"But you know that I always
leave off at a dozen. Thirteen--thirteen I could never stop at. I shall
have to do fourteen at least; and it is too bad, just after dinner. Now
all of you watch whether I touch it anywhere."
A barrel almost five feet in height, and less than a yard in breadth,
stood under a clump of trees in the play-ground; and Blyth Scudamore had
made a clean leap one day, for his own satisfaction, out of it. Sharp
eyes saw him, and sharp wits were pleased, and a strong demand had
arisen that he should perform this feat perpetually. Good nerve, as well
as strong spring, and compactness of power are needed for it; and even
in this athletic age there are few who find it easy.
"Come, now," he said, as he landed lightly, with both heels together;
"one of you big fellows come and do it. You are three inches taller than
I am. And you have only got to make up your minds."
But all the big fellows hung back, or began to stimulate one another,
and to prove to each other how easy it was, by every proof but practice.
"Well, then, I must do it once more," said Blyth, "for I dare not leave
off at thirteen, for fear of some great calamity, such as I never could
jump out of."
But before he could get into the tub again, to prepare for the clear
spring out of it, he beheld a man with silver buttons coming across
the playing-field. His heart fell into his heels, and no more agility
remained in him.
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