("Euh! re—ah—lly!" murmured the listeners.)
The leetle window where the sunCame peeping in at mawn."
"Whose little son?" interrupted Dorris.
"Shut up!" cried the president.
"Well, I only wanted to know," said Dorris in an injured tone. "I should call it jolly good cheek of anybody's son to come peeping in through my bedroom window—"
"Shutup!" exclaimed Tinkleby. "Go on, Bos."
"He never came a wink too soon,Nor brought too long a day;But now"—
continued the reciter with a great amount of pathos,
—"I often wish the nightHad bawn my breath away!"
"So do I," mumbled Paterson. "Let's have another song."
"I remembah, I remembah,The roses, red and white—"
"Go on, Bossy," ejaculated the irrepressible Dorris; "you don't remember it at all, you're simply making it up as you go along."
A general disturbance followed this last interruption—the audience laughed, the president vainly endeavoured to restore order, and Boswell-Jones sat down in a rage, and refused to continue his oration.
"A song, a song!" cried several voices. "Jack Fenleigh, you know something; come on, let's have it."
Jack had a good voice, and with Mead extracting fearful groans and growls out of the harmonium, he started off on the first verse of "The Mermaid," a song which he was destined in after years to sing under strangely different circumstances:—
"Oh, 'twas in the broad Atlantic, 'mid the equinoctial gales,That a gay young tar fell overboard, among the sharks and whales;And down he went like a streak of light, so quickly down went he,Until he came to a mermaid at the bottom of the deep blue sea."
Then the audience took up the chorus, and yelled,—
"Rule, Britannia! Bri—tann—ia rules the waves!And Bri—tons never, never, ne—ver shall beMar—ri—ed to a mer—mai—edAt the bottom of the deep blue sea!"
The song was received with great enthusiasm, and the performers might have been kept repeating the last chorus until break of day on the following morning, it Tinkleby had not suddenly jumped up, crying, "I say, you chaps, it's five-and-twenty past seven. We shall be late for lock-up."
Every one sprang to his feet. Dorris was the first to reach the door, and being of a playful disposition caught up a bundle of coats and blazers and bolted with them under his arm. A moment later certain of the peaceful citizens of Melchester were astonished at the sight of a dozen or more young gentlemen tearing madly down the street in their shirt-sleeves. And so ended the third annual supper of the Fifth Form Literary Society.
"He felt for them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious ... but wished to be as lovely as they."—The Ugly Duckling.
"It is jolly to be here at Brenlands again," said Jack, as he sat dangling his legs from the kitchen table, and munching one of the sweet pods of the peas which his aunt was shelling. "I've been looking forward to it ever since last summer."
"Yes, and a pretty fuss I had to get you to accept my first invitation," answered Queen Mab; "I thought you were never going to condescend to favour us with your company. However, I've got you all here again, and itisjolly; and what's more, you managed to turn up at the proper time yesterday instead of coming half a day late, as you did last year, you rascal!"
The boy laughed. "Oh, well! you may put that down to Val," he answered. "He's quite taken me in hand lately, and has been in an awful funk for fear I should get into another row just before the holidays. You know those penny toys you get with a little thing like a pair of bellows under them that squeaks—well, I got a bird the other day and pulled off the stand, and stuck it in my shoe so that I could make a noise with it when I walked. Whenever I moved about in class, old Ward used to beseech me with tears in his eyes to wear another pair of boots. I used to come squeaking into assemblies a bit late on purpose, and send all the fellows into fits. It was a fearful joke; but poor old Val got quite huffy about it, and kept saying I should be found out, and that there was no sense in my 'monkey tricks,' as he called them."
"So they are," answered Queen Mab, smiling in spite of herself. "I should have thought you were old enough to find some more sensible amusement than putting pieces of penny toys in your boots. You may laugh at Valentine if you like, but I can tell you this, he's very fond of you, and that's the reason why he doesn't like to see you in trouble."
"I know he is," returned the boy briskly. "He's a brick; and I like him better than any other chap in the school."
Queen Mab went on shelling her peas, and Jack remained perched on the end of the table, quite content to continue watching her nimble fingers and sweet, restful face. It certainly was jolly to be back again at Brenlands. He was no longer the ugly duckling; Helen and Barbara were like sisters, and he got on with them swimmingly; all kinds of splendid projects were on the carpet, and there were plenty of long summer days to look forward to in which to carry them out. To be a careless dog of a schoolboy, ready for anything in the way of larks and excitement, and paying precious little attention to one's books or conduct record, might be a fascinating sort of existence; yet somehow it was not altogether unpleasant, once in a way, to become for a time a member of a more civilized and refined society, where gentler treatment encouraged gentler manners, where hearts were thought of as well as heads, where there was no black list, and where no one would have made a boast of being on it, had such a thing existed.
This year the mimic war operations were of a more advanced kind than had ever been attempted before. A fortress built of clay and pebbles was mined and blown up; and there still being some powder left, Jack successfully performed the feat of blowing himself up, and in doing so sustained the loss of an eyebrow. In order that this catastrophe should not alarm Queen Mab, the missing hair was replaced by burnt cork; but Jack, forgetting what had happened, sponged his face and rushed down to tea, where Barbara, after regarding him for a few moments in silence, leaned across the table and remarked, with a wise shake of her head, "Yes, I see—you've been shaving."
But what proved a source of endless delight to the two boys was an old, military bell-tent which Queen Mab had bought for their special use and amusement. They pitched it on a corner of the lawn, and were always repairing thither to read, and talk, and hold councils of war. It was delightful to speculate as to what doughty warriors might have been sheltered beneath it; and to imagine that sundry small rents and patches must be the result of the enemy's fire, and not due to the wear and tear of ordinary encampments.
Not satisfied with living in it by day, they determined to pass a night there also, and would not rest content until their aunt had given them permission to try the experiment.
"All we want," said Valentine, "is a mackintosh to spread on the ground, and a few rugs and sofa cushions, and a candle and a box of matches."
"Very well, you can have plenty of those," answered Queen Mab; "perhaps some day you won't be so well off, Valentine."
She spoke lightly enough, and with no foreshadowing of a visionary picture, often to haunt her mind in the days to come, of men lying silently under a clear, starlit sky, with belts on, rifles by their sides, and bayonets ready fixed.
The two boys prepared to put their project into immediate execution; and in connection with this their first but by no means last experience of a night under canvas, they were destined to fall in with a little adventure which must be recorded.
Shortly before the commencement of the holidays a lot of strawberries had been stolen from the garden, and Queen Mab feared lest a similar fate should overtake a fine show of pears which were just getting ripe.
"Well, good-night," she said, as she prepared to close the door on the two adventurers; "if you're cold, and want to come in, throw some pebbles up at my window."
"Oh, we shan't want to come in," answered Jack stoutly. "If you hear any one coming to steal the fruit, you shout, 'Guard turn out!' and we'll nab 'em."
The boys settled down like old campaigners. "Awful joke, isn't it?" said Jack.
"Yes, prime!" answered Valentine; "soldiering must be jolly."
Half an hour passed.
"I say," murmured Valentine, "this ground seems precious hard!"
"Yes," answered his companion. "I've tried lying on it every way, and I believe my bones are coming through my skin."
A long pause, and then, "I say, don't you think it's nearly morning?"
"Oh, no! the church clock has only just struck one."
The darkness seemed to lengthen out into that of a polar winter instead of a single night. At length the canvas walls began to grow grey with dawn, and Jack awoke with a shiver, wondering whether he had really been asleep or not.
"It's beastly cold," he muttered.
"Yes," answered Valentine. "I thought it was never going to get light. Look here, I'm determined Iwillsleep! What's the good of my being a soldier if I can't sleep in a tent?"
He turned over on his face, and had just dropped off into a doze, when he was awakened by Jack, who had reached over and was shaking his arm.
"I say—Val—who was that?"
"Who's what?" was the drowsy answer.
"Why! didn't you hear? Some one just walked down the path. It can't be Jakes; it isn't five o'clock."
Valentine rubbed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then suddenly sat up broad awake.
"The pears!" he whispered.
Both boys sprang up, unlaced the door of the tent, and sallied forth in the direction of the fruit garden.
"Don't make a row; walk on the grass border. Hist! there he is!"
There he was, sure enough; a boy about their own age, calmly picking pears and dropping them into a basket. Jack and Valentine slowly crept down by the side of the raspberry bushes, like Indians on a war-trail.
"Now then!" murmured the former, "charge!"
The thief jumped as if a gun had been fired off behind him, and started to run, but before he could reach the path he was fairly collared. He struggled violently, and then commenced to kick, whereupon his arm was suddenly twisted behind his back, a style of putting on the curb-rein with which fractious small boys will be well acquainted.
"Woa! steady now, 'oss!" said Jack facetiously. "Keep your feet quiet, or I shall put the screw on a bit tighter. Now then, what shall we do with him?"
"Put him into the tool shed," answered Valentine.
The culprit, finding himself fairly mastered, became more docile. His captors, however, turned a deaf ear to his pleadings to be let go; and thrusting him into the little outhouse, turned the key in the lock, and then began to wonder what they should do next.
"Well," said Jack, "we've got a prisoner of war now, and no mistake. What shall we do with the beggar? go for a policeman?"
"No, we don't want to get the chap sent to prison."
"If we tell Aunt Mab she'll let him go, and he ought to be punished."
"Of course he does—young villain! It's like his cheek coming here and bagging all the fruit."
"I have it!" said Jack, suddenly struck with a bright idea. "We'll lick him!"
Valentine hesitated. "I don't like setting on a chap two against one," he answered. "I don't mind a stand-up fight."
"Well, that's what I mean," answered Jack joyously. "Look here!" he continued, hammering on the door of the shed—"look here, you inside there! I'm going to punch your head for stealing those pears. If you like to come out I'll fight you, and then you can go; if not, you can stay where you are. Will you come?"
"Yes," answered the prisoner sullenly.
Twenty years ago a fight was not quite such a rare occurrence at Melchester School as it would be to-day. Jack threw off his coat with alacrity.
"Now, Val, you watch; and if the beggar tries to bolt, you leg him down."
With a dogged look the stranger took up his ground, and on the signal being given for the commencement of hostilities, lowered his head, and made a wild rush at his antagonist. The latter stepped aside, and greeted him with a smart cuff on the side of the head. Once more the visitor came on like a runaway windmill, but this time Jack walked backward and refused the encounter.
"Oh, look here," he cried, in an injured tone, "can't you do any better than that? Can't you stand up and hit straight? Don't you know how to box?"
"No."
"Well, what's the good of saying you'll come out and fight? What's your name?"
"Joe Crouch."
"Well then, Joseph, you'd better take your hook. There's your old basket, only just leave those pears behind; and don't come here again, or we'll set the bobby on your track."
Crouch marched off, evidently astonished at finding himself at liberty to depart. When he reached the gate, he turned, and touched his cap. "Morning, gen'lemen," he said, and so disappeared. Valentine laughed, and regarded his cousin with a queer look in his face.
"You are a rum fellow, Jack; you're always wanting to fight somebody. When you get two fellows against you like Garston and Rosher, you go at it like a tiger; and then another time, just because you get hold of a chap who can't knock you down, you back out and make peace."
"Well," answered the other, "there's no sport in licking a chap like that. I'll tell you what, I'm frightfully hungry."
The two adventurers had plenty to tell at breakfast that morning, and the interest in their capture lasted throughout the day. In the evening the young folks went out a favourite walk through the lanes and fields. Valentine and Barbara were running races on the way home; but Jack lingered behind with Helen, who was gathering ferns.
"Let me carry your basket," he said.
"Oh, don't you trouble; you'd rather run on with Val and Barbara."
"I expect you don't want me. I know you think I've got no manners, and in that you're about right."
"No, I don't think anything of the kind," said Helen, laughing. "I shall be very glad if you will carry the basket, because I want to talk to you."
"Now for a lecture," said Jack to himself.—"All right, fire away!"
"Well," began the girl, looking round at him with a twinkle in her eye, "I want to know why you didn't set Val on to fight that boy this morning, instead of offering to do it yourself."
"Oh, I don't know! It was my own idea; besides, I'm bigger and stronger."
"You mean you did it so that Val shouldn't get hurt, in the same way that you grappled with those three fellows who were ill-treating him at school."
"Pooh! he didn't tell you that, did he? He always lets you know all the bothers I get into. You'll think I do nothing but fight and kick up rows; and," added the speaker, with a pathetic look of injured innocence, "I've been behaving jolly well lately."
"I think you're a dear, good fellow for defending Val," said Helen warmly, "and I've been wanting to thank you ever since."
"It was nothing. 'Twasn't half as much as he did for me when he climbed that tree and freed my bootlace. I wish he wouldn't go telling you everything that happens at school."
"You were saying a day or so ago," said the girl, slyly, "that you didn't care for anybody, or for what people thought of you."
"Yes, I do," answered the ugly duckling; "I care a lot what you folks think of me at Brenlands."
"Why?"
"Why, because you're all better than I am, and yet you never try to make me feel it; but I do all the same. And I love you three and Queen Mab; and I love the place; and I should like to live here always. But outside of that," he added quickly, "I don't care a button for anything."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."
"But it's a fact."
"You mean," she answered gently, "that you've said it so often that at last you're beginning to believe it's true."
A few mornings later, when the boys came down to breakfast, they were surprised, on looking out of the window, to see no less a personage than Joe Crouch weeding the garden path.
"I found he was out of work, and his parents wretchedly poor," said Queen Mab; "so I said he might come and help Jakes by doing a few odd jobs. You know the old maxim," she added, smiling—"the beet way to subdue an enemy is to turn him into a friend."
The two boys took considerable interest in Crouch, regarding him as their own particular protégé. Joe, for his part, seemed to remember their early morning encounter with gratitude, as having been the means of landing him in his present situation. He had apparently a great amount of respect for Jack, and seeing the latter cutting sticks with a blunt knife, asked leave to take it home with him, and brought it back next day with the blades shining like silver, and as sharp as razors.
One afternoon, when the boys were lying reading in the tent, Barbara suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and stamping her foot, cried, "Bother!"
"What's up with you, Bar?"
"Why, that wretched Raymond Fosberton is in the house talking to Aunt Mab. He's walked over from Grenford; and he is going to stay the night."
Valentine groaned, and Jack administered a kick to an unoffending camp-stool.
"What does he want to come here for, I wonder?" continued Barbara. "Silly monkey! you should just see him in his white waistcoat and shiny boots—faugh!" And she choked with wrath.
Raymond's presence certainly did not contribute very much to the happiness of the party. He monopolized the conversation at tea-time, was very high and mighty in his manner, and patronized everybody in turn. He lost his temper playing croquet, and broke one of the mallets; and later on in the evening he cheated at "word-making," and because he failed to win, pronounced it a "stupid game, only fit for kids."
In Barbara, however, he found his match. She cared not two straws for all the Fosbertons alive or dead; and when the visitor, who had been teasing her for some time, went so far as to pull her hair, she promptly dealt him a vigorous box on the ear, a proceeding which so delighted the warlike Jack that he chuckled till bed-time.
Every one felt relieved when it came to tea-time on the following day. Raymond had announced his intention of walking home in the cool of the evening, and Queen Mab proposed that his cousins should accompany him part of the way.
They had walked about a mile, Jack and Helen being a little in advance of the others, when the girl caught hold of her cousin's arm.
"Oh, look!" she said, "there's a man coming who's drunk."
"Never mind," answered Jack stoutly; "he won't interfere with us."
The man, who had reeled into the hedge, suddenly staggered back into the middle of the road, and stood there barring the way.
"'Ello! Misser Fenleigh," he began, "'ow're you to-night, sir?"
Jack stared at the speaker in astonishment, and then recognized him as the same man who had spoken to them in Melchester.
"Look here!" he said hotly. "I've told you twice I don't know you. You just stand clear and let us pass."
By this time the remainder of the party had come up.
"Why, 'ere's Misser Fosbe'ton," continued the man, with a tipsy leer. "Now I jus' ask you, sir, if these two gen'lemen don't owe me some money for a drink."
Raymond's face flushed crimson, and then turned white.
"You've had too much already, Hanks," he said sharply; "just shut up, and stand out of the road."
"Oh, no offence!" muttered the man, staggering aside to let the cousins pass; "'nother time'll do jus' the same."
"Look here, Raymond, who is that fellow?" asked Valentine, as soon as they had got out of earshot of the stranger, "Twice he's come up to us in the street at Melchester, saying he knows us, and wanting money; and the last time, old Westford saw us talking to him, and we got into a beastly row, and were gated for a fortnight. Who is he?"
"Oh, he's a lazy blackguard called Ned Hanks; he's always poaching and getting drunk. He never does any work, except now and then he collects rags and bones, and sells them in Melchester."
"How does he know you?"
"He lives close to Grenford, and every one knows me there."
"But how does he knowus?"
"I can't say. Haven't you ever seen him at Brenlands?"
"No, never."
"Well, I suppose he must have found out your name somehow; and he's always cadging for money for a drink. Don't you trouble to come any further. By-the-bye, next year I'm going to set up in diggings at Melchester. I shall be articled to a solicitor there; and if you fellows are still at the school, we might go out together."
"Confound that man!" said Jack, on the following morning; "I should like to find out who he is, and why he always speaks to us. I wonder if Crouch knows anything about him."
Joe Crouch was questioned, and admitted that he knew the man Hanks well by sight, and had sometimes spoken to him.
Jack explained the reason of his inquiry. "The fellow's got us into one row already. Why should he always be bothering us for money?"
Joe Crouch stood thoughtfully scratching his head for a moment with the point of the grass clippers.
"I dunno, sir," he answered; "but maybe I might find out."
"'Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something? But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable.'"—The Ugly Duckling.
At the commencement of the winter term, in addition to being in the same class and dormitory, the two cousins were thrown still more together by occupying adjoining desks in the big schoolroom.
"Now I shall be able to keep an eye on you," said Valentine, "and see that you do some work."
"Shall you?"
"Yes; Helen gave me special instructions that I was to make you behave yourself. This is my last year; and the guv'nor says if I do well I shall go on then to an army coach to work up for Sandhurst."
"Well, I suppose I must behave myself, if it's Helen's orders," said Jack, laughing. "I wish I knew what I was going to do when I leave this place. I only wish I was going into the army like you. Some fine day I think I shall enlist."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't. What d'you think Queen Mab would say when she heard about it?"
"But she wouldn't hear about it," returned the other, with a touch of his restless discontent. "No one would hear about it. I should call myself Jones, or something of that sort. It would be a happier life than that I live at home; and what the guv'nor thinks he's going to do with me, I'm sure I don't know."
Valentine certainly did his best to follow out his sister's instructions, and keep Master Jack out of hot water. The latter seemed to have become a trifle more tractable; perhaps, finding other people were interested in him, he was led to take more interest in himself. At all events, his conduct underwent a considerable change for the better, and his name no longer appeared on every page of the defaulters' book.
Football was now on, a sport which he specially enjoyed. In addition to this, Garston and Teal had left, and Rosher, who had now joined the Fifth, seemed to be increasing in wisdom as well as in stature, and no longer sought the bubble reputation in official visits to the headmaster's study. In short, Jack had improved with his surroundings. He and Valentine, in addition to their fretwork, had taken up carpentry; and on wet afternoons, when idle hands were steeped in mischief, they were always to be found in the shed which had been set apart for the boys to use as a sort of workshop. As far as the Fifth Form was concerned, only one incident happened to relieve the monotony of a somewhat uneventful term; and as one of our heroes was largely responsible for what took place, an account of the episode may as well be included in our story.
Jack, it should be said, was not to blame for what happened in the first place, his and Preston's share in the business was, as it were, only the effect arising from a primary cause; and for this, the real root of the matter, Tinkleby was solely responsible.
"Look here," said Tinkleby, "those fellows in the Sixth are running that debating show of theirs, and they get let off 'prep.' every Saturday night; wherefore I vote we join."
"They wouldn't have us," answered Dorris; "they won't allow any one to join if they are lower in the school than Sixth or Remove."
"Ah!" answered Tinkleby, adjusting his nippers, "but, don't you see, I should do it in this way—I should propose that our society be amalgamated with theirs."
"What society?" asked Preston the bowler.
"Why, the Fifth Form Literary Society, you blockhead!"
Preston and Dorris both exploded.
"You seem to think," continued Tinkleby, with a cynical smile, "that the only use for our society is to provide us with an excuse for having a feed once a year at 'Duster's;' but let me remind you, sir, that its main object, according to the original rules, was the cultivation of a taste for literary pursuits among its members."
"Yes," added Dorris, "and so you want to get off Saturday 'prep.' Fire away, Tinky, I'm with you."
That very afternoon Tinkleby addressed a large, square envelope to
S. R. HENINGSON, Esq.,Hon. Sec. Melchester School Debating Society.
and having sealed it with an old military button, dropped it into the letter-box, a proceeding more in keeping with the importance of the communication than if he had delivered it by hand. The honorary secretary went one higher—he sent his reply by post. It was polite, and to the point. The committee of the debating society did not see their way to extend the limit of the rule relating to membership. They would be pleased to admit any of the Fifth Form who could obtain permission to attend the meetings, but they would not be entitled to vote, or to take any active part in the proceedings.
Tinkleby was incensed at this cool reception of his proposal, and harangued his comrades during a temporary absence of Mr. Ward from the classroom.
"They think such a confounded lot of themselves, with their miserable essays and dry debates. I'll bet we could stand up and spout as well as they can, on any subject you like to mention, from cribbing to astronomy."
"Of course we could," answered Boswell-Jones, who had prepared a paper entitled, "An Hour with the Poets," into which he had introduced all his favourite recitations, and which he longed to fire off at something in the shape of an audience—"of course we could; it's all that conceited beast Heningson. He thinks he's an orator—great ass!"
"Well, look here," said Tinkleby, fixing his nippers with an air of resolution and defiance, "Heningson's going to open a debate next Saturday. The subject is: 'That this house is of opinion that the moral and physical condition of mankind is in a state of retrogression.' We'll go and hear it. Ward'll let us do our 'prep.' in the afternoon. I've got a little plan in my head, and we'll take a rise out of these gentlemen."
The Melchester School Debating Society, as we have already mentioned, was established for the benefit of the senior boys, who held their meetings every Saturday night during the winter and Easter terms in what was known as the drawing classroom. It was conducted in a very solemn and serious manner. Redbrook, the head of the school, took the chair; while on the table before him, as a sign of his office and authority, a small hand-bell was placed, which he was supposed to ring when, in the heat and excitement of debate, members so far forgot themselves as to need a gentle reminder of the rule relating to silence. As a matter of fact, the chairman seldom, if ever, had any need to use this instrument, though on one occasion some wag removed it before the proceedings commenced, and substituted in its place the huge railway-bell used by Mullins, the school-porter; a jest which greatly incensed the grave and dignified assembly on whom it was practised. There was a proper mahogany ballot-box. The subjects for discussion always began, "That this house, etc.," and the secretary entered in a book exhaustive minutes of every meeting, which the chairman signed with a quill pen. These details are given in order that the reader may understand the character of the society in question, and be therefore in a better position to pass judgment on the outrageous behaviour of certain gentlemen whose conduct will shortly be described.
On the following Saturday evening, in answer to the formal invitation which they had received, Tinkleby and his friends filed into the room, looking very good and demure, and occupied the desk against the end wall, which they entered as though it had been a pew in church. The usual preliminaries were gone through, and the chairman called on "our worthy friend the secretary" to open the debate by moving, "That this house is of opinion that the moral and physical condition of mankind is in a state of retrogression."
For a time all went well. The visitors sat as mute as mummies, and the opener sought to justify his proposition by launching out into an impassioned discourse, which seemed rather inclined to resolve itself into a brief history of the world, and which the critical Tinkleby afterwards described as containing "more wind than argument." Touching briefly on the statements of the Hebrew chroniclers, Heningson proceeded with a wordy exposition of the manners and customs of ancient Greece, and from this stumbled rather abruptly into the rise of the Roman empire. Drawing a fancy and perhaps rather flattering portrait of one of the world-conquering legionaries, the speaker thought fit to compare it with that of a latter-day Italian organ-grinder who often visited the school, and who had recently been had up for being drunk and disorderly in the streets of Melchester.
"Gentlemen," exclaimed the orator earnestly, pointing accidentally at the chairman, but meaning to indicate the unfortunate musician, "isthisthe culmination of a race of gods? this inebriate, undersized—"
At this point the discourse was suddenly interrupted by a loud and prolonged snore. Heningson hesitated, and glanced up from his notes with a look of annoyance. He was about to proceed when a chorus of snores in every imaginable pitch and key effectively checked his utterance. With an indignant "Sh—s-h!" the audience turned in their seats to witness the following astonishing spectacle. At the back of the room every one of the half-dozen visitors sat, or rather sprawled, with his head upon the desk, in an attitude suggestive of the soundest slumber; the only variation in position being on the part of Jack Fenleigh, who lay back with a handkerchief thrown over his face like an old gentleman taking his after-dinner nap. The nasal concert continued, and the chairman smote his hand-bell.
"Firs' bell," murmured Tinkleby drowsily, "stop working;" while Dorris became suddenly afflicted with a catch in his breath which caused a succession of terrific snorts, each of which nearly cracked the windows.
"Here, stop that noise!" cried Redbrook, springing to his feet in great wrath. "Wake 'em up, somebody!"
An obliging member caught Tinkleby by the arm, and gave him a prodigious shake.
"Shur up," growled that gentleman. "Give me back my pillow, 'tisn't time to ger up. Hallo! have I been asleep? I'm beastly sorry."
One by one the other occupants of the visitors' gallery were made to understand that they were not in their beds. Jack Fenleigh, however, absolutely refused to return from the land of dreams. He was shaken, pinched, and pommelled, but all to no purpose; his snores only became louder, and the style more fantastic.
Meanwhile a heated altercation was going on between the chairman and the president of the Fifth Form Literary Society.
"Look here, Tinkleby, we don't want any more of your silly foolery, so just stop it."
"My dear sir, I'm doing nothing."
"Well, why did you begin?"
"If you mean my having dropped off to sleep, I'm very sorry; but really there's something in the air of the place—"
"Haw-r-r-r-r-ratch," interposed Jack Fenleigh. Redbrook rose from his chair, boiling with wrath.
"Just clear out!" he cried. "Go on—all the lot of you!" The visitors demurred, but being outnumbered three to one, they were seized and hustled unceremoniously out of the room. In the midst of all this commotion, however, Fenleigh J., still continued in an unbroken slumber, and was distinctly heard snoring louder than ever as his companions dragged him off down the passage.
"The visitors were seized, and hustled unceremoniously out of the room.""The visitors were seized, and hustled unceremoniously out of the room."
"The visitors were seized, and hustled unceremoniously out of the room.""The visitors were seized, and hustled unceremoniously out of the room."
For the time being this little joke gave rise to a rather strained relationship between the members of the Sixth and Fifth Forms. Tinkleby and his comrades were designated a set of rowdy jackasses; and they replied to the compliment by declaring that a fraternity of live donkeys was better than a collection of stuffed owls, and advising Heningson to patent his discourse as an infallible cure for insomnia. Cutting allusions to the "Literary Society" and sarcastic retorts were exchanged in the corridors and playing-field; and so the feud continued.
All his classmates were charmed with Jack's share in the performance.
"You wait," was his invariable answer to their congratulations; "I'll take a better rise out of them before long."
For a time this boast was not considered to imply any definite intention on the speaker's part to play any further pranks on the members of the debating society; but at length a rumour got abroad that somethingwasgoing to happen. Fenleigh J. and Preston had been seen more than once taking counsel together in out-of-the-way corners, and exchanging mysterious nods and winks. They were known to have spent the free time between "prep." and supper, on two consecutive evenings, alone together in the workshop, with the door locked. A great deal of hammering went on, but no one could find out what they were making. When questioned on the subject, they professed a lamb-like state of innocence; and even Tinkleby himself could give no explanation of their conduct. A fortnight after the delivery of Heningson's essay, the debating society held an important meeting, the announcement of which, posted the previous evening on the notice-board, was worded as follows:—
M. S. D. S.Saturday, November ...th.DEBATE.
"That this house approves of the settlement of all international disputes by arbitration instead of war,"
Aff., Mr. N. J. CARTER.Neg., Mr. SHEPHERD.
The members turned up in force, for this time the openers of the discussion were the two leading lights of the society, and the contest between them was certain to prove an intellectual treat which ought not to be missed. Carter's style of oratory was of the impassioned order; he thumped on the desk, and went through the "extension motions," with the exception of that awful movement where you bend double and try to touch your toes. It was rumoured that he wrote deep, unintelligible poetry that did not rhyme; and if the school rules had not forbidden the practice, he would have worn long hair and a fly-away necktie. Shepherd, on the other hand, went in for logic, unadorned by any movements suggestive of setting-up drill. His style bore a suspicious resemblance to that of Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P. He stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and pushed forward that portion of his body which it would have been unfair to strike at in a fight. It would be impossible to give here anything like a detailed report of the proceedings. From the moment when the chairman rose to introduce the first speaker, every one felt that the meeting would be one of unusual interest; and in one sense they were certainly destined not to be disappointed. Carter was in great form; he dealt the desk such terrific blows that the ink spurted out of the ink-pots, and ran down on to the secretary's breeches. War, he declared, was legalized murder, and the soldier little better than a hired assassin. Napoleon Bonaparte was far more roughly handled than at Leipsic or Waterloo; and a long list of conquerors, ranging back to Alexander the Great, were, figuratively speaking, torn from their graves and hung in chains. At length, having dwelt on the enormous cost of standing armies, and other more practical aspects of the subject, the speaker concluded with a vivid picture of the horrors of a battlefield, and was in the act of quoting a verse of poetry, when he was suddenly silenced by an unlooked-for interruption.
"The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,The—"
Bang!
Every one started; something like a miniature representation of the "bursting shell" had just exploded in the neighbourhood of the blackboard. A boy sitting close by stooped down and picked up from the floor a small fragment of burnt tissue-paper.
"Who threw that?" he exclaimed.
"What is it?" asked the chairman.
"Why, one of those 'throw-downs.'"
Redbrook glanced round the room in angry astonishment.
"Look here," he said sharply, "I don't know who did it, but if any of you have come to play the fool, you'd better leave the room at once, for we aren't going to have any more nonsense like we had the other night."
The audience turned in their seats, and stared at one another in amazement. Most of my readers will probably have some practical knowledge of the small, round paper pellets known as "throw-downs," which explode when flung against anything; and it was difficult to imagine that any member of the select and decorous Melchester School Debating Society would cause an interruption by flinging such things about in the middle of an important discussion.
"Go on, Carter," said the chairman.
"Shan't!" returned the other, snappishly. "I've finished."
Shepherd was now called upon to open on the side of the negative.
"War," he began, assuming his accustomed attitude, and beaming round on his listeners with a very good imitation of the Powler smile—"war is like surgery. When drugs are of no avail, we are often forced to resort to the use of the knife, and so—"
Another mimic bomb exploded in the very centre of the speaker's waistcoat, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. Redbrook sprang to his feet in a towering rage, and as he did so another projectile burst on the open pages of the minute book.
"Who threw those things? I will find out!"
A babel of voices rose in reply. No one had done it. The door was shut, the windows were fastened, a hasty search was made in the cupboards and under the back desks, in the hope of discovering a lurking enemy; but even while the search was in progress another missile went off under the secretary's chair.
"Who is it?" shouted Redbrook. "Where do they come from?"
"That seemed to fall from the ceiling," answered Heningson; "yes—look there!"
Above the hanging gas-jet in the centre of the room was an ornamental iron grating, between the apertures of which there now appeared about an inch and a half of brass tube, like the end of a big peashooter. A moment later there was a prodigious puff, and four "throw-downs" exploded with a simultaneous crash in the centre of the chairman's table.
"There's some one up on the roof!" cried several voices.—"Stop it, you villain!"
"How could any one get there?"
"There's a trap-door at the end of the passage," exclaimed Shepherd. "Quick! we shall cut him off."
A rush was made for the door, but it refused to open; some one had evidently blocked the exit from the outside, by placing a short form lengthways across the passage. The drawing classroom formed part of a one-storied building which bounded one side of the school quadrangle. Finding the door closed, Shepherd dashed to the nearest window, and flinging it open dropped out on to the gravel, an example which was speedily followed by the chairman and several members of the audience. Breathing out all manner of threats, they ran round through the nearest door and gained the entrance to the passage. The trap-door in the ceiling was wide open, and communicating with it was a curious, home-made ladder, consisting of an old post, with half a dozen rough cross pieces fastened to it with stout nails. A candle end was lying on the floor, and with its aid Shepherd climbed up and explored the roof; but the bird had flown.
After such an interruption it was no use attempting to continue the debate, and Redbrook and his companions spent the remainder of the evening trying to discover the authors of this outrage.
The culprits, however, had made good their escape; no one remembered having seen the ladder before, and it was impossible to say to whom it belonged. The members of the debating society were clearly outwitted; and not wishing to make the story of their discomfiture too public, they determined for the present to let the matter drop, at the same time announcing their intention of taking dire vengeance on any irreverent jokers who should rashly attempt to disturb their meetings in future. Two days later, Valentine was sitting at his desk reading, when he was joined by his cousin.
"I borrowed your brass ruler the other afternoon," said the latter, producing something from under his coat.
"Yes, I know all about it, you villain!"
"I only used it as a sort of pea-shooter."
"Oh, I've heard all about your little game; Preston told me."
Jack tried to look innocent, and then laughed.
"It's no use, Val, old chap, you'll never make a good boy of me. It's the old story of the silk purse and the sow's ear."
Valentine laughed too.
"I'm afraid I never shall," he answered. "The joke is that you're always ready to bring the whole place about your ears with some mad prank, and then when a cartload of bricks does fall on your head, you say, 'It's just your luck, and that—'"
"A collection will be taken at the door in aid of the poor fund at the close of the present service," interrupted the other. "Good-bye—I'm off!"
He moved away a step or two, then came softly back, and began to rumple his cousin's hair; whereupon an exciting struggle ensued, which brought them both down on to the floor, and ended with the edifying spectacle of the preacher sitting flushed and triumphant on the congregation's chest.