To begin
with, he was in detention, which in itself is enough to spoil a day. It
was a particularly fine day, which made the matter worse. In addition to
this, he had never felt stiffer in his life. It seemed to him that the
creaking of his joints as he walked must be audible to everyone within a
radius of several yards. Finally, there was the interview with Mr.
Downing to come. That would probably be unpleasant. As Psmith had said,
Mr. Downing was the sort of master who would be likely to make trouble.
The great match had not been an ordinary match. Mr. Downing was a
curious man in many ways, but he did not make a fuss on ordinary
occasions when his bowling proved expensive. Yesterday's performance,
however, stood in a class by itself. It stood forth without disguise as
a deliberate rag. One side does not keep another in the field the whole
day in a one-day match except as a grisly kind of practical joke. And
Mr. Downing and his house realized this. The house's way of signifying
its comprehension of the fact was to be cold and distant as far as the
seniors were concerned, and abusive and pugnacious as regards the
juniors. Young blood had been shed overnight, and more flowed during the
eleven-o'-clock interval that morning to avenge the insult.
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