Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.How our heroes are put through their paces.“The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold” early next day. The twenty innocent lambs whom, in the last chapter, we left sweetly folded in slumber had barely had time to arise and comb their hair when the advance-guard of the hungry tyrant appeared in their midst.This was no other than a truck-load of trunks, portmanteaux, bags and hat-boxes sent up from the station, the owners of which, so the alarming rumour spread, were on the road.It was an agitated meal our heroes partook of with the spectacle of that truck before their eyes, and many an anxious ear was pricked for the first sound of the approaching horde.But the horde, being aware that nothing was expected of it till mid-day, by no means saw the fun of surrendering its liberty at 10 o’clock, and went down to bathe in the harbour on the way up, so that the fate which impended was kept for two good hours in suspense.Meanwhile, the interview with the Doctor was accomplished. It was not very alarming. Your new boy would sooner face twenty doctors than one hero of the middle Fifth. The head master asked a few kindly questions of each boy, and, so to speak, took stock of him before adding his name formally to the school list. He also added a few words of advice to the company generally, and enlightened them as to a few of the chief school rules. The others, he said, they would learn soon enough.Whereat they all said, “Thank you, sir,” and retired.Dick and Heathcote, with young Aspinall in tow, walked back to Westover’s house together, and were nearly half-way there, when Aspinall suddenly clutched Dick’s arm and whispered—“There’s one!”They all stood still and gazed as if it was a spectre, not a human being, they expected.What they really did see was a rather nice-looking boy of sixteen or seventeen lounging in at the great gateway, looking about him with a familiar air, and apparently bending his steps straight for Westover’s.It was an awkward situation for our three new boys. Every step brought them nearer under the observation of the “Assyrian,” and at every step they felt more awkward and abashed.Dick did his best to put on a little swagger. He stuck one hand in his pocket, and twitched his hat a trifle on one side. Heathcote, too, instinctively let slip his jacket button so as to betray his watch-chain, and laughed rather loudly at something which nobody said. Poor young Aspinall attempted no such demonstration, but slipped under the lee of his protectors, and wondered what would become of him.The old boy and the new foregathered just at the door of Westover’s, and it was not till they actually stood face to face that the former gave any sign of being aware of the presence of the trio. He then honoured them with a casual survey as they stood back to let him enter first.“New kids?” he asked.“Yes.”“Westover’s?”“Yes.”The hero grunted and passed in, and they heard him shouting to the matron to ask if his traps had come from the station, and whether anybody had come yet.Anybody come! He didn’t count them, that was plain.Not knowing exactly what to do, they determined on another walk round the Quad, preferring to be reconnoitred by the enemy in the open, and not indoors—possibly in a corner.The enemy reconnoitred in force. After the first arrival, boys dropped in in twos and threes, in cabs, in omnibuses, in high spirits, in low spirits. The old square began to get lively. The echoes which had slept soundly for the past fortnight woke up suddenly, and the rooks in the elms began to grow uneasy, and summoned a cabinet council to discuss what was going on in the lower world.“Hallo, Duff, old man,” cried one boy near to our heroes, as he caught sight of a chum across the square. “Seen Raggles?”“Yes; he’s got a cargo down. He’s asked me.”“Tell him I’m up, will you?”“What’s a cargo?” asked Heathcote, as the speaker went past.“Goodness knows,” said Dick—“perhaps it’s a crib.”“My brother Will used to call a hamper a cargo,” said Aspinall.“Humph,” said Dick, who never liked to be corrected, “there’s something in that.”“I hope there is,” said Heathcote.It said a great deal for the solemnity of the occasion that Dick did not at once proceed to administer condign punishment. He took note of the offence, though, and punished the offender quietly in bed some days after. Just at the present moment, had he been inclined to square accounts, he had no leisure; for a sudden cry of “Dredger!” was raised, whereat they noticed a number of boys step off the pavement on to the grass. Before they could conjecture what this sudden manoeuvre might mean, a rush of steps arose behind, and next moment they were caught up in the toils of a net constructed of towels knotted together, stretching across the path, and held at each end by two swift runners who swept them along at a headlong pace, catching up a shoal of stray fish on the way until even the stalwart dredgers were compelled, from the very weight of their “take,” to slacken speed.A crowd collected to witness the emptying of the net. One by one the trembling small fry were grabbed and passed round to answer a string of questions such as—“What’s your name?”“Are you most like your father or your mother?”“Who’s your hatter?”“Can you swim?”“Who was the father of Zebedee’s children?”“Are you a Radical or a Tory?”All of which questions each luckless catechumen was required to answer truly, and in a loud, distinct voice, amid the most embarrassing cheers and jeers and hootings of the audience.Dick got through his fairly well till he came to the political question, when he made the great mistake of saying he didn’t know whether he was a Radical or a Tory. For, as he might have expected, every one was down on him, and he was sent forth a marked man to make up his mind on the question.Heathcote, whose sorrow it was to be separated from his friend in the landing of the catch, was less lucky. He professed himself like his mother, which was greatly against him. His hatter also was a country artist instead of a Londoner, and that he discovered was an extremely grave offence. And as for his politics, he made a greater mistake even than Dick, for he professed himself imbued with opinions “between the two,” an announcement which brought down a torrent of abuse and scorn, mingled with cries of “kick him for a half-and-half prig!” an observation which Heathcote was very sorry indeed to hear.As the reader may guess, poor young Aspinall had a very bad time of it. He began to cry as soon as the first question was propounded. But this demonstration failed to shelter him. A general hiss greeted the sound of his whimper, and cries of, “Where’s his bottle?”“Meow!”“Hush-a-bye baby!” His ruthless tyrants, who knew no distinction between the tears of a crocodile and the tears of a terrified child, made him go through his catechism to the bitter end. They howled with delight when they heard him call himself Bertie, and paused in dead silence to hear him say whether he was like “papa or mamma”—“or nurse?” as some one suggested. He took refuge in tears again, with the result that his inquisitors were more than ever determined to get their answer.“Hang it, you young ass,” said one boy, whom the child, even in his flutter and misery, recognised as the boy who had accosted them at the door of Westover’s that morning, “can’t you answer without blubbering like that? Nobody’s going to eat you up.”This friendly admonition served to set the boy on his feet, and he stammered out, “Mother.”“You weren’t asked if you were like your mother,” shouted some one, “are you most like ‘papa or mamma?’”“Mamma,” faltered the boy. Whereat there was great jubilation, as there was also when he described his hatter asMr. Smith of Totnes.“Can you swim?”“N–no, I’m afraid not.”“That’s a pity, with the lot you blubber. You’ll get drowned some day.”Terrific cheers greeted this sally, in the midst of which the boy was almost forgotten.But the political test remained.“Now, Bertie dear, are you a Radical or a Tory?” he was asked.The boy took a deep breath, and said—“I’m a Radical.”At which straightforward and unlooked-for reply there were great cheers and counter-cheers, in the midst of which the scared little Radical was hustled down from his perch and sent flying to join his friends, and calm the fluttering of his poor little heart.It being evidently unsafe to remain longer in the Quadrangle, the dejected trio betook themselves with many misgivings, to their house.Westover’s presented a striking contrast to the quiet scene of yesterday evening. It being still a quarter to twelve, and term not being supposed to commence till mid-day, the short interval of freedom from school rules was being made use of to the best advantage.The matron, shouted at and besieged on all sides, already stood at bay, with her hands to her ears, having abandoned any attempt to do anything for anybody. The house porter was in a similar condition of strike. He had once been knocked completely over by rival claimants on his assistance, and he had several times been nearly pulled limb from limb by disappointed employers. He, therefore, stood with his back to the wall and his arms folded, waiting till the storm should blow itself out.Upstairs, in the studies, riot scarcely less exuberant was taking place. Bosom friends, reunited after three weeks’ separation, celebrated their reunion with paeans of jubilation and war-whoops of triumph. “Cargoes” were being unladen here; Liddell-and-Scott was officiating as a cricket ball there; a siege was going on round this door, and a hand-to-hand scrimmage between the posts of that. A few of the placid ones were quietly unpacking in the midst of the Babel, and one or two were actually writing home.Our heroes, fancying the looks neither of the matron’s hall nor of the lobby upstairs, deemed it prudent to retreat as quickly as possible to the junior schoolroom, there to await, in the calm atmosphere of expectant scholarship, the ringing of the twelve o’clock bell.Has the reader ever visited that famous resort of youth, the Zoo? Has he stood on that terrace five minutes before dinner-time and listened to the deep-mouthed growl of the lion, the barking of the wolf, the shriek of the hyaena, as they pace their cages and await their meal? Then, turning on his heel, has he quitted that stately scene and pushed back the door of the monkey house?Even so it was with our heroes. The junior schoolroom was as the matron’s hall and the studies thrown into one.—At first, to the untutored eyes of the visitors, it looked like a surging sea of unkempt heads and waving elbows; then, as their vision grew accustomed to the scene, they beheld faces and legs and boots; then, amid the general din, they distinguished voices, and perceived that the sea was made up of human beings.At the which they would fain have retreated; but, as old Virgil says—and we won’t insult our readers by translating the verses—“Facilis descensus Averni, Sed revocare gradum Hoc opus, hic labor est.”Their retreat was cut off before they were well in the room, and, amid loud cries of “New kids!” “Bertie!” “Scrunch!” they were escorted to the nearest form, where they forthwith received a most warm and pressing welcome into their new quarters. The top boy of the form, in his emotion, planted his feet against the wall and began to push inwards. The bottom boy, equally overcome, planted his feet in the hollow of a desk and also pushed inwards. Every one else, in fellow-feeling, pushed inwards too, except our heroes, who, being in the exact centre, remained passive recipients of their schoolfellows’ welcome until the line showed signs of rising up at the point where Aspinall’s white face pointed the middle; whereupon the bottom boy considerately let go with his feet, and the occupants of the form were poured like water on the floor.After being thus welcomed on some half-dozen forms, our heroes began to feel that even good fellowship may pall, and were glad, decidedly glad, to hear the great bell beginning to sound forth.School that morning was rather a farce; the master was not in the humour for it, nor were the boys. After calling over names and announcing the subjects which would engage the attention of the different classes, and reading over, in case any one had forgotten them, the rules of Westover’s house, the class was dismissed for the present, all except the new boys being permitted to go out into the court or playing-fields till dinner.It was a welcome relief to our new boys to find themselves together once more with the enemy beyond reach.Their ranks showed signs of severe conflict. One boy, who had rashly worn a light blue necktie in the morning, wore no necktie now; Heathcote’s jacket was burst under the arm; Dick bore no scars in his raiment, but his nose was rather on one side and his face was rather grimy; Aspinall was white and hot, and the “skeery” look about his eyes proclaimed he had had almost enough for one day.After dinner, at which our heroes rejoiced to find “the Assyrians” had something more serious to do than to heed them, Templeton went out into the fields to air itself. There was nothing special doing. A few enthusiastic athletes had donned their flannels, and were taking practice trots round the half-mile path. Another lot were kicking about a football in an aimless way. Others were passing round a cricket ball at long range. But most were loafing, apparently undecided what to turn themselves to thus early in the term.One or two of the Fifth, however, appeared to have some business on hand, in which, much to their surprise, our new boys found they were concerned.The senior whose arrival they had witnessed in the morning came up to where they were, and said:“You’re all three new boys, aren’t you?”“Yes,” they replied.“Well, go up to the flag-staff there, and wait for me.”With much inward trepidation they obeyed, wondering what was to happen.Swinstead, for that was the name of the Fifth-form fellow, continued his tour of the field, accosting all the new boys in turn, and giving them the same order.At length, the long-suffering twenty clustered round the flag-staff, and awaited their fate.It was simple enough. Every new boy was expected to race on his first day at Templeton, and that was what was expected of them now.“Let’s have your names—look sharp,” said one Fifth-form fellow, with a pencil and paper in his hand, who seemed to look upon the affair as rather a bore. “Come on. Sing out one at a time.”They did sing out one at a time.“Twenty of them,” said the senior, running down his list. “Four fives, I suppose?”“Yes,” said Swinstead. “Clear the course, somebody, and call the fellows.”So the course was cleared, and proclamation made that the new boys were about to race. Whereat Templeton lined the quarter-mile track; and showed a languid interest in the contest. Swinstead called over the first five names on his list.“Take off your coats and waistcoats,” said he.They obeyed. Dick, who was not in the first heat, took charge of Heathcote’s garments, and secretly bade him “put it on.”“Toe the line,” said Swinstead. “Are you ready? Off!”They started. It was a straggling procession. Two of the boys could scarcely use their legs, and of the other three Heathcote was the only one who showed any pace, and, greatly to Dick’s delight, came in easily first.Dick’s turn came in the second round, and he, greatly to Heathcote’s delight, won in a canter.In the fourth heat Aspinall ran; but he, poor fellow, could scarcely struggle on to the end, and had literally to be driven the last fifty yards. For no new boy was allowed to shirk his race.Templeton evinced a more decided interest in the final round. It had looked on as a matter of duty on the trial heats; but it got a trifle excited over the final. The winner of the fourth round, the youth who had been robbed of his light blue tie, commanded the most general favour. Swinstead on the other hand secretly fancied Dick, and one or two others were divided between Heathcote and the winner of the third round.“Keep your elbows in, and don’t look round so much,” whispered Swinstead to Dick, as the four champions toed the line.Dick nodded gratefully for the advice.“Now then. Are you ready?“Go!” cried the starter.The hero of the blue tie led off amid great jubilation among the sportsmen. But Swinstead, who trotted beside the race, still preferred Dick, and liked the way he kept up to the leader’s heels in the first hundred yards. Heathcote, in his turn, kept well up to Dick, and had nothing to fear from the other man.“Pretty race,” said some one.“Good action number two,” replied another.“Swinstead fancies him, and he knows what’s what.”“I should have said number three, myself.”Two hundred yards were done, and scarcely an inch had the position of the three runners altered.Then Swinstead called.“Now then, young ’un.”Dick knew the call was meant for him, and his spirit rose within him. He “waited on his man,” as they say, and before the next hundred yards were done he was abreast, with Heathcote close on the heels of both.Frantic were the cries of the sportsmen to their man. But his face was red, and his mouth was open.“He’s done!” was the cry of the disgusted knowing ones. And the knowing ones were right. Dick walked away, as fresh as a daisy, in the last hundred yards, while Heathcote blowing hard stepped up abreast of the favourite. It was a close run for second honours; but the Mountjoy boy stuck to it, and staggered up a neck in front, with ten clear yards between him and the heels of the victorious Dick.

“The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold” early next day. The twenty innocent lambs whom, in the last chapter, we left sweetly folded in slumber had barely had time to arise and comb their hair when the advance-guard of the hungry tyrant appeared in their midst.

This was no other than a truck-load of trunks, portmanteaux, bags and hat-boxes sent up from the station, the owners of which, so the alarming rumour spread, were on the road.

It was an agitated meal our heroes partook of with the spectacle of that truck before their eyes, and many an anxious ear was pricked for the first sound of the approaching horde.

But the horde, being aware that nothing was expected of it till mid-day, by no means saw the fun of surrendering its liberty at 10 o’clock, and went down to bathe in the harbour on the way up, so that the fate which impended was kept for two good hours in suspense.

Meanwhile, the interview with the Doctor was accomplished. It was not very alarming. Your new boy would sooner face twenty doctors than one hero of the middle Fifth. The head master asked a few kindly questions of each boy, and, so to speak, took stock of him before adding his name formally to the school list. He also added a few words of advice to the company generally, and enlightened them as to a few of the chief school rules. The others, he said, they would learn soon enough.

Whereat they all said, “Thank you, sir,” and retired.

Dick and Heathcote, with young Aspinall in tow, walked back to Westover’s house together, and were nearly half-way there, when Aspinall suddenly clutched Dick’s arm and whispered—

“There’s one!”

They all stood still and gazed as if it was a spectre, not a human being, they expected.

What they really did see was a rather nice-looking boy of sixteen or seventeen lounging in at the great gateway, looking about him with a familiar air, and apparently bending his steps straight for Westover’s.

It was an awkward situation for our three new boys. Every step brought them nearer under the observation of the “Assyrian,” and at every step they felt more awkward and abashed.

Dick did his best to put on a little swagger. He stuck one hand in his pocket, and twitched his hat a trifle on one side. Heathcote, too, instinctively let slip his jacket button so as to betray his watch-chain, and laughed rather loudly at something which nobody said. Poor young Aspinall attempted no such demonstration, but slipped under the lee of his protectors, and wondered what would become of him.

The old boy and the new foregathered just at the door of Westover’s, and it was not till they actually stood face to face that the former gave any sign of being aware of the presence of the trio. He then honoured them with a casual survey as they stood back to let him enter first.

“New kids?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Westover’s?”

“Yes.”

The hero grunted and passed in, and they heard him shouting to the matron to ask if his traps had come from the station, and whether anybody had come yet.

Anybody come! He didn’t count them, that was plain.

Not knowing exactly what to do, they determined on another walk round the Quad, preferring to be reconnoitred by the enemy in the open, and not indoors—possibly in a corner.

The enemy reconnoitred in force. After the first arrival, boys dropped in in twos and threes, in cabs, in omnibuses, in high spirits, in low spirits. The old square began to get lively. The echoes which had slept soundly for the past fortnight woke up suddenly, and the rooks in the elms began to grow uneasy, and summoned a cabinet council to discuss what was going on in the lower world.

“Hallo, Duff, old man,” cried one boy near to our heroes, as he caught sight of a chum across the square. “Seen Raggles?”

“Yes; he’s got a cargo down. He’s asked me.”

“Tell him I’m up, will you?”

“What’s a cargo?” asked Heathcote, as the speaker went past.

“Goodness knows,” said Dick—“perhaps it’s a crib.”

“My brother Will used to call a hamper a cargo,” said Aspinall.

“Humph,” said Dick, who never liked to be corrected, “there’s something in that.”

“I hope there is,” said Heathcote.

It said a great deal for the solemnity of the occasion that Dick did not at once proceed to administer condign punishment. He took note of the offence, though, and punished the offender quietly in bed some days after. Just at the present moment, had he been inclined to square accounts, he had no leisure; for a sudden cry of “Dredger!” was raised, whereat they noticed a number of boys step off the pavement on to the grass. Before they could conjecture what this sudden manoeuvre might mean, a rush of steps arose behind, and next moment they were caught up in the toils of a net constructed of towels knotted together, stretching across the path, and held at each end by two swift runners who swept them along at a headlong pace, catching up a shoal of stray fish on the way until even the stalwart dredgers were compelled, from the very weight of their “take,” to slacken speed.

A crowd collected to witness the emptying of the net. One by one the trembling small fry were grabbed and passed round to answer a string of questions such as—

“What’s your name?”

“Are you most like your father or your mother?”

“Who’s your hatter?”

“Can you swim?”

“Who was the father of Zebedee’s children?”

“Are you a Radical or a Tory?”

All of which questions each luckless catechumen was required to answer truly, and in a loud, distinct voice, amid the most embarrassing cheers and jeers and hootings of the audience.

Dick got through his fairly well till he came to the political question, when he made the great mistake of saying he didn’t know whether he was a Radical or a Tory. For, as he might have expected, every one was down on him, and he was sent forth a marked man to make up his mind on the question.

Heathcote, whose sorrow it was to be separated from his friend in the landing of the catch, was less lucky. He professed himself like his mother, which was greatly against him. His hatter also was a country artist instead of a Londoner, and that he discovered was an extremely grave offence. And as for his politics, he made a greater mistake even than Dick, for he professed himself imbued with opinions “between the two,” an announcement which brought down a torrent of abuse and scorn, mingled with cries of “kick him for a half-and-half prig!” an observation which Heathcote was very sorry indeed to hear.

As the reader may guess, poor young Aspinall had a very bad time of it. He began to cry as soon as the first question was propounded. But this demonstration failed to shelter him. A general hiss greeted the sound of his whimper, and cries of, “Where’s his bottle?”

“Meow!”

“Hush-a-bye baby!” His ruthless tyrants, who knew no distinction between the tears of a crocodile and the tears of a terrified child, made him go through his catechism to the bitter end. They howled with delight when they heard him call himself Bertie, and paused in dead silence to hear him say whether he was like “papa or mamma”—“or nurse?” as some one suggested. He took refuge in tears again, with the result that his inquisitors were more than ever determined to get their answer.

“Hang it, you young ass,” said one boy, whom the child, even in his flutter and misery, recognised as the boy who had accosted them at the door of Westover’s that morning, “can’t you answer without blubbering like that? Nobody’s going to eat you up.”

This friendly admonition served to set the boy on his feet, and he stammered out, “Mother.”

“You weren’t asked if you were like your mother,” shouted some one, “are you most like ‘papa or mamma?’”

“Mamma,” faltered the boy. Whereat there was great jubilation, as there was also when he described his hatter asMr. Smith of Totnes.

“Can you swim?”

“N–no, I’m afraid not.”

“That’s a pity, with the lot you blubber. You’ll get drowned some day.”

Terrific cheers greeted this sally, in the midst of which the boy was almost forgotten.

But the political test remained.

“Now, Bertie dear, are you a Radical or a Tory?” he was asked.

The boy took a deep breath, and said—

“I’m a Radical.”

At which straightforward and unlooked-for reply there were great cheers and counter-cheers, in the midst of which the scared little Radical was hustled down from his perch and sent flying to join his friends, and calm the fluttering of his poor little heart.

It being evidently unsafe to remain longer in the Quadrangle, the dejected trio betook themselves with many misgivings, to their house.

Westover’s presented a striking contrast to the quiet scene of yesterday evening. It being still a quarter to twelve, and term not being supposed to commence till mid-day, the short interval of freedom from school rules was being made use of to the best advantage.

The matron, shouted at and besieged on all sides, already stood at bay, with her hands to her ears, having abandoned any attempt to do anything for anybody. The house porter was in a similar condition of strike. He had once been knocked completely over by rival claimants on his assistance, and he had several times been nearly pulled limb from limb by disappointed employers. He, therefore, stood with his back to the wall and his arms folded, waiting till the storm should blow itself out.

Upstairs, in the studies, riot scarcely less exuberant was taking place. Bosom friends, reunited after three weeks’ separation, celebrated their reunion with paeans of jubilation and war-whoops of triumph. “Cargoes” were being unladen here; Liddell-and-Scott was officiating as a cricket ball there; a siege was going on round this door, and a hand-to-hand scrimmage between the posts of that. A few of the placid ones were quietly unpacking in the midst of the Babel, and one or two were actually writing home.

Our heroes, fancying the looks neither of the matron’s hall nor of the lobby upstairs, deemed it prudent to retreat as quickly as possible to the junior schoolroom, there to await, in the calm atmosphere of expectant scholarship, the ringing of the twelve o’clock bell.

Has the reader ever visited that famous resort of youth, the Zoo? Has he stood on that terrace five minutes before dinner-time and listened to the deep-mouthed growl of the lion, the barking of the wolf, the shriek of the hyaena, as they pace their cages and await their meal? Then, turning on his heel, has he quitted that stately scene and pushed back the door of the monkey house?

Even so it was with our heroes. The junior schoolroom was as the matron’s hall and the studies thrown into one.—At first, to the untutored eyes of the visitors, it looked like a surging sea of unkempt heads and waving elbows; then, as their vision grew accustomed to the scene, they beheld faces and legs and boots; then, amid the general din, they distinguished voices, and perceived that the sea was made up of human beings.

At the which they would fain have retreated; but, as old Virgil says—and we won’t insult our readers by translating the verses—

“Facilis descensus Averni, Sed revocare gradum Hoc opus, hic labor est.”

“Facilis descensus Averni, Sed revocare gradum Hoc opus, hic labor est.”

Their retreat was cut off before they were well in the room, and, amid loud cries of “New kids!” “Bertie!” “Scrunch!” they were escorted to the nearest form, where they forthwith received a most warm and pressing welcome into their new quarters. The top boy of the form, in his emotion, planted his feet against the wall and began to push inwards. The bottom boy, equally overcome, planted his feet in the hollow of a desk and also pushed inwards. Every one else, in fellow-feeling, pushed inwards too, except our heroes, who, being in the exact centre, remained passive recipients of their schoolfellows’ welcome until the line showed signs of rising up at the point where Aspinall’s white face pointed the middle; whereupon the bottom boy considerately let go with his feet, and the occupants of the form were poured like water on the floor.

After being thus welcomed on some half-dozen forms, our heroes began to feel that even good fellowship may pall, and were glad, decidedly glad, to hear the great bell beginning to sound forth.

School that morning was rather a farce; the master was not in the humour for it, nor were the boys. After calling over names and announcing the subjects which would engage the attention of the different classes, and reading over, in case any one had forgotten them, the rules of Westover’s house, the class was dismissed for the present, all except the new boys being permitted to go out into the court or playing-fields till dinner.

It was a welcome relief to our new boys to find themselves together once more with the enemy beyond reach.

Their ranks showed signs of severe conflict. One boy, who had rashly worn a light blue necktie in the morning, wore no necktie now; Heathcote’s jacket was burst under the arm; Dick bore no scars in his raiment, but his nose was rather on one side and his face was rather grimy; Aspinall was white and hot, and the “skeery” look about his eyes proclaimed he had had almost enough for one day.

After dinner, at which our heroes rejoiced to find “the Assyrians” had something more serious to do than to heed them, Templeton went out into the fields to air itself. There was nothing special doing. A few enthusiastic athletes had donned their flannels, and were taking practice trots round the half-mile path. Another lot were kicking about a football in an aimless way. Others were passing round a cricket ball at long range. But most were loafing, apparently undecided what to turn themselves to thus early in the term.

One or two of the Fifth, however, appeared to have some business on hand, in which, much to their surprise, our new boys found they were concerned.

The senior whose arrival they had witnessed in the morning came up to where they were, and said:

“You’re all three new boys, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” they replied.

“Well, go up to the flag-staff there, and wait for me.”

With much inward trepidation they obeyed, wondering what was to happen.

Swinstead, for that was the name of the Fifth-form fellow, continued his tour of the field, accosting all the new boys in turn, and giving them the same order.

At length, the long-suffering twenty clustered round the flag-staff, and awaited their fate.

It was simple enough. Every new boy was expected to race on his first day at Templeton, and that was what was expected of them now.

“Let’s have your names—look sharp,” said one Fifth-form fellow, with a pencil and paper in his hand, who seemed to look upon the affair as rather a bore. “Come on. Sing out one at a time.”

They did sing out one at a time.

“Twenty of them,” said the senior, running down his list. “Four fives, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Swinstead. “Clear the course, somebody, and call the fellows.”

So the course was cleared, and proclamation made that the new boys were about to race. Whereat Templeton lined the quarter-mile track; and showed a languid interest in the contest. Swinstead called over the first five names on his list.

“Take off your coats and waistcoats,” said he.

They obeyed. Dick, who was not in the first heat, took charge of Heathcote’s garments, and secretly bade him “put it on.”

“Toe the line,” said Swinstead. “Are you ready? Off!”

They started. It was a straggling procession. Two of the boys could scarcely use their legs, and of the other three Heathcote was the only one who showed any pace, and, greatly to Dick’s delight, came in easily first.

Dick’s turn came in the second round, and he, greatly to Heathcote’s delight, won in a canter.

In the fourth heat Aspinall ran; but he, poor fellow, could scarcely struggle on to the end, and had literally to be driven the last fifty yards. For no new boy was allowed to shirk his race.

Templeton evinced a more decided interest in the final round. It had looked on as a matter of duty on the trial heats; but it got a trifle excited over the final. The winner of the fourth round, the youth who had been robbed of his light blue tie, commanded the most general favour. Swinstead on the other hand secretly fancied Dick, and one or two others were divided between Heathcote and the winner of the third round.

“Keep your elbows in, and don’t look round so much,” whispered Swinstead to Dick, as the four champions toed the line.

Dick nodded gratefully for the advice.

“Now then. Are you ready?

“Go!” cried the starter.

The hero of the blue tie led off amid great jubilation among the sportsmen. But Swinstead, who trotted beside the race, still preferred Dick, and liked the way he kept up to the leader’s heels in the first hundred yards. Heathcote, in his turn, kept well up to Dick, and had nothing to fear from the other man.

“Pretty race,” said some one.

“Good action number two,” replied another.

“Swinstead fancies him, and he knows what’s what.”

“I should have said number three, myself.”

Two hundred yards were done, and scarcely an inch had the position of the three runners altered.

Then Swinstead called.

“Now then, young ’un.”

Dick knew the call was meant for him, and his spirit rose within him. He “waited on his man,” as they say, and before the next hundred yards were done he was abreast, with Heathcote close on the heels of both.

Frantic were the cries of the sportsmen to their man. But his face was red, and his mouth was open.

“He’s done!” was the cry of the disgusted knowing ones. And the knowing ones were right. Dick walked away, as fresh as a daisy, in the last hundred yards, while Heathcote blowing hard stepped up abreast of the favourite. It was a close run for second honours; but the Mountjoy boy stuck to it, and staggered up a neck in front, with ten clear yards between him and the heels of the victorious Dick.

Chapter Five.How Heathcote nearly catches cold.Dick felt decidedly pleased with himself, as he walked back arm-in-arm with Heathcote, after his victory.He felt that he had a right to hold up his head in Templeton already, and although he still experienced some difficulty in managing his hands and keeping down his blushes when he met one of the Fifth, he felt decidedly fortified against the inquisitive glances of the juniors.In fact, in the benevolence of his heart, he felt so anxious lest any of these young aspirants to a view of the hero who had won the new boys’ race should be disappointed, that he prolonged his walk, and made a circuit of the great square with his friend, so as to give every one a fair chance.At tea, to which Templeton trooped in ravenously after their first afternoon’s blow in the open air, he sat with an interesting expression of langour on his face, enduring the scrutiny to which he was treated with an air of charming unconsciousness, from which any one might suppose he harboured not the slightest desire to hear what Swinstead was saying to his neighbour, as they both looked his way. It was a pity he could not hear it.“Look at that young prig,” said Swinstead’s neighbour. “He can’t get over it. It’s gone to his head.”“Young ass!” said Swinstead; “ran well too.”“It would be a good turn to take him down a peg.”“What’s the use? He’ll come down soon enough.”For all that, the two friends could not resist the temptation, when, after tea, they caught sight of Dick and his chum going out into the Quad, of beckoning to the former to come to them.“Those fellows want me,” said Dick to his friend, in a tone as much as to say, “I’m so used to holding familiar converse with the Fifth that it’s really almost beginning to be a grind. But I don’t like to disappoint them this time.”“Well, how do you feel?” said Swinstead.“Oh, all right,” replied Dick, showing unmistakeable signs of intoxication.“Capital run you made,” said the other. “Middling,” said Dick, deprecatingly. “I hadn’t my shoes, that makes a difference.”“It does,” said the two elders.“Rather a nice turf track you’ve got,” said the boy presently, by way of filling up an awkward gap.“Glad you like it. Some of the fellows growl at it; but we’ll tell them you think it good.”It was rather an anxious moment to see how the fish would take it. But he swallowed it, hook and all.“We used to run a good deal at our old school, you know,” said he. “Some of us, that is.”“Ah, you’re just the man we want for the Harriers. They’re badly off for a whipper-in; and we had to stop hunting all last term because we hadn’t got one.”“Oh!” said Dick.“Yes. But it’ll be all right if you’ll take it—won’t it be, Birket?”“Rather!” said Birket. “He’d be a brick if he did.”“I don’t mind trying,” said Dick modestly.“Will you really? Thanks, awfully! You know Cresswell? No, by the way, he’s not here yet. He’s in the Sixth, and has been acting as whipper-in till we got a proper chap. He’ll be here in the morning. Any one will tell you where he hangs out. He’ll bless you, I can tell you, for taking the job out of his hands. You never saw the pace he goes at when he tries to run, eh, Birket?”“Rather not,” said Birket. “It’s a regular joke. A snail’s nothing to him.”“How has he managed to whip in?” asked Dick, rather amused at the idea of this Sixth-form snail.“Bless you, we’ve had no runs lately, that’s why. But we shall make up now you’ve come.”Dick heartily wished hehadrun in his shoes that afternoon. He was sure he could have done the distance two or even three seconds better if he had.“If you’ll really go in for it,” said Birket, “go to him early to-morrow, and tell him who you are; and say you are going to act as whipper-in, and that you have arranged it all with us.”Dick looked a little concerned.“Hadn’t you better come with me?” he asked, “I don’t know him.”“We shall be in class. But he’ll know if you mention our names. Say we sent you, and that you won the new boys’ race. Do you twig?”“All right,” said Dick, beginning to feel he had something really big on hand.“You’re a young trump,” said Birket, “and, I say don’t forget to ask him to give you the whip. We might manage a run to-morrow. Good-night. Glad you’ve come to Templeton.”“Look here, by the way,” said Swinstead, as they parted, “don’t say anything about it to anybody. There’s such a lot of jealousy over these things. Best to get it all settled first. Don’t you think so?”“Yes,” said Dick, feeling a good deal bewildered, and doubtful whether after all he had not been foolish in undertaking so important a task.He returned to his chum in an abstracted frame of mind. He had certainly expected his achievement that afternoon would give him a “footing” in Templeton, but in his wildest dreams he had not supposed it would give him such a lift as this.Whipper-in of the Templeton Harriers was rapid promotion for a new boy on his first day. But then, he reflected, if they really were hard up for a fellow to take the office, it would be rather ungracious to refuse it.“What did they want you for?” asked Heathcote.“Oh, talking about the race, don’t you know, and that sort of thing,” said Dick, equivocally.“Did they say anything about me?”“Not a word, old man.”Whereat Heathcote turned a little crusty, and wondered that ten yards in a quarter of a mile should make such a difference.Dick was bursting to tell him all about it, and made matters far worse by betraying that he had a secret, which he could on no account impart.“You’ll know to-morrow, most likely,” said he. “I’m awfully sorry they made me promise to keep it close. But I’ll tell you first of all when its settled; and I may be able to give you a leg up before long.”Heathcote said he did not want a leg up; and feeling decidedly out of humour, made some excuse to go indoors and hunt up young Aspinall.On his way he encountered a junior, next to whom he had sat at dinner, and with whom he had then exchanged a few words.“Where are you going?” demanded that youthful warrior.“Indoors,” said Heathcote.“No, you aren’t,” replied the bravo, standing like a wolf across the way.It was an awkward position for a pacific boy like Heathcote, who mildly enquired—“Why not?”“Because you cheeked me,” replied the wolf.“How? I didn’t mean to,” replied the lamb.“That’ll do. You’ve got to apologise.”“Apologise! What for?”“Speaking to me at dinner-time.”The blood of the Heathcotes began to tingle.“Suppose I don’t apologise?” asked he.“You’ll be sorry for it.”“What will you do?”“Lick you.”“Then,” said Heathcote, mildly, “you’d better begin.”The youthful champion evidently was not prepared for this cordial invitation, and looked anything but pleased to hear it.“Well, why don’t you begin?” said Heathcote, following up his advantage.“Because,” said the boy, looking rather uncomfortably around him, “I wouldn’t dirty my fingers on such a beast.”Now if Heathcote had been a man of the world he would have divined that the present was a rare opportunity for catching his bumptious young friend by the ear, and making him carry out his threat then and there. But, being a simple-minded new boy, unlearned in the ways of the world, he merely said “Pooh!” and walked on, leaving his assailant in possession of the field, calling out “coward!” and “sneak!” after him till he was out of sight.He was rather sorry afterwards for his mistake, as it turned out he might have been much more profitably and pleasantly employed outside than in.Aspinall, whom he had come to look after, was nowhere visible, and, feeling somewhat concerned for his safety, Heathcote ventured to enquire of a junior who was loafing about in the passage, if he knew where the little new fellow was.“In bed, of course,” said the junior, “and I’d advise you not to let yourself be seen, unless you want to get in an awful row,” added he solemnly.“What about?” asked Heathcote.“Why, not being in bed. My eye! it’ll be rather warm for you, I tell you, if any of the Fifth catch you.”“Why, it’s only half-past seven?”“Well, and don’t you know the rule about new boys always having to be in bed by seven?” exclaimed the junior in tones of alarm.“No. I don’t believe it is the rule,” said Heathcote.“All right,” said the boy, “you needn’t believe it unless you like. But don’t say you weren’t told, that’s all,” and he walked off, whistling.Heathcote was perplexed. He suspected a practical joke in everything, and had this junior been a trifle less solemn, he would have had no doubt that this was one. As it was, he was sorry he had offended him, and lost the chance of making quite sure. Dick, he knew, was still out of doors, and he, it was certain, knew nothing about the rule.But just then a Fifth-form fellow came along, and cut off the retreat.He eyed the new boy critically as he advanced, and stopped in front of him.“What’s your name?” he demanded.“Heathcote.”“A new boy?”“Yes.”“How is it you’re not in bed? Do you know the time?”“Yes,” said Heathcote, convinced now that the junior had been right, “but I didn’t know—that is—”“Shut up and don’t tell lies,” said the Fifth-form boy, severely. “Go to bed instantly, and write me out 200 lines of Virgil before breakfast to-morrow. I’ve a good mind to send your name up to Westover.”“I’m awfully sorry,” began Heathcote; “no one told me—”“I’ve told you; and if you don’t go at once Westover shall hear of it.”The dormitory, when he reached it, was deserted. Not even Aspinall was there; and for a moment Heathcote began again vaguely to suspect a plot. From this delusion, he was, however, speedily relieved by the appearance of a boy, who followed him into the room, and demanded.“Look here; what are you up to here?”“I was—that is, I was told to go to bed,” said Heathcote.“Well, and if you were, what business have you got here? Go to your own den.”“This is where I slept last night,” said Heathcote, pointing to the identical bed he had occupied.“You did! Like your howling cheek.”“Where is my bed room then?” asked Heathcote.“Why didn’t you ask the matron? I’m not going to fag for you. There, in that second door; and take my advice, slip into bed as quick as you can, unless you want one of the Fifth to catch you, and give you a hundred lines.”Heathcote whipped up his night-gown and made precipitately for the door, finally convinced that he was in a fair way of getting into a row very early in his Templeton career.The door opened into a little room about the size of a small ship’s cabin, and here he undressed as quickly as he could, in the fading daylight, and slipped into bed, inwardly congratulating himself that no one had detected him in the act, and that he had a good prospect, contrary to his expectations, of getting to sleep comfortably. The thought of the 200 lines, certainly, was unpleasant. But “sufficient unto the day,” thought the philosophic Heathcote. He was far more concerned at the fate of the unsuspecting Dick. What would become of him, poor fellow?Amid these reflections he fell peacefully asleep. The next thing he was conscious of, in what seemed to him the middle of the night, was the sudden removal of the clothes from the bed, and a figure holding a light, catching him by the arm, and demanding fiercely—“What do you mean by it?”His first impulse was to smile at the thought that it was only a dream, but he quickly changed his mind, and sat up with his eyes very wide open as the figure repeated—“What do you mean by it? Get out of this!”The speaker was a big boy, whom Heathcote, in the midst of his bewilderment, recognised as having seen at the Fifth-form table in Hall.“What’s the matter?” faltered the new boy.“The matter! you impudent young beggar. Come, get out of this. I’ll teach you to play larks with me. Get out of my bed.”Heathcote promptly obeyed.“I didn’t know—I was told it was where I was to sleep,” he said.“Shut up, and don’t tell lies,” said the senior, taking off his slipper and passing his hand down the sole of it.“Really I didn’t do it on purpose,” pleaded Heathcote. “I was told to do it.”The case was evidently not one for argument. As Heathcote turned round, the silence of the night hour was broken for some moments by the echoes of that slipper-sole.It was no use objecting—still less resisting. So Heathcote bore it like a man, and occupied his leisure moments during the ceremony in chalking up a long score against his friend the junior.“Now, make my bed,” said the executioner when the transaction was complete.The boy obeyed in silence—wonderfully warm despite the lightness of his attire. His comfort would have been complete had that junior only been there to help him. The Fifth-form boy insisted on the bed being made from the very beginning—including the turning of the mattress and the shaking of each several sheet and blanket—so that the process was a lengthy one, and, but for the occasional consolations of the slipper, might have become chilly also.“Now, clear out,” said the owner of the apartment.“Where am I to go?” asked Heathcote, beginning to feel rather forlorn.“Out of here!” repeated the senior.“I don’t—”The senior took up the slipper again.“Please may I take my clothes?” said Heathcote.“Are you going or not?”“Please give me my trou—”He was on the other side of the door before the second syllable came, and the click of the latch told him that after all he might save his breath.Heathcote was in a predicament. The corridor was dark, and draughty, and he was far from home; what was he to do? “Three courses,” as the wise man says, “were open to him.” Either he might camp out where he was, and by the aid of door-mats and carpet extemporise a bed till the morning; or he might commence a demonstration against the door from which he had just been ejected till somebody came and saw him into his rights—or, failing his rights, into his trousers; or he might commence a house-to-house canvass, up one side of the corridor and down the other, in hopes of finding either an empty chamber or one tenanted by a friend.There was a good deal to be said for each, though on the whole he personally inclined to the last course. Indeed he went so far as to grope his way to the end of the passage with a view to starting fair, when a sound of footsteps and a white flutter ahead sent his heart to his mouth, and made him shiver with something more than the evening breeze.He stood where he was, rooted to the spot, and listened. An awful silence seemed to fall upon the place. Had he hit on the Templeton ghost?—on the disembodied spirit of some luckless martyr to the ferocity of a last century bully? Or, was it an ambuscade prepared for himself? or, was it some companion in—Yes! there was a sob, and Heathcote’s soul rejoiced as he recognised it.“Is that you, young ’un?” he said in a deep whisper.The footsteps suddenly ceased, the white flutter stopped, and next moment there rose a shriek in the still night air which made all Westover’s jump in its sleep, and opened, as if by magic, half the doors in the long corridor. Aspinall had seen a ghost!Amid all the airily-clad forms that hovered out to learn the cause of the disturbance, Heathcote felt comforted. His one regret was that he was unable to recognise his friend the junior, in whose debt he was in nocturnal garb; but he recognised Dick to his great delight, and hurriedly explained to him as well as to about fifty other enquirers, the circumstances—that is, so much of them as seemed worth repetition.Between them they contrived to reassure the terrified Aspinall, who, it turned out, had been the victim of a similar trick to that played on Heathcote.“Where are you sleeping?” said the latter to Dick.“The old place. Where ever did you get to?”“I’ll tell you. Has any one got my bed there?”“No. Come on—here, Aspinall, catch hold—look sharp out of the passage. Are you coming, too, Heathcote?”To his astonishment, Heathcote darted suddenly from his side and dived in at an open door. Before his friend could guess what he meant, he returned with a bundle of clothes in his arms, and a triumphant smile on his face.“Hurrah!” said he. “Got ’em at last!”“Whose are they?” asked Dick.“Mine, my boy. By Jove, Iamglad to get them again.”“Cavethere! Westover!” called some one near him. And, as if by magic, the passage was empty in a moment, our heroes being the last to scuttle into their dormitory, with Aspinall between them.Dick lay awake for some time that night. He was excited, and considered, on the whole, he had made a fair start at Templeton. He had won the new boys’ race, and he was the whipper-in-elect of the Templeton Harriers. Fellows respected him; possibly a good many of them feared him. Certainly, they let him alone.“For all that,” meditated he, “it won’t do to get cocked up by it. Father said I was to be on my guard against fellows who flattered me, so I must keep my eyes open, or some one will be trying to make a fool of me. If Cresswell’s a nice fellow, I’ll have a talk with him to-morrow about young Aspinall, and see if we can’t do anything to give him a leg up, poor young beggar. I wonder if I’m an ass to accept the whipping-in so easily? Any how, I suppose I can resign if it’s too much grind. Heigho! I’m sleepy.”

Dick felt decidedly pleased with himself, as he walked back arm-in-arm with Heathcote, after his victory.

He felt that he had a right to hold up his head in Templeton already, and although he still experienced some difficulty in managing his hands and keeping down his blushes when he met one of the Fifth, he felt decidedly fortified against the inquisitive glances of the juniors.

In fact, in the benevolence of his heart, he felt so anxious lest any of these young aspirants to a view of the hero who had won the new boys’ race should be disappointed, that he prolonged his walk, and made a circuit of the great square with his friend, so as to give every one a fair chance.

At tea, to which Templeton trooped in ravenously after their first afternoon’s blow in the open air, he sat with an interesting expression of langour on his face, enduring the scrutiny to which he was treated with an air of charming unconsciousness, from which any one might suppose he harboured not the slightest desire to hear what Swinstead was saying to his neighbour, as they both looked his way. It was a pity he could not hear it.

“Look at that young prig,” said Swinstead’s neighbour. “He can’t get over it. It’s gone to his head.”

“Young ass!” said Swinstead; “ran well too.”

“It would be a good turn to take him down a peg.”

“What’s the use? He’ll come down soon enough.”

For all that, the two friends could not resist the temptation, when, after tea, they caught sight of Dick and his chum going out into the Quad, of beckoning to the former to come to them.

“Those fellows want me,” said Dick to his friend, in a tone as much as to say, “I’m so used to holding familiar converse with the Fifth that it’s really almost beginning to be a grind. But I don’t like to disappoint them this time.”

“Well, how do you feel?” said Swinstead.

“Oh, all right,” replied Dick, showing unmistakeable signs of intoxication.

“Capital run you made,” said the other. “Middling,” said Dick, deprecatingly. “I hadn’t my shoes, that makes a difference.”

“It does,” said the two elders.

“Rather a nice turf track you’ve got,” said the boy presently, by way of filling up an awkward gap.

“Glad you like it. Some of the fellows growl at it; but we’ll tell them you think it good.”

It was rather an anxious moment to see how the fish would take it. But he swallowed it, hook and all.

“We used to run a good deal at our old school, you know,” said he. “Some of us, that is.”

“Ah, you’re just the man we want for the Harriers. They’re badly off for a whipper-in; and we had to stop hunting all last term because we hadn’t got one.”

“Oh!” said Dick.

“Yes. But it’ll be all right if you’ll take it—won’t it be, Birket?”

“Rather!” said Birket. “He’d be a brick if he did.”

“I don’t mind trying,” said Dick modestly.

“Will you really? Thanks, awfully! You know Cresswell? No, by the way, he’s not here yet. He’s in the Sixth, and has been acting as whipper-in till we got a proper chap. He’ll be here in the morning. Any one will tell you where he hangs out. He’ll bless you, I can tell you, for taking the job out of his hands. You never saw the pace he goes at when he tries to run, eh, Birket?”

“Rather not,” said Birket. “It’s a regular joke. A snail’s nothing to him.”

“How has he managed to whip in?” asked Dick, rather amused at the idea of this Sixth-form snail.

“Bless you, we’ve had no runs lately, that’s why. But we shall make up now you’ve come.”

Dick heartily wished hehadrun in his shoes that afternoon. He was sure he could have done the distance two or even three seconds better if he had.

“If you’ll really go in for it,” said Birket, “go to him early to-morrow, and tell him who you are; and say you are going to act as whipper-in, and that you have arranged it all with us.”

Dick looked a little concerned.

“Hadn’t you better come with me?” he asked, “I don’t know him.”

“We shall be in class. But he’ll know if you mention our names. Say we sent you, and that you won the new boys’ race. Do you twig?”

“All right,” said Dick, beginning to feel he had something really big on hand.

“You’re a young trump,” said Birket, “and, I say don’t forget to ask him to give you the whip. We might manage a run to-morrow. Good-night. Glad you’ve come to Templeton.”

“Look here, by the way,” said Swinstead, as they parted, “don’t say anything about it to anybody. There’s such a lot of jealousy over these things. Best to get it all settled first. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” said Dick, feeling a good deal bewildered, and doubtful whether after all he had not been foolish in undertaking so important a task.

He returned to his chum in an abstracted frame of mind. He had certainly expected his achievement that afternoon would give him a “footing” in Templeton, but in his wildest dreams he had not supposed it would give him such a lift as this.

Whipper-in of the Templeton Harriers was rapid promotion for a new boy on his first day. But then, he reflected, if they really were hard up for a fellow to take the office, it would be rather ungracious to refuse it.

“What did they want you for?” asked Heathcote.

“Oh, talking about the race, don’t you know, and that sort of thing,” said Dick, equivocally.

“Did they say anything about me?”

“Not a word, old man.”

Whereat Heathcote turned a little crusty, and wondered that ten yards in a quarter of a mile should make such a difference.

Dick was bursting to tell him all about it, and made matters far worse by betraying that he had a secret, which he could on no account impart.

“You’ll know to-morrow, most likely,” said he. “I’m awfully sorry they made me promise to keep it close. But I’ll tell you first of all when its settled; and I may be able to give you a leg up before long.”

Heathcote said he did not want a leg up; and feeling decidedly out of humour, made some excuse to go indoors and hunt up young Aspinall.

On his way he encountered a junior, next to whom he had sat at dinner, and with whom he had then exchanged a few words.

“Where are you going?” demanded that youthful warrior.

“Indoors,” said Heathcote.

“No, you aren’t,” replied the bravo, standing like a wolf across the way.

It was an awkward position for a pacific boy like Heathcote, who mildly enquired—

“Why not?”

“Because you cheeked me,” replied the wolf.

“How? I didn’t mean to,” replied the lamb.

“That’ll do. You’ve got to apologise.”

“Apologise! What for?”

“Speaking to me at dinner-time.”

The blood of the Heathcotes began to tingle.

“Suppose I don’t apologise?” asked he.

“You’ll be sorry for it.”

“What will you do?”

“Lick you.”

“Then,” said Heathcote, mildly, “you’d better begin.”

The youthful champion evidently was not prepared for this cordial invitation, and looked anything but pleased to hear it.

“Well, why don’t you begin?” said Heathcote, following up his advantage.

“Because,” said the boy, looking rather uncomfortably around him, “I wouldn’t dirty my fingers on such a beast.”

Now if Heathcote had been a man of the world he would have divined that the present was a rare opportunity for catching his bumptious young friend by the ear, and making him carry out his threat then and there. But, being a simple-minded new boy, unlearned in the ways of the world, he merely said “Pooh!” and walked on, leaving his assailant in possession of the field, calling out “coward!” and “sneak!” after him till he was out of sight.

He was rather sorry afterwards for his mistake, as it turned out he might have been much more profitably and pleasantly employed outside than in.

Aspinall, whom he had come to look after, was nowhere visible, and, feeling somewhat concerned for his safety, Heathcote ventured to enquire of a junior who was loafing about in the passage, if he knew where the little new fellow was.

“In bed, of course,” said the junior, “and I’d advise you not to let yourself be seen, unless you want to get in an awful row,” added he solemnly.

“What about?” asked Heathcote.

“Why, not being in bed. My eye! it’ll be rather warm for you, I tell you, if any of the Fifth catch you.”

“Why, it’s only half-past seven?”

“Well, and don’t you know the rule about new boys always having to be in bed by seven?” exclaimed the junior in tones of alarm.

“No. I don’t believe it is the rule,” said Heathcote.

“All right,” said the boy, “you needn’t believe it unless you like. But don’t say you weren’t told, that’s all,” and he walked off, whistling.

Heathcote was perplexed. He suspected a practical joke in everything, and had this junior been a trifle less solemn, he would have had no doubt that this was one. As it was, he was sorry he had offended him, and lost the chance of making quite sure. Dick, he knew, was still out of doors, and he, it was certain, knew nothing about the rule.

But just then a Fifth-form fellow came along, and cut off the retreat.

He eyed the new boy critically as he advanced, and stopped in front of him.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Heathcote.”

“A new boy?”

“Yes.”

“How is it you’re not in bed? Do you know the time?”

“Yes,” said Heathcote, convinced now that the junior had been right, “but I didn’t know—that is—”

“Shut up and don’t tell lies,” said the Fifth-form boy, severely. “Go to bed instantly, and write me out 200 lines of Virgil before breakfast to-morrow. I’ve a good mind to send your name up to Westover.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” began Heathcote; “no one told me—”

“I’ve told you; and if you don’t go at once Westover shall hear of it.”

The dormitory, when he reached it, was deserted. Not even Aspinall was there; and for a moment Heathcote began again vaguely to suspect a plot. From this delusion, he was, however, speedily relieved by the appearance of a boy, who followed him into the room, and demanded.

“Look here; what are you up to here?”

“I was—that is, I was told to go to bed,” said Heathcote.

“Well, and if you were, what business have you got here? Go to your own den.”

“This is where I slept last night,” said Heathcote, pointing to the identical bed he had occupied.

“You did! Like your howling cheek.”

“Where is my bed room then?” asked Heathcote.

“Why didn’t you ask the matron? I’m not going to fag for you. There, in that second door; and take my advice, slip into bed as quick as you can, unless you want one of the Fifth to catch you, and give you a hundred lines.”

Heathcote whipped up his night-gown and made precipitately for the door, finally convinced that he was in a fair way of getting into a row very early in his Templeton career.

The door opened into a little room about the size of a small ship’s cabin, and here he undressed as quickly as he could, in the fading daylight, and slipped into bed, inwardly congratulating himself that no one had detected him in the act, and that he had a good prospect, contrary to his expectations, of getting to sleep comfortably. The thought of the 200 lines, certainly, was unpleasant. But “sufficient unto the day,” thought the philosophic Heathcote. He was far more concerned at the fate of the unsuspecting Dick. What would become of him, poor fellow?

Amid these reflections he fell peacefully asleep. The next thing he was conscious of, in what seemed to him the middle of the night, was the sudden removal of the clothes from the bed, and a figure holding a light, catching him by the arm, and demanding fiercely—

“What do you mean by it?”

His first impulse was to smile at the thought that it was only a dream, but he quickly changed his mind, and sat up with his eyes very wide open as the figure repeated—

“What do you mean by it? Get out of this!”

The speaker was a big boy, whom Heathcote, in the midst of his bewilderment, recognised as having seen at the Fifth-form table in Hall.

“What’s the matter?” faltered the new boy.

“The matter! you impudent young beggar. Come, get out of this. I’ll teach you to play larks with me. Get out of my bed.”

Heathcote promptly obeyed.

“I didn’t know—I was told it was where I was to sleep,” he said.

“Shut up, and don’t tell lies,” said the senior, taking off his slipper and passing his hand down the sole of it.

“Really I didn’t do it on purpose,” pleaded Heathcote. “I was told to do it.”

The case was evidently not one for argument. As Heathcote turned round, the silence of the night hour was broken for some moments by the echoes of that slipper-sole.

It was no use objecting—still less resisting. So Heathcote bore it like a man, and occupied his leisure moments during the ceremony in chalking up a long score against his friend the junior.

“Now, make my bed,” said the executioner when the transaction was complete.

The boy obeyed in silence—wonderfully warm despite the lightness of his attire. His comfort would have been complete had that junior only been there to help him. The Fifth-form boy insisted on the bed being made from the very beginning—including the turning of the mattress and the shaking of each several sheet and blanket—so that the process was a lengthy one, and, but for the occasional consolations of the slipper, might have become chilly also.

“Now, clear out,” said the owner of the apartment.

“Where am I to go?” asked Heathcote, beginning to feel rather forlorn.

“Out of here!” repeated the senior.

“I don’t—”

The senior took up the slipper again.

“Please may I take my clothes?” said Heathcote.

“Are you going or not?”

“Please give me my trou—”

He was on the other side of the door before the second syllable came, and the click of the latch told him that after all he might save his breath.

Heathcote was in a predicament. The corridor was dark, and draughty, and he was far from home; what was he to do? “Three courses,” as the wise man says, “were open to him.” Either he might camp out where he was, and by the aid of door-mats and carpet extemporise a bed till the morning; or he might commence a demonstration against the door from which he had just been ejected till somebody came and saw him into his rights—or, failing his rights, into his trousers; or he might commence a house-to-house canvass, up one side of the corridor and down the other, in hopes of finding either an empty chamber or one tenanted by a friend.

There was a good deal to be said for each, though on the whole he personally inclined to the last course. Indeed he went so far as to grope his way to the end of the passage with a view to starting fair, when a sound of footsteps and a white flutter ahead sent his heart to his mouth, and made him shiver with something more than the evening breeze.

He stood where he was, rooted to the spot, and listened. An awful silence seemed to fall upon the place. Had he hit on the Templeton ghost?—on the disembodied spirit of some luckless martyr to the ferocity of a last century bully? Or, was it an ambuscade prepared for himself? or, was it some companion in—

Yes! there was a sob, and Heathcote’s soul rejoiced as he recognised it.

“Is that you, young ’un?” he said in a deep whisper.

The footsteps suddenly ceased, the white flutter stopped, and next moment there rose a shriek in the still night air which made all Westover’s jump in its sleep, and opened, as if by magic, half the doors in the long corridor. Aspinall had seen a ghost!

Amid all the airily-clad forms that hovered out to learn the cause of the disturbance, Heathcote felt comforted. His one regret was that he was unable to recognise his friend the junior, in whose debt he was in nocturnal garb; but he recognised Dick to his great delight, and hurriedly explained to him as well as to about fifty other enquirers, the circumstances—that is, so much of them as seemed worth repetition.

Between them they contrived to reassure the terrified Aspinall, who, it turned out, had been the victim of a similar trick to that played on Heathcote.

“Where are you sleeping?” said the latter to Dick.

“The old place. Where ever did you get to?”

“I’ll tell you. Has any one got my bed there?”

“No. Come on—here, Aspinall, catch hold—look sharp out of the passage. Are you coming, too, Heathcote?”

To his astonishment, Heathcote darted suddenly from his side and dived in at an open door. Before his friend could guess what he meant, he returned with a bundle of clothes in his arms, and a triumphant smile on his face.

“Hurrah!” said he. “Got ’em at last!”

“Whose are they?” asked Dick.

“Mine, my boy. By Jove, Iamglad to get them again.”

“Cavethere! Westover!” called some one near him. And, as if by magic, the passage was empty in a moment, our heroes being the last to scuttle into their dormitory, with Aspinall between them.

Dick lay awake for some time that night. He was excited, and considered, on the whole, he had made a fair start at Templeton. He had won the new boys’ race, and he was the whipper-in-elect of the Templeton Harriers. Fellows respected him; possibly a good many of them feared him. Certainly, they let him alone.

“For all that,” meditated he, “it won’t do to get cocked up by it. Father said I was to be on my guard against fellows who flattered me, so I must keep my eyes open, or some one will be trying to make a fool of me. If Cresswell’s a nice fellow, I’ll have a talk with him to-morrow about young Aspinall, and see if we can’t do anything to give him a leg up, poor young beggar. I wonder if I’m an ass to accept the whipping-in so easily? Any how, I suppose I can resign if it’s too much grind. Heigho! I’m sleepy.”

Chapter Six.How our heroes begin to feel at home.Heathcote awoke early the next morning with his friend the junior seriously on his mind. One or two fellows were already dressing themselves in flannels as he roused himself, amongst others the young hero who had threatened to fight him the evening before.“Hallo!” said that young gentleman, in a friendly tone, as if nothing but the most cordial courtesies had passed between them, “coming down to bathe?”“All serene,” said Heathcote, not, however, without his suspicions. If any one had told him it was a fine morning, he would, in his present state of mind, have suspected the words as part of a deep-laid scheme to fool him. But, he reflected, he had not much to fear from this mock-heroic junior, and as long as he kept him in sight no great harm could happen.“Come on, then,” said the boy, whose name, by the way, was Gosse; “we shall only just have time to do it before chapel.”“Wait a second, till I tell Dick. He’d like to come, too,” said Heathcote.“What’s the use of waking him when he’s fagged? Besides, he’s got to wash and dress his baby, and give him his bottle, so he wouldn’t have time. Aren’t you ready?”“Yes,” said Heathcote, flinging himself into his hardly-regained garments.The “Templeton Tub,” as the bathing place was colloquially termed, was a small natural harbour among the rocks at the foot of the cliff on which the school stood. It was a picturesque spot at all times; but this bright spring morning, with the distant headlands lighting up in the rising sunlight, and the blue sea heaving lazily among the rocks as though not yet awake, Heathcote thought it one of the prettiest places he had ever seen.The “Tub” suited all sorts of bathers. The little timid waders could dip their toes and splash their hair in the shallow basin in-shore. The more advanced could wade out shoulder-deep, and puff and flounder with one foot on the ground and the other up above their heads, and delude the world into the notion they were swimming. For others there was the spring-board, from which to take a header into deep water; and, further out still, the rocks rose in ledges, where practised divers could take the water from any height they liked, from four feet to thirty. Except with leave, no boy was permitted to swim beyond the harbour mouth into the open. But leave was constantly being applied for, and as constantly granted; and perhaps every boy, at some time or other, cast wistful glances at the black buoy bobbing a mile out at sea, and wondered when he, like Pontifex and Mansfield, and other of the Sixth, should be able to wear the image of it on his belt, and call himself a Templeton “shark?”Heathcote, on his first appearance at the “Tub,” acquitted himself creditably. He took a mild header from the spring-board without more than ordinary splashing, and swam across the pool and back in fair style. Gosse, who only went in from the low ledge, and swam half-way across and back, was good enough to give him some very good advice, and promise to make a good swimmer of him in time. Whereat Heathcote looked grateful, and wished Dick had been there to astonish some of them.One or two of the Fifth, including Swinstead and Birket, arrived as the youngsters were dressing.“Hallo!” said Swinstead to Heathcote, “you here? Where’s your chum?”“Asleep,” said Heathcote, quite pleased to think he should be able to tell Dick he had been having a talk with Swinstead that morning.“Have you been in?”“Yes.”“Can you swim?”“Yes, a little,” said Gosse, answering for him. “We’re about equal.”Heathcote couldn’t stand the barefaced libel meekly.“Why, you can’t swim once across!” he said, scornfully, “and you can’t go in off the board!”The Fifth-form boys laughed.“Ha, ha!” said Swinstead, “he’s letting you have it, Gossy.”“He’s telling beastly crams,” said Gosse, “and I’ll kick him when we get back.”“I’ll swim you across the pool and back, first!” said Heathcote.The seniors were delighted. The new boy’s spirit pleased them, and the prospect of taking down the junior pleased them still more.“That’s fair,” said Birket. “Come on, strip.”Heathcote was ready in a trice. Gosse looked uncomfortable.“I’m not going in again,” he said; “I’ve got a cold.”“Yes, you are,” replied Birket; “I’ll help you.”This threat was quite enough for the discomfited junior, who slowly divested himself of his garments.“Now then! plenty of room for both of you on the board.”“No,” said Gosse; “I’ve not got any cotton wool for my ears. I don’t care about going in off the board unless I have.”“That’s soon remedied,” said Swinstead, producing some wool from his pocket and proceeding to stuff it into each of the boy’s ears.Poor Gosse was fairly cornered, and took his place on the board beside Heathcote, the picture of discontent and apprehension.“Now then, once across and back. Are you ready?” said Birket, seating himself beside his friend on a ledge.“No,” said Gosse, looking down at the water and getting off the board.“Do you funk it?”“No.”“Then go in! Hurry up, or we’ll come and help you!”“I’d—I’d rather go in from theedge,” said the boy.“You funk the board then?”The boy looked at the board, then at his tyrants, then at the water.“I suppose I do,” said he, sulkily.“Then put on your clothes and cut it,” said Swinstead, scornfully. Then, turning to Heathcote, he shouted. “Now then, young ’un, in you go.”Heathcote plunged. He was nervous, and splashed more, perhaps, than usual, but it was a tolerable header, on the whole, for a new boy, and the spectators were not displeased with the performance or the swim across the pool and back which followed.“All right,” said Swinstead; “stick to it, young un, and turn up regularly. Can your chum swim?”“Rather!” said Heathcote, taking his head out of the towel. “I wish I could swim as well as he can.”“Humph!” said Swinstead, when presently the two Seniors were left to themselves. “Number Two’s modest; Number One’s cocky.”“Therefore,” said Birket, “Number Two will remain Number Two, and number One will remain Number One.”“Right you are, most learned Plato! but I’m curious to see how Number One gets out of his friendly call on Cresswell. Think he’ll cheek it?”“Yes; and we shan’t hear many particulars from him.”Birket was right, as he very often was.Dick, on waking, was a good deal perplexed, to find his friend absent, and when he heard the reason he was more than perplexed—he was vexed. It wasn’t right of Heathcote, or loyal, to take advantage of him in this way, and he should complain of it.Meanwhile he had plenty to occupy his mind in endeavouring to recover his “baby’s” wardrobe, a quest which, as time went on and the chapel bell began to sound, came to be exciting.However, just as he was about to go to the matron and represent to her the delicate position of affairs, a bundle was thrown in through the ventilator over the door, and fell into the middle of the dormitory floor. Where it came from there was no time to inquire.Aspinall was hustled into his garments as quickly as possible, and then hustled down the stairs and into chapel just as the bell ceased ringing and the door began to close.Heathcote was there among the other new boys, looking rather guilty, as well he might. The sight of him, with his dripping locks and clear shining face, interfered a good deal with Dick’s attention to the service—almost as much as did the buzz of talk all round him, the open disorder in the stalls opposite, and the look of undisguised horror on Aspinall’s face.As Dick caught sight of that look his own conscience pricked him, and he made a vehement effort to recall his wandering mind and fix it on the words which were being read. He flushed as he saw boys opposite point his way and laugh, with hands clasped in mock devotion, and he felt angry with himself, and young Aspinall, and everybody, for laying him open to the imputation of being a prig.He glanced again towards Heathcote. Heathcote was standing with his hands in his pockets looking about him. What business had Heathcote to look about him when he (Dick) was standing at attention? Why should Heathcote escape the jeers of mockers, while he (Dick) had to bear the brunt of them? It wasn’t fair. And yet he wasn’t going to put his hands in his pockets and look about him to give them the triumph of saying they laughed him into it. No!So Dick stood steadily and reverently all the service, and was observed by not a few as one of the good ones of whom good things might be expected.When chapel was over fate once more severed him from his chum, and deferred the explanation to which both were looking forward.The matron kidnapped Master Richardson on his way into the house, in order to call his attention to a serious inconsistency between the number of his shirts in his portmanteau, and the number on the inventory accompanying them, an inconsistency which Dick was unable to throw any light on whatever, except that he supposed it must be a mistake, and it didn’t much matter.It certainly mattered less than the fact that, owing to this delay, he had lost his seat next to Heathcote at breakfast, and had to take his place at the lowest table, where he could not even see his friend.There was great joking during the meal about the escapade in the lobby last night, the general opinion being that it had been grand sport all round, and that it was lucky the monitors weren’t at home at the time.“Beastly grind,” said one youngster—“all of them coming back to-day. A fellow can’t turn round but they interfere.”“Are all the Sixth monitors?” asked Dick.“Rather,” replied his neighbour, whom Dick discovered afterwards to be no other than Raggles, the hero of the “cargo,” whose fame he had heard the day before.“What’s the name of the captain?”“Oh, Ponty! He doesn’t hurt,” said the boy. “It’s beasts like Mansfield, and Cresswell, and that lot who come down on you.”Dick would fain have inquired what sort of fellow Cresswell was, but he was too anxious not to let the affair of the whipper-in leak out, and refrained. He asked a few vague questions about the Sixth generally, and gathered from his companion that, with a very few exceptions, they were all “beasts” in school, that one or two of them were rather good at cricket, and swimming, and football, and that the monitorial system at Templeton, and at all other public schools, required revision. From which Dick argued shrewdly that Master Raggles sometimes got into rows.By the time he had made this discovery the bell rang for first school, and there was a general movement to the door.The two chums foregathered in the hall.“Pity you weren’t up in time for a bathe,” said Heathcote, artfully securing the first word.“I heard you went. Too much fag getting up so early. I mean to go down in the afternoon, when most of the fellows turn up.”“Swinstead and Birket were there. I wish you’d been there.”“Not worth the grind. You can come with me this afternoon, if you like. Some of the ‘sharks’ will be down as well.”Heathcote began to discover he had done a foolish thing; and when he found his friend launching the “sharks” at his head in this familiar way he felt it was no use holding out any longer.“It was awfully low of me not to call you this morning,” said he, “but you looked so fast asleep, you know.”“So I was,” said Dick, unbending. “I’m glad you didn’t rout me up, for I was regularly fagged last night.”“What time will you be going this afternoon?”“Depends. I’ve got to see one of the Sixth as soon as he turns up, but that won’t take long.”Heathcote retired routed. His friend was too many for him. He (Heathcote) had no one bigger than Swinstead and Birket to impress his friend with. Dick had “sharks,” and behind them “one of the Sixth.” What was the use of opposing himself to such odds?“Wait for us, won’t you?” was all he could say; and next moment they were at their respective desks, and school had begun.Dick’s quick ears caught the sound of cabs in the quadrangle and the noise of luggage in the hall while school was going on, and his mind became a little anxious as the prospect of his coming interview loomed nearer before him. He hoped Cresswell was a jolly fellow, and that there would be no one else in his study when he went to call upon him. He had carefully studied the geography of his fortress, so he knew exactly where to go without asking any one, which was a blessing.As soon as class was over he made his way to the matron’s room.“Do you know if Cresswell has come yet, please.”“Yes, what do you want with him?”“Oh! nothing,” said Dick dissembling, “I only wanted to know.”And he removed himself promptly from the reach of further questions.Little dreaming of the visit with which he was to be so shortly honoured, Cresswell, the fleetest foot and the steadiest head in Templeton, was complacently unpacking his goods and chattels in theprivacy of his own study. He wasn’t sorry to get back to Templeton, for he was fond of the old place, and the summer term was always the jolliest of the year. There was cricket coming on, and lawn tennis, and the long evening runs, and the early morning dips. And there was plenty of work ahead in the schools too, and the prospect of an exhibition at Midsummer, if only Freckleton gave him the chance.Altogether the Sixth-form athlete was in a contented frame of mind, as he emptied his portmanteau and tossed his belongings into their respective quarters.So intent was he on his occupation, that it was a full minute before he became aware of a small boy standing at his open door, and tapping modestly. As he looked up and met the eyes of the already doubtful Dick, both boys inwardly thought, “I rather like that fellow”—a conclusion which, as far as Dick was concerned, made it still more difficult for him to broach the subject of his mission.Cresswell was still kneeling down, so it was impossible to form an opinion of his legs, but his arms and shoulders certainly did not look like those of a “snail.”“What do you want, youngster?” said Cresswell.“Oh,” said Dick, screwing himself up to the pitch, “Swinstead told me to come to you.”“Oh,” said the other, in a tone of great interest, “what about?”“About the—I mean—something about the—the Harriers,” said Dick, suddenly beginning to see things in a new light.“About the Harriers?” said Cresswell, rising to his feet and lounging up against the mantel-piece, in order to take a good survey of his visitor. “What does Mr Swinstead want to know about the Harriers?”The sight of the champion there, drawn up to his full height, with power and speed written on every turn of his figure, sent Dick’s mind jumping, at one bound, to the truth. What an ass he had been going to make of himself, and what a time he would have had if he hadn’t found out the trick in time! As it was, he could not help laughing at the idea of his own ridiculous position, and the narrow escape he had had.“What are you grinning at?” said Cresswell sharply, not understanding the little burst of merriment in his presence.Dick recovered himself, and said simply, “They’ve been trying to make a fool of me. I beg your pardon for bothering you.”“Hold hard!” said Cresswell, as the boy was about to retreat. “It’s very likely they have made a fool of you—they’re used to hard work. But you’re not going to make a fool of me. Come in and tell me all about it.”Dick coloured up crimson, and threw himself on the monitor’s mercy.“You’ll think me such an ass,” said he, appealingly. “It’s really nothing.”“I do think you an ass already,” said the senior, “so, out with it.”Whereupon Dick, blushing deeply, told him the whole story in a way which quite captivated the listener by its artlessness.“They said you were an awful muff, and couldn’t run any faster than a snail, you know,”—began he—“and as I had pulled off the new boys’ race, they said they’d make me Whipper-in of the Harriers instead of you, and told me to come and tell you so, and ask you togiveme the whip.”Cresswell laughed in spite of himself.“Do you really want it?” he asked.“Not now, thank you.”“I suppose you’d been swaggering after you’d won the race, and they wanted to take the conceit out of you?”“Yes, I suppose so.”“And have they succeeded?”“Well—yes,” said Dick. “I think they have.”“Then, they’ve done you a very good turn, my boy, and you’ll be grateful to them some day. As for the whip, you can tell them if they’ll come here for it, I’ll give it to them with pleasure. There goes the dinner bell—cut off, or you’ll be late.”“Thanks, Cresswell. I suppose,” said the boy, lingering a moment at the door, “you won’t be obliged to tell everybody about it?”“You can do that better than I can,” said the Sixth-form boy, laughing.And Dick felt, as he hurried down to Hall, that he was something more than well out of it. Instead of meeting the fate which his own conceit had prepared, he had secured a friend at court, who, something told him, would stand by him in the coming term. His self-esteem had had a fall, but his self-respect had had a decided lift; for he felt now that he went in and out under inspection, and that Cresswell’s good opinion was a distinction by all means to be coveted.As a token of his improved frame of mind, he made frank confession of the whole story to Heathcote during dinner; and found his friend, as he knew he would be, brimful of sympathy and relief at his narrow escape.Swinstead and Birket, as they watched their man from their distant table, were decidedly perplexed by his cheerful demeanour, and full of curiosity to learn the history of the interview.They waylaid him casually in the court that afternoon.“Well, have you settled it?” said Birket.“Eh? Oh, yes, it’s all right,” replied Dick, rather enjoying himself.“He made no difficulty about it, did he?”“Not a bit. Jolly as possible.”It was not often that two Fifth-form boys at Templeton felt uncomfortable in the presence of a new junior, but Swinstead and Birket certainly did feel a trifle disconcerted at the coolness of their young victim.“You told him we sent you?”“Rather. He was awfully obliged.”“Was he? And did he give you the whip?”“No, he hadn’t got it handy. But I told him he could give it to you two next time he met you—and he’s going to.”And to the consternation of his patrons the new boy walked off, whistling sweetly to himself and watching attentively the flight of the rooks round the school tower.“Old man, we shall have some trouble with Number One,” said Swinstead, laughing.“Yes, we’ve caught a Tartar for once,” said Birket. “You and I may retire into private life for a bit, I fancy.”

Heathcote awoke early the next morning with his friend the junior seriously on his mind. One or two fellows were already dressing themselves in flannels as he roused himself, amongst others the young hero who had threatened to fight him the evening before.

“Hallo!” said that young gentleman, in a friendly tone, as if nothing but the most cordial courtesies had passed between them, “coming down to bathe?”

“All serene,” said Heathcote, not, however, without his suspicions. If any one had told him it was a fine morning, he would, in his present state of mind, have suspected the words as part of a deep-laid scheme to fool him. But, he reflected, he had not much to fear from this mock-heroic junior, and as long as he kept him in sight no great harm could happen.

“Come on, then,” said the boy, whose name, by the way, was Gosse; “we shall only just have time to do it before chapel.”

“Wait a second, till I tell Dick. He’d like to come, too,” said Heathcote.

“What’s the use of waking him when he’s fagged? Besides, he’s got to wash and dress his baby, and give him his bottle, so he wouldn’t have time. Aren’t you ready?”

“Yes,” said Heathcote, flinging himself into his hardly-regained garments.

The “Templeton Tub,” as the bathing place was colloquially termed, was a small natural harbour among the rocks at the foot of the cliff on which the school stood. It was a picturesque spot at all times; but this bright spring morning, with the distant headlands lighting up in the rising sunlight, and the blue sea heaving lazily among the rocks as though not yet awake, Heathcote thought it one of the prettiest places he had ever seen.

The “Tub” suited all sorts of bathers. The little timid waders could dip their toes and splash their hair in the shallow basin in-shore. The more advanced could wade out shoulder-deep, and puff and flounder with one foot on the ground and the other up above their heads, and delude the world into the notion they were swimming. For others there was the spring-board, from which to take a header into deep water; and, further out still, the rocks rose in ledges, where practised divers could take the water from any height they liked, from four feet to thirty. Except with leave, no boy was permitted to swim beyond the harbour mouth into the open. But leave was constantly being applied for, and as constantly granted; and perhaps every boy, at some time or other, cast wistful glances at the black buoy bobbing a mile out at sea, and wondered when he, like Pontifex and Mansfield, and other of the Sixth, should be able to wear the image of it on his belt, and call himself a Templeton “shark?”

Heathcote, on his first appearance at the “Tub,” acquitted himself creditably. He took a mild header from the spring-board without more than ordinary splashing, and swam across the pool and back in fair style. Gosse, who only went in from the low ledge, and swam half-way across and back, was good enough to give him some very good advice, and promise to make a good swimmer of him in time. Whereat Heathcote looked grateful, and wished Dick had been there to astonish some of them.

One or two of the Fifth, including Swinstead and Birket, arrived as the youngsters were dressing.

“Hallo!” said Swinstead to Heathcote, “you here? Where’s your chum?”

“Asleep,” said Heathcote, quite pleased to think he should be able to tell Dick he had been having a talk with Swinstead that morning.

“Have you been in?”

“Yes.”

“Can you swim?”

“Yes, a little,” said Gosse, answering for him. “We’re about equal.”

Heathcote couldn’t stand the barefaced libel meekly.

“Why, you can’t swim once across!” he said, scornfully, “and you can’t go in off the board!”

The Fifth-form boys laughed.

“Ha, ha!” said Swinstead, “he’s letting you have it, Gossy.”

“He’s telling beastly crams,” said Gosse, “and I’ll kick him when we get back.”

“I’ll swim you across the pool and back, first!” said Heathcote.

The seniors were delighted. The new boy’s spirit pleased them, and the prospect of taking down the junior pleased them still more.

“That’s fair,” said Birket. “Come on, strip.”

Heathcote was ready in a trice. Gosse looked uncomfortable.

“I’m not going in again,” he said; “I’ve got a cold.”

“Yes, you are,” replied Birket; “I’ll help you.”

This threat was quite enough for the discomfited junior, who slowly divested himself of his garments.

“Now then! plenty of room for both of you on the board.”

“No,” said Gosse; “I’ve not got any cotton wool for my ears. I don’t care about going in off the board unless I have.”

“That’s soon remedied,” said Swinstead, producing some wool from his pocket and proceeding to stuff it into each of the boy’s ears.

Poor Gosse was fairly cornered, and took his place on the board beside Heathcote, the picture of discontent and apprehension.

“Now then, once across and back. Are you ready?” said Birket, seating himself beside his friend on a ledge.

“No,” said Gosse, looking down at the water and getting off the board.

“Do you funk it?”

“No.”

“Then go in! Hurry up, or we’ll come and help you!”

“I’d—I’d rather go in from theedge,” said the boy.

“You funk the board then?”

The boy looked at the board, then at his tyrants, then at the water.

“I suppose I do,” said he, sulkily.

“Then put on your clothes and cut it,” said Swinstead, scornfully. Then, turning to Heathcote, he shouted. “Now then, young ’un, in you go.”

Heathcote plunged. He was nervous, and splashed more, perhaps, than usual, but it was a tolerable header, on the whole, for a new boy, and the spectators were not displeased with the performance or the swim across the pool and back which followed.

“All right,” said Swinstead; “stick to it, young un, and turn up regularly. Can your chum swim?”

“Rather!” said Heathcote, taking his head out of the towel. “I wish I could swim as well as he can.”

“Humph!” said Swinstead, when presently the two Seniors were left to themselves. “Number Two’s modest; Number One’s cocky.”

“Therefore,” said Birket, “Number Two will remain Number Two, and number One will remain Number One.”

“Right you are, most learned Plato! but I’m curious to see how Number One gets out of his friendly call on Cresswell. Think he’ll cheek it?”

“Yes; and we shan’t hear many particulars from him.”

Birket was right, as he very often was.

Dick, on waking, was a good deal perplexed, to find his friend absent, and when he heard the reason he was more than perplexed—he was vexed. It wasn’t right of Heathcote, or loyal, to take advantage of him in this way, and he should complain of it.

Meanwhile he had plenty to occupy his mind in endeavouring to recover his “baby’s” wardrobe, a quest which, as time went on and the chapel bell began to sound, came to be exciting.

However, just as he was about to go to the matron and represent to her the delicate position of affairs, a bundle was thrown in through the ventilator over the door, and fell into the middle of the dormitory floor. Where it came from there was no time to inquire.

Aspinall was hustled into his garments as quickly as possible, and then hustled down the stairs and into chapel just as the bell ceased ringing and the door began to close.

Heathcote was there among the other new boys, looking rather guilty, as well he might. The sight of him, with his dripping locks and clear shining face, interfered a good deal with Dick’s attention to the service—almost as much as did the buzz of talk all round him, the open disorder in the stalls opposite, and the look of undisguised horror on Aspinall’s face.

As Dick caught sight of that look his own conscience pricked him, and he made a vehement effort to recall his wandering mind and fix it on the words which were being read. He flushed as he saw boys opposite point his way and laugh, with hands clasped in mock devotion, and he felt angry with himself, and young Aspinall, and everybody, for laying him open to the imputation of being a prig.

He glanced again towards Heathcote. Heathcote was standing with his hands in his pockets looking about him. What business had Heathcote to look about him when he (Dick) was standing at attention? Why should Heathcote escape the jeers of mockers, while he (Dick) had to bear the brunt of them? It wasn’t fair. And yet he wasn’t going to put his hands in his pockets and look about him to give them the triumph of saying they laughed him into it. No!

So Dick stood steadily and reverently all the service, and was observed by not a few as one of the good ones of whom good things might be expected.

When chapel was over fate once more severed him from his chum, and deferred the explanation to which both were looking forward.

The matron kidnapped Master Richardson on his way into the house, in order to call his attention to a serious inconsistency between the number of his shirts in his portmanteau, and the number on the inventory accompanying them, an inconsistency which Dick was unable to throw any light on whatever, except that he supposed it must be a mistake, and it didn’t much matter.

It certainly mattered less than the fact that, owing to this delay, he had lost his seat next to Heathcote at breakfast, and had to take his place at the lowest table, where he could not even see his friend.

There was great joking during the meal about the escapade in the lobby last night, the general opinion being that it had been grand sport all round, and that it was lucky the monitors weren’t at home at the time.

“Beastly grind,” said one youngster—“all of them coming back to-day. A fellow can’t turn round but they interfere.”

“Are all the Sixth monitors?” asked Dick.

“Rather,” replied his neighbour, whom Dick discovered afterwards to be no other than Raggles, the hero of the “cargo,” whose fame he had heard the day before.

“What’s the name of the captain?”

“Oh, Ponty! He doesn’t hurt,” said the boy. “It’s beasts like Mansfield, and Cresswell, and that lot who come down on you.”

Dick would fain have inquired what sort of fellow Cresswell was, but he was too anxious not to let the affair of the whipper-in leak out, and refrained. He asked a few vague questions about the Sixth generally, and gathered from his companion that, with a very few exceptions, they were all “beasts” in school, that one or two of them were rather good at cricket, and swimming, and football, and that the monitorial system at Templeton, and at all other public schools, required revision. From which Dick argued shrewdly that Master Raggles sometimes got into rows.

By the time he had made this discovery the bell rang for first school, and there was a general movement to the door.

The two chums foregathered in the hall.

“Pity you weren’t up in time for a bathe,” said Heathcote, artfully securing the first word.

“I heard you went. Too much fag getting up so early. I mean to go down in the afternoon, when most of the fellows turn up.”

“Swinstead and Birket were there. I wish you’d been there.”

“Not worth the grind. You can come with me this afternoon, if you like. Some of the ‘sharks’ will be down as well.”

Heathcote began to discover he had done a foolish thing; and when he found his friend launching the “sharks” at his head in this familiar way he felt it was no use holding out any longer.

“It was awfully low of me not to call you this morning,” said he, “but you looked so fast asleep, you know.”

“So I was,” said Dick, unbending. “I’m glad you didn’t rout me up, for I was regularly fagged last night.”

“What time will you be going this afternoon?”

“Depends. I’ve got to see one of the Sixth as soon as he turns up, but that won’t take long.”

Heathcote retired routed. His friend was too many for him. He (Heathcote) had no one bigger than Swinstead and Birket to impress his friend with. Dick had “sharks,” and behind them “one of the Sixth.” What was the use of opposing himself to such odds?

“Wait for us, won’t you?” was all he could say; and next moment they were at their respective desks, and school had begun.

Dick’s quick ears caught the sound of cabs in the quadrangle and the noise of luggage in the hall while school was going on, and his mind became a little anxious as the prospect of his coming interview loomed nearer before him. He hoped Cresswell was a jolly fellow, and that there would be no one else in his study when he went to call upon him. He had carefully studied the geography of his fortress, so he knew exactly where to go without asking any one, which was a blessing.

As soon as class was over he made his way to the matron’s room.

“Do you know if Cresswell has come yet, please.”

“Yes, what do you want with him?”

“Oh! nothing,” said Dick dissembling, “I only wanted to know.”

And he removed himself promptly from the reach of further questions.

Little dreaming of the visit with which he was to be so shortly honoured, Cresswell, the fleetest foot and the steadiest head in Templeton, was complacently unpacking his goods and chattels in theprivacy of his own study. He wasn’t sorry to get back to Templeton, for he was fond of the old place, and the summer term was always the jolliest of the year. There was cricket coming on, and lawn tennis, and the long evening runs, and the early morning dips. And there was plenty of work ahead in the schools too, and the prospect of an exhibition at Midsummer, if only Freckleton gave him the chance.

Altogether the Sixth-form athlete was in a contented frame of mind, as he emptied his portmanteau and tossed his belongings into their respective quarters.

So intent was he on his occupation, that it was a full minute before he became aware of a small boy standing at his open door, and tapping modestly. As he looked up and met the eyes of the already doubtful Dick, both boys inwardly thought, “I rather like that fellow”—a conclusion which, as far as Dick was concerned, made it still more difficult for him to broach the subject of his mission.

Cresswell was still kneeling down, so it was impossible to form an opinion of his legs, but his arms and shoulders certainly did not look like those of a “snail.”

“What do you want, youngster?” said Cresswell.

“Oh,” said Dick, screwing himself up to the pitch, “Swinstead told me to come to you.”

“Oh,” said the other, in a tone of great interest, “what about?”

“About the—I mean—something about the—the Harriers,” said Dick, suddenly beginning to see things in a new light.

“About the Harriers?” said Cresswell, rising to his feet and lounging up against the mantel-piece, in order to take a good survey of his visitor. “What does Mr Swinstead want to know about the Harriers?”

The sight of the champion there, drawn up to his full height, with power and speed written on every turn of his figure, sent Dick’s mind jumping, at one bound, to the truth. What an ass he had been going to make of himself, and what a time he would have had if he hadn’t found out the trick in time! As it was, he could not help laughing at the idea of his own ridiculous position, and the narrow escape he had had.

“What are you grinning at?” said Cresswell sharply, not understanding the little burst of merriment in his presence.

Dick recovered himself, and said simply, “They’ve been trying to make a fool of me. I beg your pardon for bothering you.”

“Hold hard!” said Cresswell, as the boy was about to retreat. “It’s very likely they have made a fool of you—they’re used to hard work. But you’re not going to make a fool of me. Come in and tell me all about it.”

Dick coloured up crimson, and threw himself on the monitor’s mercy.

“You’ll think me such an ass,” said he, appealingly. “It’s really nothing.”

“I do think you an ass already,” said the senior, “so, out with it.”

Whereupon Dick, blushing deeply, told him the whole story in a way which quite captivated the listener by its artlessness.

“They said you were an awful muff, and couldn’t run any faster than a snail, you know,”—began he—“and as I had pulled off the new boys’ race, they said they’d make me Whipper-in of the Harriers instead of you, and told me to come and tell you so, and ask you togiveme the whip.”

Cresswell laughed in spite of himself.

“Do you really want it?” he asked.

“Not now, thank you.”

“I suppose you’d been swaggering after you’d won the race, and they wanted to take the conceit out of you?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And have they succeeded?”

“Well—yes,” said Dick. “I think they have.”

“Then, they’ve done you a very good turn, my boy, and you’ll be grateful to them some day. As for the whip, you can tell them if they’ll come here for it, I’ll give it to them with pleasure. There goes the dinner bell—cut off, or you’ll be late.”

“Thanks, Cresswell. I suppose,” said the boy, lingering a moment at the door, “you won’t be obliged to tell everybody about it?”

“You can do that better than I can,” said the Sixth-form boy, laughing.

And Dick felt, as he hurried down to Hall, that he was something more than well out of it. Instead of meeting the fate which his own conceit had prepared, he had secured a friend at court, who, something told him, would stand by him in the coming term. His self-esteem had had a fall, but his self-respect had had a decided lift; for he felt now that he went in and out under inspection, and that Cresswell’s good opinion was a distinction by all means to be coveted.

As a token of his improved frame of mind, he made frank confession of the whole story to Heathcote during dinner; and found his friend, as he knew he would be, brimful of sympathy and relief at his narrow escape.

Swinstead and Birket, as they watched their man from their distant table, were decidedly perplexed by his cheerful demeanour, and full of curiosity to learn the history of the interview.

They waylaid him casually in the court that afternoon.

“Well, have you settled it?” said Birket.

“Eh? Oh, yes, it’s all right,” replied Dick, rather enjoying himself.

“He made no difficulty about it, did he?”

“Not a bit. Jolly as possible.”

It was not often that two Fifth-form boys at Templeton felt uncomfortable in the presence of a new junior, but Swinstead and Birket certainly did feel a trifle disconcerted at the coolness of their young victim.

“You told him we sent you?”

“Rather. He was awfully obliged.”

“Was he? And did he give you the whip?”

“No, he hadn’t got it handy. But I told him he could give it to you two next time he met you—and he’s going to.”

And to the consternation of his patrons the new boy walked off, whistling sweetly to himself and watching attentively the flight of the rooks round the school tower.

“Old man, we shall have some trouble with Number One,” said Swinstead, laughing.

“Yes, we’ve caught a Tartar for once,” said Birket. “You and I may retire into private life for a bit, I fancy.”

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