My efforts at the L.A.C. threw rather a cloud on my career at this season, for they continued to be crowned with failure; in fact, the bitter truth was slowly brought home to me that I was not a good runner. I won a heat in two handicaps, after repeated losses; but when it came to the semi-finals, in both cases my performance was quite beneath consideration. I was very unequal, and Nat Perry said that my running was rather “in and out,” and Dicky Travers said that it might be misunderstood and count against me, though, of course, he knew it was not intentional, but just according to the sort of spirits I was in. For instance, if Mr. Westonshaugh had praised me at the office, or Mr. Montgomery Merridew had said I was getting on at the Dramatic School, then, curiously enough, I ran better; but if Mr. Westonshaugh had frowned, or Mr. Merridew had exhibited impatience about my deportment or voice production, then my legs seemed to feel it, and sulk, and go slower, just when I most wanted them to go faster. Such, no doubt, is life.

But, to compensate for these reverses, most extraordinary success attended my cricket, and at the end of the season it was found on calculation that I headed the batting list with an average of forty, decimal something, for eight completed innings. We were the champion insurance office that season, thanks in a measure to me and another much better man called Finlay, who bowled at a great pace and was also a steady run-getter. Then came the striking news that there was a bat given annually for the best average. It was bestowed publicly, in the Board Room, and the Secretary presented it in the name of the directors.

For an instant I regretted my achievement; then I told myself that as a man destined to take his place on the public stage and be in the public eye, a trifling matter like a presentation-bat was all in the day’s work. So I took the matter in a light spirit, and, though doubtless many felt very envious of my amazing luck, for there were five “not outs” in my average, I none the less treated it with great apparent coolness.

“You’ll have to make a speech,” said Mr. Blades, and I merely answered:

“Of course. You always have to in these cases”—just as though receiving testimonials was as common a thing with me as registering policies.

Behind the scenes, however, the case was very different, and, as the time drew nearer for the presentation of the bat, I found, rather to my surprise, that my pulse quickened when the thought came into my mind.

To quiet this effect, which was entirely owing to the fact of being unprepared, I planned a speech. Of course, a written speech was out of the question, as only monarchs read their speeches, which they take from the hand of a courtier at the critical moment; but there is no objection to writing a speech first and then learning it by heart and delivering it in a slightly halting manner, as though it was an impromptu. This can be done, and with my histrionic attainments and increasing command of deportment and voice production, I felt hopeful that I should make a good impression. I felt my future official career might depend to some extent on this speech, and I spent several evenings at home, writing it and touching it up, so that it should be worthy of the Apollo Fire Office, and of the occasion, and of me.

I never polished anything so much in my life, and after it was completed to my satisfaction I tried it on Aunt Augusta, to see how it struck her, as an unprejudiced person, ignorant of cricket and so on.

“You are to imagine the Board Room of the Apollo full of a seething and serried flood of officials,” I said. “The Secretary, the famous Mr. Septimus Trott, rises in his chair and addresses the meeting. The affairs of the cricket club are discussed, and its great success during the past season; then he mentions me by name, and very likely a few of my best friends will raise a cheer. This cheer may possibly spread to men from the other departments, until the whole assemblage honours me with congratulations. I don’t say it will, of course, but it may. Then I step out and go up to the secretarial chair, and Mr. Septimus Trott, doubtless with a passing thought of how very different was the last time I came before him, smiles genially, picks up the presentation-bat, which I have already chosen, and hands it to me. He bows; I bow. Then I accept the bat in the true spirit of sportsmanship, and speak as follows.”

After that I read my aunt the speech, which was cast in these memorable words:

“Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, it would be no exaggeration to say that I was amazed at my performance as a wielder of the willow during our past season on the tented field. In my earlier days, Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, such little success as I may claim for my efforts was with the leather; but I never thought that, even helped with such phenomenal luck as has fallen to my share, I should top our averages and find myself standing before you in this honourable and invidious position.”

“Surely not ‘invidious,’” said Aunt Augusta; but I held up my hand for silence, in the style of Mr. Merridew when interrupted, and proceeded with the speech.

“The game of cricket, Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, is of surpassing antiquity; but it is subject to those famous laws of evolution discovered by Mr. Darwin, and it has vastly changed for the better during the last half-century. We can hardly imagine that first-class cricket is capable of further development; yet we are wrong. It is. And though I may not be here to see it, I have no hesitation in saying that some of you collected here to-day may live to observe vast changes in this historic, manly, and essentially English pastime.

“Much has already been done since the days of Captain Fellowes and Fuller Pilch to improve the national game; and though it is not possible to us of the Apollo Fire Office, owing to the many calls upon our time in this hive of industry, to acquire what you might consider perfection at what has been well called ‘the King of Games,’ still, we have already shown ourselves to be no mean foemen in the fifth or sixth-class cricket, which we practise so ably, as many a victory over our formidable antagonists in other insurance offices so clearly shows.

“That it has been my great good fortune, Mr. Secretary and gentlemen, to advance our prosperity to the flood-tide of success will ever be a source of proud gratification to me and my family in days to come; and I have no hesitation in saying that, among my possessions, be they great or small, in after life, I shall cherish this bat as a jewel in my crown, so to say, and never relinquish it as long as my powers enable me to participate in our national pastime.

“In conclusion, Mr. Secretary and—--”

Here my Aunt Augusta interposed again—definitely and sternly:

“Really—really—I do think it’s too long, my dear boy,” she said. “It’s awfully good and interesting, and flows beautifully, and if I was a clerk in your office I should love to hear you say it; but—but—--”

“You miss the elocution and the pauses and effects,” I explained. “I’m merely reading it now; but when I deliver it, everything will be quite different.”

“It may be so,” she said, “but I have a firm conviction that it is far too long for the occasion. You see, after the office hours are over, the men will all be wanting to hurry off to catch trains, and so on; and it would be a fearfully disappointing thing for you, in the midst of your speech, if people began going out. Suppose, as an extreme case, that the Secretary himself, who is a very important and busy man, had to go before you had finished? Think what a cloud it would cast, and how you would feel.”

Of course the vision of the Secretary slipping away, and the clerks stealing out one by one, was a very painful vision; and my mind seemed to take hold of this gloomy idea of Aunt Augusta’s and elaborate it, until I pictured a scene where I and my bat were finally left in the midst of the Board Room in solitary state, addressing the empty air!

“I hadn’t looked at it in that manner,” I told Aunt Augusta, “and yet it seems a frightful shame that this thing should all go for nothing.”

“Couldn’t you shorten it by about three-quarters?” she suggested; but I felt, somehow, that this was out of the question.

“It is a case of all or none, as we say,” I replied, “and I am afraid it had better be a case of none. I should like to have delivered the speech, and I may tell you that what is called the ‘per-oration’ was the best part of it. I worked up to a sort of a pitch in it—a pitch of true feeling. In fact, it was poetry; and if I had done it properly, they’d have forgotten all about their trains and even felt it was worth missing them. But all is now over. I expect you are right, though, of course, it is impossible to be certain.”

With these words, I made a quick movement and dramatically cast the manuscript of the speech upon the fire. I thought that Aunt Augusta, womanlike, would have leapt forward, smitten with remorse before the spectacle, and dashed at the grate and very likely burned herself in unavailing efforts to rescue my words. But she made no such effort, and expressed no remorse whatever. I could not help showing a little irritation.

“Hang it all,” I said, “you might have asked to hear the peroration!”

She put her hand on my arm.

“I’m an artist too,” she said, in her quiet voice, “but I’m old, compared to you, and my sense of humour has been sharpened through a good many sorrows as well as joys. My dearest boy, it wasn’t any good—honestly—honestly. You can do a million times better than that. Just say what comes into your head, and you’ll cover yourself with glory.”

Of course the female sex is famous for a sort of intuition, and they often get clever and correct ideas without working for them like we men have to do. They have flashes of sense, as it were, and though sometimes the flashes are right bang off, to use a slang phrase, still, there is no doubt that often the things they utter on the spur of the moment will be found to hit the right nail on the head. Aunt Augusta had sense, though the worlds of the City and of sport were, naturally, sealed books to her. I allowed her hand to stay on my arm, which I did not always do, and granted that I honestly believed she was very likely right.

“And if you’ve had a good many sorrows in your time, Aunt Augusta, I’m very sorry, and don’t wish to add to them,” I said. “In fact, really, in cold blood, looking back at my idea of a speech, with stage deportment, and elocution, and so on—and pathos at the end, it may have been infernal cheek to think of such a thing from a junior clerk to a crowd of grown-up men. They might have given me ‘the bird,’ which is theatrical parlance for hissing; they might have got right-down annoyed, and thought I was making game of them; they might even have taken away the bat!”

“No,” she said, “they would never have done anything like that; but I’m sure they would have thought you were making too much of the whole affair; and that would have hurt your feelings.”

So we left it in that way, and I not merely forgave Aunt Augusta, but thanked her for saving me from what might have been a considerable peril and very likely damaged my future prospects in the Apollo.

When the great evening actually did come, only about a dozen sporting clerks, including Mr. Blades and Dicky Travers, dropped in to see the presentation, and Mr. Septimus Trott, in about six well-chosen words, handed me my bat and congratulated me on winning it. In return I merely said: “Thank you, sir. I’m very glad to have had such luck.”

It was like those rather dreadful accounts of hangings, when you read that from the moment of pinioning till the drop fell was a period of less than two minutes. Not one of the meagre handful of clerks who attended the ceremony need have feared to miss his train; and doubtless they were well aware of this before they came to the ceremonial.

On the whole, I wasted a good deal of valuable time and thought on this subject, and shall never regard it as one of the most satisfactory things that happened to me during my first year in London. In fact, it was rather sad in a way, though very satisfactory from a purely sporting point of view.