LEO TOLSTOY INSPIRES ANOTHER VICTORY

On October 12, the eve of the match, N. Mills, vice-captain of the Wandsworth 6th team, arrived at Calum Lewis’ quarters at Peckham with Marek, the former from Yorkshire and the latter from Poland.

Donning his team uniform, N. Mills ordered a box he had brought for the captain to be carried before him and entered the first compartment of Lewis’ tent, where he began opening the box while conversing with Calum’s aides-de-camp.

Marek, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance talking to some street urchins of his acquaintance.

The captain had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented now his back and now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which his valet, M. Kershaw, was rubbing him down. Another valet - V. Cibardo - with his finger over the mouth of a bottle, was sprinkling Eau de Cologne on the captain’s pampered body with an expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much Eau de Cologne should be sprinkled. Calum’s short hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction. "Go on, harder, go on!" he muttered to the valet who was rubbing him, slightly twitching and grunting. An aide-de-camp, who had entered the bedroom to report to the captain the number of goals scored by the upcoming opposition in their previous match, was standing by the door after delivering his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Calum, frowning, looked at him from under his brows.

"We must take no prisoners!" said he, repeating the aide-de-camp's words. "They are forcing us to take them to the cleaners. So much the worse for them.... Go on... harder, harder!" he muttered, hunching his back and presenting his fat shoulders.

"All right. Let N. Mills enter, and Marek too," he said, nodding to the aide-de-camp.
"Yes, sire," and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door of the tent.

The two valets rapidly dressed Calum, and wearing the red uniform of the Boro he went with firm quick steps to the reception room.

And while he was doing N. Mills the honour of breakfasting with him, they heard, as Calum had anticipated, the rapturous cries of the 6s squad who had run up to see them.

"Vive El Capitan! Vive le roi de Wandsworth! Vive El Capitan!" came those ecstatic cries.

After breakfast, Calum in Mills’ presence dictated his order of the day to the team. "Short and energetic!" he remarked when he had read over the proclamation which he had dictated straight off without corrections. It ran:

Squad members! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on you. It is essential for us; it will give us all we need: three points and a speedy return to our new clubhouse. Behave as you did at Dorking, Reigate, and against Woking. Let our remotest posterity recall your achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of each of you: "He was in the great battle with Tiffs!"

"With Tiffs!" repeated Calum, and inviting N. Mills, who was so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent to where the horses stood saddled.

"You are too kind!" replied Mills to the invitation to accompany the captain; he wanted to sleep, did not know how to ride and was afraid of doing so.

But Calum nodded to his vice-captain, and Mills had to mount.

N. Mills closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, to indicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the captain’s words.

Calum was the greatest tactical genius of his age; victory the following day was already assured.