"I am glad to see you taking so much interest in your work," said he one morning, pausing, in his round of inspection, to lay his hand kindly upon Bert's shoulder as the latter bent over his slate, working out a problem in proportion. "A good beginning is a very important thing."
Bert blushed to the roots of his hair at this unexpected and, indeed, unusual compliment from thegrim master, who, before the boy could frame any reply, passed out of hearing.
"We'll do our best, won't we, Shorty?" said Bert, turning to his friend beside him.
"I suppose so," answered Frank, in rather a doubtful tone. "But your best will be a good deal better than mine. The lessons are just awful hard; it's no use talking."
"They are hard, Shorty, and no mistake. But you'll get used to them all right," rejoined Bert, cheerfully.
"I guess I'll get used to being kept in and getting whipped, first," grumbled Frank.
"Not a bit of it," Bert insisted. "You just stick at them and you'll come out all right."
The fact of the matter was, that poor Frank did find the lessons a little more than he could manage, and there were a good many more "V B's" and "Med's" opposite his name than "B's." He was a restless sort of a chap, moreover, and noisy in his movements, thus often causing Mr. Snelling to look at him, and call out sharply:
"Bowser, what are you doing there?" And Frank would instantly reply, in a tone of indignant innocence:
"Nothing, sir."
Whereupon Mr. Snelling would turn to Dr. Johnston, with the request:
"Will you please put a mark to Bowser for doingnothing, sir?" And down would go the black mark against poor Bowser, who, often as this happened, seemed unable ever to learn to avoid that fatal reply: "Nothing, sir."
By the time autumn had made way for winter, Bert felt thoroughly at home at Dr. Johnston's, and was just about as happy a boy as attended this renowned institution. In spite of the profound awe the doctor inspired, he ventured to cherish toward him a feeling of love as well as of respect; and although Mr. Snelling did not exactly inspire awe, nor even much respect, he managed to like him not a little also. As for the boys—well, there were all sorts and conditions of them; good, bad, and indifferent; boys who thought it very fine and manly to smoke, and swear, and swap improper stories, and boys who seemed as if they would have been more appropriately dressed in girls' clothes, so lacking were they in true manly qualities; while between these two extremes came in the great majority, among whom Bert easily found plenty of bright, wholesome companions.
There were some odd chaps at the school, with whose peculiarities Bert would amuse the home circle very much, as he described them in his own graphicway. There was Bob Mackasey, called by his companions, "Taffy the Welshman," because he applied the money given him by his mother every morning to get some lunch with, to the purchase of taffy; which toothsome product he easily bartered off for more sandwiches and cakes than could have been bought for ten cents, thus filling his own stomach at a very slight cost to his far-seeing mother.
A big fat fellow in knickerbockers, by name Harry Rawdon, the son of an officer in the English army, had attained a peculiar kind of notoriety in the school, by catching flies and bottling them.
Then there was Larry Saunders, the dandy of the school, although undoubtedly one of the very plainest boys in it, who kept a tiny square of looking-glass in his desk, and would carefully arrange his toilet before leaving the school in the afternoon, to saunter up and down the principal street of the city, doing his best to be captivating.
Two hot-tempered, pugnacious chaps, by name Bob Morley and Fred Short, afforded great amusement by the ease with which they could be set at punching one another. It was only necessary for some one to take Bob Morley aside and whisper meaningly that Fred Short had been calling him names behind his back, or something of that sort equally aggravating, to put him in fighting humour. Forthwith, he would challenge Master Fred in the orthodox way—that is, he would take up a chip, spit on it, and toss it overhis shoulder. Without a moment's hesitation, Fred would accept the challenge, and then the two would be at it, hammer and tongs, fighting vigorously until they were separated by the originators of the mischief, when they thought they had had enough of it. They were very evenly matched, and as a matter of fact did not do one another much harm; but the joke of the thing was that they never seemed to suspect how they were being made tools of by the other boys, who always enjoyed these duels immensely.
Another character, and a very lovable one this time, was a nephew of the doctor's, Will Johnston by name, but universally called "Teter," an odd nickname, the reason of which he did not seem to understand himself. This Teter was one of those good-natured, obliging, reckless, happy-go-lucky individuals who never fail to win the love of boys. His generosity was equalled only by his improvidence, and both were surpassed by his good luck.
Bert conceived a great admiration for Teter Johnston. His undaunted courage, as exhibited in snowball fights, when, with only a handful of followers he would charge upon the rest of the school, and generally put them to flight; his reckless enterprise and amazing luck at marbles and other games; his constant championing of the small boys when tormented by the larger ones, more than one bully having had a tremendous thrashing at his hands;—these were very shining qualities in Bert's eyes, andthey fascinated him so, that if "fagging" had been permitted at Dr. Johnston's, Bert would have deemed it not a hardship, but an honour, to have been Teter's "fag."
In strong contrast to his admiration for Teter Johnston was his antipathy to Rod Graham. Rod was both a sneak and a bully. It was in his character as a sneak that he showed himself to Bert first, making profuse demonstrations of goodwill, and doing his best to ingratiate himself with him, because from his well-to-do appearance he judged that he would be a good subject from whom to beg lunch, or borrow marbles, and so on. But Bert instinctively disliked Rod, and avoided him to the best of his ability. Then Rod revealed the other side of his nature. From a sneak he turned into a bully, and lost no opportunity of teasing and tormenting Bert, who, being much smaller than he, felt compelled to submit, although there were times when he was driven almost to desperation. It was not so much by open violence as by underhanded trickery that Rod vented his spite, and this made it all the harder for Bert, who, although he was never in any doubt as to the identity of the person that stole his lunch, poured ink over his copy-book, scratched his slate with a bit of jagged glass, tore the tails off his glengarry, and filled the pockets of his overcoat with snow, still saw no way of putting a stop to this tormenting other than by thrashing Rod, and this he did not feel equal todoing. Upon this last point, however, he changed his mind subsequently, thanks to the influence of his friend Teter Johnston, and the result was altogether satisfactory as will be shown in due time.
Bert's feelings toward Dr. Johnston himself were, as has been already stated, of a mixed nature. At first, he was simply afraid of him, but little by little a gentler feeling crept into his heart. Yet, there was no doubt, the doctor was far more likely to inspire fear than love. He wielded his authority with an impartial, unsparing hand. No allowance was ever made for hesitancy or nervousness on the part of the scholar when reciting his lesson, nor for ebullitions of boyish spirits when sitting at the desk. "Everything must be done correctly, and in order," was the motto of his rule. The whippings he administered were about as impressive a mode of school punishment as could be desired. The unhappy boy who had behaved so ill, or missed so many lessons as to deserve one, heard the awful words, "Stand upon the floor for punishment," uttered in the doctor's sternest tones. Trembling in every limb, and feeling cold shivers running up and down his back, while his face flushed fiery red, or paled to ashy white by turns, the culprit would reluctantly leave his seat, and take his stand in the centre aisle, with the eyes of the whole school upon him variously expressing pity, compassion, or perhaps unsympathetic ridicule.
After he had stood there some time, for be it knownthis exposure was an essential part of the punishment, he would see the doctor slowly rise from his seat, draw forth from its hiding-place the long black strap that had for so many years been his sceptre, and then come down toward him with slow, stately steps. Stopping just in front of him, the order would be issued: "Hold out your hand." Quivering with apprehension, the boy would extend his hand but half way, keeping his elbow fast at his side. But the doctor would not be thus partially obeyed. "Holdoutyour hand, sir!" he would thunder; and out would go the arm to its fullest length, and with a sharp swish through the air, down would come the strap, covering the hand from the wrist to finger tip, and sending a thrill of agony through every nerve in the body. Ten, twenty, thirty, or in extreme cases, even forty such stripes would be administered, some boys taking them as fast as the doctor could strike, so that the torture might soon be over, and others pausing between each blow, to rub their stinging palms together, and bedew them with their tears.
It was a terrible ordeal, no doubt, and one that would hardly be approved of to-day, the publicity uniting with the severity to make it a cruel strain upon a boy's nervous system. In all the years that Bert spent at Dr. Johnston's school he was called upon to endure it only once, but that once sufficed. The way it came about was this:
Bert one morning happened to be in a more thanusually frolicsome mood, and was making pellets out of the soft part of the rolls he had brought for lunch, and throwing them about. In trying to hit a boy who sat between him and Mr. Snelling's desk, he somehow or other miscalculated his aim, and to his horror, the sticky pellet flew straight at the bald spot on top of Mr. Snelling's head, as the latter bent his shortsighted eyes over a book before him, hitting it in the centre, and staying there in token of its success.
With angry face, Mr. Snelling sprang to his feet, and brushing the unlucky pellet from his shiny pate, called out so fiercely as to attract the doctor's attention:
"Who threw that at me?"
The few boys who were in the secret looked very hard at their books, while those who were not glanced up in surprise, and tried to discover the cause of Mr. Snelling's excitement.
"Who threw that at me?" demanded Mr. Snelling, again.
Bert, who had at first been so appalled by what he had done that his tongue refused to act, was about to call out "It was I, sir," when Rod Graham was seen to hold up his hand, and on Mr. Snelling turning inquiringly toward him, Rod, in a low, sneaking voice, said:
"It was Lloyd, sir; I saw him do it."
Mr. Snelling immediately called out, "Lloyd, cometo my desk;" and Bert, feeling hot and cold by turns, went up to the desk, and stood before it, the picture of penitence.
"Did you throw that pellet?" asked Mr. Snelling, in indignant tones.
"Yes, sir; but I didn't mean to hit you, sir," answered Bert, meekly.
"I know nothing about that," answered Mr. Snelling, too much excited to listen to any defence. "Follow me to Dr. Johnston."
Hastening into the presence of the stern headmaster, Mr. Snelling stated what had happened, and pointed to the trembling Bert as the culprit.
"How do you know he is the offender, Mr. Snelling?" inquired the doctor, gravely.
"Graham said he saw him do it, sir, and Lloyd confesses it himself," replied Mr. Snelling.
"Oh! indeed—that is sufficient. Leave Lloyd with me." And thus dismissed, Mr. Snelling returned to his desk.
"Lloyd, I am sorry about this. You must stand upon the floor for punishment," said the doctor, turning to Bert; and Bert, chilled to the heart, took his place upon the spot where he had so often pitied other boys for being.
Presently, drawing out his strap, the doctor came toward him:
"Hold out your hand, sir."
Bert promptly extended his right hand to the full.Swish! and down came the cruel strap upon it, inflicting a burning smart, as though it were a red-hot iron, and sending a thrill of agony through every nerve. Swish! And the left hand was set on fire. Swish! Swish! right and left; right and left, until twenty stripes had been administered; and then, turning on his heel, the doctor walked solemnly back to his desk.
During all this torture not a sound had escaped Bert. He felt that the doctor could not do otherwise than punish him, and he determined to bear the punishment bravely; so closing his lips tightly, and summoning all his resolution, he held out one hand after the other, taking the blows as fast as the doctor could give them. But when the ordeal was over he hurried to his seat, and burying his head in his burning hands, burst into a passion of tears—for he could control himself no longer.
A few minutes later his attention was aroused by hearing the doctor call out, in a loud, stern voice:
"Graham, come forward."
Graham got out of his seat, and in a half-frightened way, slunk up to the doctor's desk.
"I understand, Graham," said the doctor, with his grimmest expression, "that you volunteered to tell Mr. Snelling who it was that threw that pellet. You know, or ought to know, the rule of this school as to informers. You will receive the same punishment that I have just given Lloyd. Stand upon the floor."
Completely taken aback at this unexpected turn in affairs, Rod Graham mechanically took up his position, looking the very picture of abject misery. The doctor kept him there for full half-an-hour, and then administered twenty stripes, with an unction that showed, clearly enough, his profound contempt for that most contemptible of beings, an informer.
Now, Bert was not an angel, but simply a boy—a very good boy, in many respects, no doubt, but a boy, notwithstanding. It would, therefore, be doing him an injustice to deny that he took a certain delight in seeing his tormentor receive so sound a whipping, and that it brought, at least, a temporary balm to his own wounded feelings. But the wound was altogether too deep to be cured by this, or by Frank Bowser's heartfelt sympathy, or even by the praise of his schoolmates, many of whom came up to him at recess and told him he was "a brick," "a daisy," and so forth, because he had taken a whipping without crying.
All this could not hide from him what he felt to be the disgrace of the thing. So ashamed was he of himself that he could hardly find courage to tell them about it at home; and although, easily appreciating the whole situation, Mr. Lloyd had only words of cheer for him, and none of condemnation, Bert still took it so much to heart that the following Sunday he pleaded hard to be allowed to remain away from the Sunday school, as he did not want toface Mr. Silver and his classmates so soon. But his father wisely would not suffer this, and so, much against his will, he went to school as usual, where, however, he felt very ill at ease until the session was over, when he had a long talk with Mr. Silver, and told him the whole story.
This relieved his mind very much. He felt as if he were square with the world again, and he went back to Dr. Johnston's far lighter in heart on Monday morning than he had left it on Friday afternoon. He had learned a lesson, too, that needed no reteaching throughout the remainder of his school days. That was the first and last time Bert Lloyd stood upon the floor for punishment.
As may be easily imagined, Dr. Johnston's severe punishment of Rod Graham for having taken upon himself the part of an informer did not tend to make that young gentleman any more pleasant in his bearing toward Bert. By some process of reasoning, intelligible only to himself, he held Bert accountable for the whipping he had received, and lost no opportunity of wreaking his vengeance upon him. Every now and then during that winter Bert had bitter proof of his enemy's unrelenting hate. It seemed as though there were no limit to Rod's ingenuity in devising ways of annoying him, and many a hot tear did he succeed in wringing from him.
As spring drew near, this persecution grew more and more intolerable, and, without Bert himself being fully conscious of it, a crisis was inevitable. This crisis came sooner, perhaps, than either Bert or Rod anticipated. One bright spring morning, as Bert, with satchel strapped upon his back, approached the school, feeling in high spirits, and looking the verypicture of a sturdy schoolboy, Rod, who had been in hiding behind a porch, sprang out upon him suddenly, snatched the cap off his head, and, with a shout of, "Fetch it, doggy; go, fetch it," flung it into the middle of the street, that was now little better than a river of mud.
This proved to be the last straw upon the back of Bert's endurance, and it broke it. With a quickness that gave his tormentor no chance to dodge or defend himself, he doubled up his fist, shut his eyes tight, and, rushing at him, struck out with all his might. The blow could hardly have been more effective if Bert had been an expert in boxing, for his fist landed full on Rod's left eye, sending him staggering backward several paces, with his hands clapped over the injured optic. But he soon recovered himself, and, with clenched fists, was rushing upon Bert, to pummel him fiercely, when Teter Johnston, who had just come up, sprang in between, and, catching Rod's uplifted arm, cried out, sternly:
"Stop, now! none of that! This must be a fair fight, and you shan't begin until Lloyd is ready."
Then turning to Bert, while Rod, who had too much respect for Teter's prowess not to obey him, gave way with a malignant scowl, Teter said, encouragingly:
"You must fight him, Bert. It's the only way to settle him. You'll thrash him all right enough. I'll see you through."
Bert had a good many doubts about his thrashing "him all right enough," but he was still too angry to think calmly, and, moreover, he was not a little elated at the surprising success of his first blow, which, although struck at a venture, had gone so straight to the mark, and so he nodded his head in assent.
"Very well, then, it's a fight," said Teter to Rod. "In the yard at the noon recess. You bring your second, Graham; I'll look after Bert myself."
The words were hardly uttered when the bell rung, and the boys had all to hurry to their places in the schoolroom.
That morning was one of the most miserable poor Bert had ever spent. He was a prey to the most diverse feelings, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could bring his mind to bear sufficiently upon his lessons to keep his place in the classes. In the first place, he really dreaded the fight with Rod Graham. Graham was older, taller, and much more experienced in such affairs, and Bert could see no reason why he should hope for a victory over him. It was all well enough for dear old Frank to say from time to time, as he noticed Bert's depression:
"Keep up your spirit, Bert; you'll thrash him sure. And if you don't, I will, as sure as I'm alive."
But that did not make the matter any clearer, for Bert would rather not get a thrashing at Rod's hands, even though Rod should get one at Frank's hands shortly after.
Then, again, he did not feel at all certain that his father and mother would approve of his having a fight with one of his schoolmates. They disliked anything of the kind, he knew well enough, and perhaps they would not be willing to make an exception in this case. He wished very much he could ask their permission, but that, of course, was out of the question. The mere mention of such a thing would assuredly raise a howl of derision from the other boys, and even Teter Johnston would no doubt ask contemptuously if "he was going to back out of it in that way."
No, no; he must take the chances of his parents' approval, and likewise—and here came in the third difficulty—of Dr. Johnston's also, for he could not help wondering what the doctor would think when he heard of it, as he was certain to do.
Thus perplexed and bewildered, the morning dragged slowly along for Bert, who would one moment be wishing that recess time could be postponed indefinitely, and the next, impatient for its arrival.
At length twelve o'clock struck, and the boys, who were by this time all fully aware of what was in the wind, crowded out into the yard and quickly formed a ring in the corner farthest away from the schoolroom. Into this ring presently stepped Rod Graham, looking very jaunty and defiant, supported by Harry Rawdon, the fly catcher, the one friend he had in theschool. A moment later came Bert Lloyd, pale but determined, with Teter and Frank on either side of him, Frank wearing an expression that said as plainly as possible:
"Whip my friend Bert, if you dare."
It is neither necessary nor expedient to go into the details of the fight, which did not last very long. Acting on Teter's sage advice, Bert made no attempt to defend himself, but rushing into close quarters at once, sent in swinging blows with right and left hands alternately, striking Rod upon the face and chest, while the latter's blows fell principally upon his forehead; until finally, in the fourth round, Graham, whose face had suffered severely, gave up the contest, and covering his head, with his hands, ran away from Bert, who was too tired to pursue him.
Great was the cheering at this conclusive result; and Bert, panting, perspiring, and exhausted, found himself the centre of a noisy throng of his schoolmates, who wrung his hand, clapped him upon the back, called him all sorts of names that were complimentary, and, in fact, gave him a regular ovation. After he had gone to the tap and bathed his hot face, Bert was very much pleased to find that the brunt of the battle had fallen upon his forehead, and that, consequently, he would hardly be marked at all. To be sure, when he tried to put his cap on, he discovered that it would be necessary to wear it very much onthe back of his head, but he felt like doing that, anyway, so it didn't matter.
He would have liked to shake hands with Rod, and make it all up, but Rod was not to be found. After fleeing from his opponent, he had snatched up his coat, and, deserted even by Rawdon; who was disgusted at his running away, he had gone out into the street, and did not appear again for the rest of the day.
His victory worked a great change in Bert's feelings. He was no longer troubled about what his parents would think of the fight. He felt sure they would applaud him, now that he had come out of it with banners flying, so to speak. And he was not far from right, either. Mrs. Lloyd, it is true, was a good deal shocked at first, and Mr. Lloyd questioned him very closely; but when they heard the whole story, much of which, indeed, was already familiar to them, they both agreed that under the circumstances Bert could not have acted otherwise, without placing himself in a false position.
"At the same time, Bert, dear," said his father, laying his hand upon his shoulder, "as it is your first, so I hope it will be your last fight. You have established your reputation for courage now. You can sustain it in other ways than by your fists."
Dr. Johnston's method of showing that he was fully cognisant of the event was highly characteristic. The next morning when Bert, with swollen forehead, and Rod, with blackened eyes, came before him inthe same class, he said, with one of his sardonic smiles:
"Ah, Graham, I see Lloyd has been writing his autograph on you. Well, let that be an end of it. Shake hands with one another."
Bert immediately put out his hand and grasped Rod's, which was but half extended.
"Very good," said the doctor. "We will now proceed with the lesson."
One of the most interested and excited spectators of the fight had been Dick Wilding, a boy who will require a few words of description. He was the son of one of the merchant princes of the city, and was accustomed to everything that the highest social station and abundant wealth could procure. He was a handsome young fellow, and although thoroughly spoiled and selfish, was not without his good points, a lavish generosity being the most noteworthy. This, of course, supplemented by his reckless daring as regards all schoolboy feats, and natural aptitude for schoolboy sports, made him very popular at the school, and he had a large following. Previous to Bert's decisive victory over Rod Graham, he had not shown any particular interest in him, beyond committing himself to the opinion that he was a "regular brick" on the occasion of the hoisting, and again, when Bert bore his whipping so manfully. But since the fight, he had exhibited a strong desire to have Bert join the circle of his companions, andto this end cultivated his society in a very marked way.
Now, this same Dick Wilding had been in Mrs. Lloyd's mind when she had hesitated about Bert's going to Dr. Johnston's. She knew well what his bringing up had been, and had heard several stories about him, which made her dread his being a companion for Bert. She had accordingly spoken to Bert about Dick, and while taking care not to be too pointed, had made it clear that she did not want them to be intimate. This was when Bert first went to the school, and as there had seemed no prospect of anything more than a mere acquaintance springing up between the two boys, nothing had been said on the subject for some time, so that it was not fresh in his mind when Dick, somewhat to his surprise, showed such a desire for his society.
Dick's latest enterprise was the organisation of a cricket club, into which he was putting a great deal of energy. As the bats and balls and other necessary articles were to be paid for out of his own pocket, he found no difficulty in getting recruits, and the list of members was fast filling up. Bert had heard a good deal about this club, and would have liked very much to belong to it, but as nobody belonged except those who had been invited by Dick, his prospects did not seem very bright. Great then was his delight when one day at recess, Dick came up to him and said in his most winning way:
"Say, Bert, don't you want to join my cricket club? I'd like to have you in."
Bert did not take long to answer.
"And I'd like to join ever so much," he replied, in great glee.
"All right, then; consider yourself a member, and come round to the field behind our house this afternoon. We practise there every day."
Bert was fairly dancing with joy. Yet he did not forget his friend Frank. If Frank were not a member of the club, too, half the pleasure of it would be gone. So before Dick went off, he ventured to say:
"Frank Bowser would like to belong, too, I know. Won't you ask him?"
"Certainly. No objection at all," replied Dick, in an off-hand way. "Bring him along with you this afternoon."
With beaming face, Bert rushed over to where Frank was busy playing marbles, and drawing him aside, shouted rather than whispered in his ear:
"I've got something splendid to tell you. Dick Wilding has asked us both to join his cricket club, and we're to go to his field this very afternoon."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Frank, his face now beaming as brightly as Bert's. "Isn't that just splendid! I wanted to belong to that club ever so much, but was afraid Dick wouldn't ask me."
They had a capital game of cricket that afternoon in the Wilding field, which made a very good groundindeed, and not only that afternoon, but for many afternoons as spring passed into summer and the days grew longer and warmer. Bert told them at home about the club, but somehow omitted to mention the prominent part Dick Wilding played in it. In fact, he never mentioned his name at all, nor that it was his father's field in which the club met. This was the first step in a path of wrong, the taking of which was soon to lead to serious consequences.
His reason for suppressing Dick Wilding's name was plain enough. He knew that in all probability it would put an end to his connection with the club. Now this club had every attraction for a boy like Bert that such an organisation could possibly possess. It was select and exclusive, for none could belong except those who were invited by Dick. The field was a lovely place to play in, and they had it all to themselves. The balls and bats and stumps were first-class, a fine set of cricket gear having been one of Dick's Christmas presents; and, finally, Dick was always bringing out to the players iced lemonade, or ginger beer, or spruce beer, or something of the kind, which was wonderfully welcome to them when hot and tired and thirsty.
With such strong arguments as these, Bert did not find it difficult to quiet his conscience when it troubled him, as it did now and then, and he continued to be a great deal in Dick Wilding's society until something happened which caused him to bitterly regret that hehad not heeded the inward monitor, and kept away from the associations his wise mother wished him to avoid.
Mrs. Lloyd had good reason for dreading Dick Wilding's companionship for her boy, as Dick could hardly fail to do Bert harm, while the chances of Bert doing him any good were very small, since he was quite a year older and well set in his own ways. Dick's parents were thorough people of the world. Their religion consisted in occupying a velvet-cushioned pew in a fashionable church on Sunday morning, and doing as they pleased the rest of the day. They made no attempt to teach their son anything more than good manners, taking it quite for granted that the other virtues would spring up of themselves. Dick was not much to be blamed, therefore, if he had rather hazy views about right and wrong. He had not really an evil nature, but he had a very easy conscience, and the motto by which he shaped his conduct might well have been: "Get your own way. Get it honestly, if you can. But—get it."
Now, this cricket club had taken a great hold upon his fancy, and his whole heart was wrapped up in it. He was captain, of course, and all the other boys obeyed him implicitly. Their docility ministered to his pride, and he showed his appreciation by fairly showering his bounty upon them. There positively seemed no end to his pocket money. All sorts of expenses were indulged in. A fine tent was set upfor the boys to put their hats and coats in and sit under when not playing, the ginger-beer man had orders to call round every afternoon and leave a dozen bottles of his refreshing beverage, and more than once the club, instead of playing, adjourned, at Dick's invitation, to an ice-cream saloon, and had a regular feast of ice-cream. When some indiscreet companion would express his astonishment at the length of Dick's purse, the latter would answer, carelessly:
"Plenty of funds. Father, and mother, and uncle all give me money. There's lots more where this came from," jingling a handful of silver as he spoke. So, indeed, there was; but had it any business to be in Master Dick's pocket?
This delightful state of affairs went on for some weeks, no one enjoying it more than Bert, and then came a revelation that broke upon the boys like a thunder-clap out of a clear sky.
One evening, Mr. Wilding came over to see Mr. Lloyd, looking very grave and troubled. They had a long talk together in Mr. Lloyd's study, and when he went away Mr. Lloyd looked as grave and troubled as his visitor. After showing Mr. Wilding out, he called his wife into the library, and communicated to her what he had just heard, and it must have been sorrowful news, for Mrs. Lloyd's face bore unmistakable signs of tears, when presently she went out for Bert, who was hard at work upon his lessons in the dining-room.
The moment Bert entered the room he saw that something was the matter. The faces of his father and mother were very sorrowful, and an indefinable feeling of apprehension took hold of him. He was not long left in uncertainty as to the cause of the trouble.
"Bert," said his father, gravely, "have you seen much of Dick Wilding lately?"
Bert blushed, and hesitated a moment, and then answered:
"Yes, father; a good deal. He's the captain of our cricket club, you know."
"I did not know until now that you have told me, Bert," said Mr. Lloyd, looking meaningly at him. "You never told me before, did you?"
The colour deepened on Bert's face.
"No, father; I don't think I did," he murmured.
"Had you any reason for saying nothing about him, Bert? Were you afraid we would not let you belong to the club if we knew that Dick Wilding was its captain?" asked Mr. Lloyd.
Bert made no reply, but his head drooped low upon his breast, and his hands playing nervously with the buttons of his coat told the whole story more plainly than words could have done. Mr. Lloyd sighed deeply and looked at his wife as though to say: "There's no doubt about it; our boy has been deceiving us," while Mrs. Lloyd's eyes once more filled with tears, which she turned away to hide.
After a pause, during which Bert seemed to hear the beating of his own heart as distinctly as the ticking of the big clock upon the mantel, Mr. Lloyd said, in tones that showed deep feeling:
"We would have been sorry enough to find out that our boy had been deceiving us, but what shall we say at finding out that he has been a sharer in pleasures purchased with stolen money?"
Bert looked up in surprise. Stolen money! What could his father mean? Mr. Lloyd understood the movement, and anticipated the unasked question.
"Yes, Bert; stolen money. The beer, the candy, and the ice cream, which Dick Wilding lavished upon you so freely, were paid for with money stolen from his mother's money drawer. He found a key which fitted the lock, and has taken out, no one knows just how much money; and you have been sharing in what that stolen money purchased."
Bert was fairly stunned. Dick Wilding a thief! And he a sharer in the proceeds of his guilt! He felt as though he must run and hide himself. That Dick should do wrong was not entirely a surprise to him, but that his sin in being a companion of Dick's on the sly should be found out in this way, this it was which cut him to the heart. Without a word of excuse to offer, he sat there, self-condemned and speechless. The silence of the room was appalling. Hecould not bear it any longer. Springing from his chair, he rushed across the room, threw himself on his knees before his mother, and putting his head in her lap, burst into a paroxysm of tears, sobbing as though his heart would break.
"Poor Bert, poor Bert!" murmured his mother, tenderly, passing her hand softly over the curly head in her lap.
Mr. Lloyd was deeply moved, and put his hand up to his eyes to conceal the tears fast welling from them. For some minutes the quiet of the room was broken only by Bert's sobs, and the steady ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece.
Mr. Lloyd was the first to speak.
"You had better get up and go to your room, Bert. We both know how sorry you are, and we forgive you for having so disobeyed us. But we are not the only ones of whom you must ask forgiveness. Go to your knees, Bert, and ask God to forgive you."
Bert rose slowly to his feet, and, not venturing to look either his father or mother in the face, was going out of the door, when his father called him back.
"Just one word more, Bert. It is not long since you won a brave fight, and now you have been sadly defeated by a far worse enemy than Rod Graham. You can, in your own strength, overcome human foes, but only by Divine strength can you overcome the tempter that has led you astray this time. Pray forthis strength, Bert, for it is the kind the Bible means when it says, 'Quit you like men, be strong.'"
And with a look of deep affection, Mr. Lloyd let Bert go from him.
So keenly did Bert feel his disgrace, that it was some time before he regained his wonted spirits; and his continued depression gave his mother no little concern, so that she took every way of showing to him that her confidence in him was unimpaired, and that she asked no further proof of his penitence than he had already given. But Bert's sensitive nature had received a shock from which it did not readily recover. From his earliest days he had been peculiarly free from the desire to take what did not belong to him; and as he grew older, this had developed into a positive aversion to anything that savoured of stealing in the slightest degree. He never could see any fun in "hooking" another boy's lunch, as so many others did, and nothing could induce him to join in one of the numerous expeditions organised to raid sundry unguarded orchards in the outskirts of the city.
His firmness upon this point led to a curious scene one afternoon. School was just out, and a group of the boys, among whom were Bert, and,of course, Frank Bowser, was discussing what they should do with themselves, when Ned Ross proposed that they should go out to the Hosterman orchard, and see if they could not get some apples. A chorus of approval came from all but Bert, who immediately turned away and made as though he would go home.
"Hallo! Bert," cried Ned Ross, "aren't you coming?"
"No," replied Bert, very decidedly. "I'm not."
"Why not?" inquired Ned. "What's the matter?"
"Those are not our apples, Ned, and we've got no right to touch 'em," answered Bert.
"Bosh and nonsense!" exclaimed Ned. "All the boys take them, and nobody ever hinders them. Come along."
"No," said Bert, "I can't."
"Can't? Why can't you?" persisted Ned, who was rapidly losing his temper.
Bert hesitated a moment, and the colour mounted high in his cheeks. Then he spoke out his reason bravely:
"Because I'm a Christian, Ned; and it would not be right for me to do it."
"A Christian?" sneered Ned. "You'd be nearer the truth if you said a coward."
The words had hardly left his lips before Frank Bowser was standing before him, shaking in his face a fist that was not to be regarded lightly.
"Say that again," cried Frank, wrathfully, "and I'll knock you down!"
Ned looked at Frank's face, and then at his fist. There was no mistaking the purpose of either, and as Frank was fully his match, if not more, he thought it prudent to say nothing more than: "Bah! Come on, fellows. We can get along without him."
The group moved off; but Bert was not the only one who stayed behind. Frank stayed too; and so did Ernest Linton. And these three sought their amusement in another direction.
That scene very vividly impressed Bert, and over and over again he thought to himself: "What will the boys who heard me refuse to go to the orchard, because I am a Christian, think of me when they hear that I have been helping to spend stolen money?"
This was the thought that troubled him most, but it was not the only one. He felt that he could not be at ease with his beloved Sunday-school teacher again, until he had made a full confession to him. But, oh! this did seem so hard to do! Several Sundays passed without his being able to make up his mind to do it. At length he determined to put it off no longer, and one Sunday afternoon, lingering behind after the school had been dismissed, he poured the whole story into Mr. Silver's sympathetic ear.
Mr. Silver was evidently moved to the heart, as Bert, without sparing himself, told of his disobedience,his concealment, and the consequences that followed; and he had many a wise and tender word for the boy, whose confidence in him made him proud. From that day a peculiar fondness existed between the two, and Mr. Silver was inspired to increased fidelity and effort in his work because of the knowledge that one at least of his boys looked upon him with such affection and confidence.
Once that summer had fairly come to stay, the wharves of the city became full of fascination for the boys, and every afternoon they trooped thither to fish for perch and tommy cods; to board the vessels lying in their berths, and out-do one another in feats of rigging climbing; to play glorious games of "hide-and-seek," and "I spy," in the great cavernous warehouses, and when tired to gather around some idle sailor, and have him stir their imagination with marvellous stories of the sea.
For none had the wharves more attraction than for Bert and Frank, and although Mrs. Lloyd would not allow the former to go down Water Street, where he would be far from home, she did not object to his spending an afternoon now and then on a wharf not far from their own house. So thither the two friends repaired at every opportunity, and fine fun they had, dropping their well-baited hooks into the clear green water, to catch eager perch, or watching the hardworking sailors dragging huge casks of molasses out of dark and grimy holds, and rolling them up thewharf to be stored in the vast cool warehouses, or running risks of being pickled themselves, as they followed the fish-curers in their work of preparing the salt herring or mackerel for their journey to the hot West Indies. There never was any lack of employment, for eyes, or hands, or feet, on that busy wharf, and the boys felt very proud when they were permitted to join the workers sometimes and do their little best, which was all the more enjoyable because they could stop whenever they liked, and hadn't to work all day as the others did.
Nor were these the only attractions. The principal business done at this wharf was with the West Indies, and no vessel thought of coming back from that region of fruits without a goodly store of oranges, bananas, and pine-apples, some of which, if the boys were not too troublesome, and the captain had made a good voyage, were sure to find their way into very appreciative mouths. Bert's frank, bright manner, and plucky spirit, made him a great favourite with the captains, and many a time was he sent home with a big juicy pine, or an armful of great golden oranges.
One day, when Bert and Frank went down to the wharf, they found a strange-looking vessel made fast to the piles that filled them with curiosity. She was a barquentine, and was sparred, and rigged, and painted in a rather unusual way, the explanation of it all being that she was a Spanish vessel, of an old-fashionedtype. Quite in keeping with the appearance of the vessel was the appearance of the crew. They were nearly all Lascars, and with their tawny skins, flashing eyes, jet black hair, and gold-ringed ears, seemed to fit very well the description of the pirates, whose dreadful deeds, as graphically described in sundry books, had given the boys many a delicious thrill of horror. This resemblance caused them to look upon the foreigners with some little fear at first, but their curiosity soon overcame all considerations of prudence, and after hanging about for a while, they bashfully accepted the invitation extended them by a swarthy sailor, whose words were unintelligible, but whose meaning was unmistakable.
On board theSanta Maria—for that was the vessel's name—they found much to interest them, and the sailors treated them very kindly, in spite of their piratical appearance. What delighted them most was a monkey that belonged to the cook. He was one of the cutest, cleverest little creatures that ever parodied humanity. His owner had taught him a good many tricks, and he had taught himself even more; and both the boys felt that in all their lives they had never seen so entertaining a pet. He completely captivated them, and they would have given all they possessed to make him their own. But the cook had no idea of parting with him, even had it been in their power to buy him; so they had to content themselves with going down to see him as often as they could.
Of course, they told their schoolmates about him, and of course the schoolmates were set wild with curiosity to see this marvellous monkey, and they flocked down to theSanta Mariain such numbers, and so often, that at last the sailors got tired of them. A mob of schoolboys invading the deck every afternoon, and paying uproarious homage to the cleverness of a monkey, was more or less of a nuisance. Accordingly, by way of a gentle hint, the rope ladder, by which easy access was had to the vessel, was removed, and a single rope put in its place.
It happened that the first afternoon after this had been done, the crowd of visitors was larger than ever; and when they arrived at theSanta Maria'sside, and found the ladder gone, they were, as may be easily imagined, very much disgusted. A rope might be good enough for a sailor, but the boys very much preferred a ladder, and they felt disposed to resent the action of the sailors in thus cutting off their means of ascent. The fact that it was high tide at the time, and the tall sides of the ship towered above the wharf, constituted a further grievance in the boys' minds. They held an impromptu indignation meeting forthwith. But, although they were unanimous in condemning the conduct of the foreigners, who evidently did not know any better, they were still no nearer the monkey.
"Why not try to shin up the rope?" asked Frank Bowser, after a while.
"All right, if you'll give us a lead," replied one of the others.
"Very well—here goes!" returned Frank. And without more ado he grasped the rope, planted his feet firmly against the vessel's side, and began to ascend. It was evidently not the easiest thing in the world to do, but his pluck, determination, and muscle conquered; and presently, somewhat out of breath, he sat upon the bulwark, and, waving his cap to the boys below, gasped out:
"Come along, boys! It's as easy as winking."
Not to be outdone, several others made the attempt and succeeded also. Then came Bert's turn. Although so many had got up all right, he somehow felt a little nervous, and made one or two false starts, climbing up a little way and then dropping back again. This caused those who were waiting to become impatient, and while Bert was about making another start, one of them who stood behind him gave him a sharp push, saying:
"Hurry up there, slow coach."
As it happened, Bert was just at that moment changing his grip upon the rope, and balancing himself upon the extreme edge of the stringer, which formed the edge of the wharf. The ill-timed push caught him unawares. He threw out his arms to steady himself, and the rope slipped altogether from his grasp. The next instant, with a cry of fear that was taken up by the boys standing helplesslyabout, he fell over into the dark, swirling water, between the vessel's side and the wharf.
Down, down, down he went, while the water roared in his ears with the thunders of Niagara, and filled his mouth with its sickening brine, as instinctively he opened it to cry for help. He could not swim a stroke, but he had a good idea of what the motions were, and so now, in a desperate effort to save his life, he struck out vigorously with his hands. It must have helped him, too; for out of the darkness into which he had been plunged at first, he emerged into a lighter place, where, through the green water, he could see his hands looking very white, as they moved before his face.
But this did not bring him to the surface; so he tried another plan. Doubling his sturdy legs beneath him, he shot them out as he had seen other boys do when "treading water." A thrill of joy inspired him as the effort succeeded, and, his head rising above the surface, he got one good breath before sinking again. But the pitiless water engulfed him once more, and, though he struggled hard, he seemed unable to keep himself from sinking deeper still. Then the desire to struggle began to leave him. Life seemed no longer a thing to be fiercely striven for. A strange peace stole over his mind, and was followed by a still stranger thing; for while he floated there, an unresisting prey to the deep, it appeared as though all the events of his past lifewere crowding before him like some wonderful panorama. From right to left they followed one another in orderly procession, each as clear and distinct as a painted picture, and he was watching them with absorbed, painless interest, when something dark came across his vision; he felt himself grasped firmly and drawn swiftly through the water, and the next thing he knew, he was in the light and air again, and was being handed up to the top of the wharf by men who passed him carefully from one to the other. In the very nick of time rescue had come, and Bert was brought back to life.
Now, who was his rescuer, and what took place while Bert was struggling for his life in the cold, dark water? The instant he disappeared the boys shouted and shrieked in such a way as to bring the whole crew of theSanta Mariato the bulwarks, over which they eagerly peered, not understanding what was the matter. Frank, who was in a frenzy of anxiety and alarm, tried hard to explain to them; but his efforts were unavailing until the reappearance of Bert's head made the matter plain at once, and then he thought they would, of course, spring to the rescue. But they did not. They looked at one another, and jabbered something unintelligible, but not one of them moved, though Frank seized the liveliest of them by the arm, and, pointing to the place where Bert vanished, again indicated, by unmistakable gestures, what he wanted him to do. The man simplyshook his head and moved away. He either could not swim, or did not think it worth while to risk his precious life in trying to rescue one of the foreign urchins that had been bothering theSanta Mariaof late. Had Bert's life depended upon these men, it might have been given up at once.
But there was other help at hand. John Connors, the good-natured Irish storekeeper, by whose sufferance the boys were permitted to make a playground of the wharf, had heard their frantic cries, although he was away up in one of the highest flats of the farthest store. Without stopping to see what could be the matter, Connors leaped down the long flights of stairs at a reckless rate, and ran toward the shrieking boys.
"Bert's overboard—save him!" they cried, as he burst into their midst.
"Where?" he asked, breathlessly, while he flung off his boots.
"There—just there," they replied, pointing to where Bert had last been seen.
Balancing himself for an instant on the end of the stringer, Connors, with the spring of a practised swimmer, dived into the depths and disappeared; while the boys, in the silence of intense anxiety, crowded as close as they dared to the edge of the wharf, and the Lascars looked down from their bulwarks in stolid admiration. There were some moments of harrowing uncertainty, and then a shout arose fromthe boys, which even the swarthy sailors imitated, after a fashion; for cleaving the bubbled surface came the head of brave John Connors, and, close beside it, the dripping curls of Bert Lloyd, the faces of both showing great exhaustion.
The sailors were all alert now. Ropes were hastily flung over the side, and swarming down these with the agility of monkeys, they took Bert out of his rescuer's hands and passed him up to the wharf; Connors followed unassisted, so soon as he had recovered his breath.
Once upon the wharf, they were surrounded by a noisy group of boys, overjoyed at their playmate's happy escape from death, and overflowing with admiration for his gallant rescuer. Bert very quickly came to himself—for he had not indeed entirely lost consciousness—and then Connors told him just how he had got hold of him:
"When I dived down first I couldn't see anything of you at all, my boy, and I went hunting about with my eyes wide open and looking for you. At last, just as I was about giving you up, I saw something dark below me that I thought might, p'r'aps, be yourself. So I just stuck out my foot, and by the powers if it didn't take you right under the chin. As quick as a wink I drew you toward me, and once I had a good grip of you, I put for the top as hard as I could go; and here we are now, safe and sound. And, faith, I hope you won't be trying it again in a hurry."