-year-old 12 MIKE brothers. He was fond of him in the abstract, but preferred him at a distance. Marjory gave tongue again. She had rescued the jam from Phyl- lis, who had shown signs of fi nishing it, and was now at liberty to turn her mind to less pressing matters. Mike was her special ally, and anything that aff ected his fortunes aff ected her. “Hooray! Mike’s going to Wrykyn. I bet he gets into the fi rst eleven his fi rst term.” “Considering there are eight old colours left,” said Bob loftily, “besides heaps of last year’s seconds, it’s hardly likely that a kid like Mike’ll get a look in. He might get his third, if he sweats.” Th e aspersion stung Marjory. “I bet he gets in before you, anyway,” she said. Bob disdained to reply. He was among those heaps of last year’s seconds to whom he had referred. He was a sound bat, though lack- ing the brilliance of his elder brothers, and he fancied that his cap was a certainty this season. Last year he had been tried once or twice. Th is year it should be all right. Mrs. Jackson intervened. “Go on with your breakfast, Marjory,” she said. “You mustn’t say ‘I bet’ so much.” Marjory bit off a section of her slice of bread-and-jam. “Anyhow, I bet he does,” she muttered truculently through it. Th ere was a sound of footsteps in the passage outside. Th e door opened, and the missing member of the family appeared. Mike Jackson was tall for his age. His fi gure was thin and wiry. His arms and legs looked a shade too long for his body. He was evidently go- ing to be very tall some day. In face, he was curiously like his brother Joe, whose appearance is familiar to every one who takes an interest in fi rst-class cricket.