CHAPTER VIII."DID I SAVE HIM?"When Dick Boden ran from the Fort and raised the alarm, he waited till his companions made their appearance; then, expecting they would all follow, he dashed off across the stone bridge. In his opinion, as he afterwards said, the worst that could happen for any one was a few hours' imprisonment in the old tower.No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed that Braithwaite had stopped."Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and they all began to shout."What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along.""Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay."Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim will have to stay in the Fort."As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon and Spencer ran down the beach."Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.—Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a match. Are the oars there? Right you are!—Now—one, two, three, and all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with you!—Give me an oar, Spencer.—You steer, Tommy—straight for Braithwaite.""No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming back. We should never reach there in a straight course.""All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't mind as long as he's saved."The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's Hartland going for him!—Well done, Jim!—Pull, you fellows!"They tugged away desperately, but suddenly a piercing shriek startled them, and they knew that Braithwaite was fighting for life in the water.Dick groaned, and pulled till it seemed as if his arms must come out."They'll both be lost!" he cried, knowing well that Jim would not hesitate a second in jumping to the rescue."There are some men on the shore," said Spencer; "they're getting out another boat.""Too late!" muttered Dick gloomily. "Listen! There's Jim calling for help. Shout back. Now again, and all together."The sweat poured down their faces, their muscles ached terribly, their throats were dry and parched, but they pulled on without a second's pause.Again the cry for help rang out, this time much nearer, and soon they discerned a dark object in the water."Keep her steady!" roared Spencer. "Grab the other fellow, Dick!" And he himself caught Jim, and pulled him up so that he partly rested on the gunwale.The whole manoeuvre was full of danger, but they were taking risks that night. By degrees, Spencer, who was fortunately strong as a horse, managed to pull Jim into the boat, and then helped to drag in Braithwaite, who displayed no sign of life."Let's put our coats over them, and that dry sail in the corner," said Dick. "Now, a pull for the shore. Keep her head straight, Tommy!"News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets."Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon were doing the same for Braithwaite."That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead, so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling sure in his mind that Jim was dead.Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!""Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth."Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by, where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders."Now," said that gentleman, "there's nothing but a few hours' sleep required. Let this youngster stay in the room. I'm going to see how the other poor boy's getting on."So Dick sat beside the bed on which his friend lay, and wondered what was happening on the beach. After a time Jim stirred uneasily, opened his eyes, and recognized his chum."Dick!" he whispered faintly."Don't try to talk, old chap. It's all right. Go to sleep."There was an uneasy look in Jim's eyes, and his forehead puckered up as if he were in thought. Then he said in a whisper, "Did I save him?"Jim had asked a question difficult to answer, but his chum thought it best to soothe him."Yes," said he; "you kept him afloat till the boat came up. Now go to sleep—there's a good chap—or I shan't be allowed to stay with you."Jim's lips moved as if in speech, but no words passed them, and in a short time he was fast asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face.Meantime, news of the accident had reached Mrs. Hartland, who, getting a neighbour to stay with Susie, hurried to the hotel, where she was permitted to go into the boy's room to satisfy herself that he was really alive."I'm going to stay with him," said Dick, following her to the door, "and the doctor says there's no need at all to worry. Does Susie know?""Yes; I couldn't keep it from her. How did it happen?"Dick told the story briefly, and then, promising to bring Jim home in the morning, he returned to the room. An hour later the doctor came to have another look at his patient, who was still sleeping nicely."Hum!" said he, rubbing his hands, "one's better than none, though it is a pity the other slipped past us.""Is Braithwaite dead, sir?" asked Dick, sinking his voice to a whisper lest Jim should hear him."Yes, my boy, I'm sorry to say he is. We've tried hard to restore breathing, but it's no good. How came he to get into the water?"Dick told him."And this lad jumped in to save him? Well, that was very plucky, but none of you had any business there at all.""No, sir," replied Dick humbly, "but I only thought to have a joke.""Well, well, I don't suppose you're more to blame than the rest!" exclaimed the doctor; and then, after making a note of Jim's name and address, he said he would call at his house in a day or two.That was a wretched night for Dick. The kind-hearted landlady brought him in a good supper, and a servant made him a comfortable bed on the floor, but he could not sleep."Poor old Dandy!" he murmured again and again, "but for me he would be alive now."Early in the morning Jim wakened, and in an instant Dick was by his side."Feel better, old boy?" he asked."Yes, I'm all right. Where's Braithwaite? What's the matter? Why are you looking like that? Is he—dead?""Yes," said Dick, and no one would have known it was the Angel speaking."Then I've killed him! He only went because I called him a coward.""'Twas as much my fault as yours," said Dick. "I started it. Poor old Dandy!"Jim did not speak again; and even when, later in the day, he went home, his mother could hardly get a word from him; but at the inquest he told the story without hiding anything, and took all the blame on his own shoulders."Braithwaite wouldn't have gone," he said; "only I laughed at him for being afraid."The whole incident was so plain that the jury at once brought in a verdict of "accidental death," adding a rider that, in their opinion, the Old Fort and the bridge should be destroyed.The event, of course, caused a tremendous sensation in the town. Many people spoke harshly of Jim, but all admired his courage both in attempting to save the drowning boy and in frankly telling the truth afterwards."The lad has grit," remarked the doctor who had brought him round. "I hope he won't take it too much to heart."He was a Scotsman named Stewart, a pleasant, cheery fellow, well known in Beauleigh both for his ability and kindliness."I've a good mind to call and have a look at him," said he. "What's his address?" pulling out his notebook. "Hum! Brook Street! Not very much burdened with this world's goods, I expect."That same evening Mrs. Hartland was startled by a loud rat-tat, and going to the door, found the doctor there."Good-evening!" said he briskly; "are you Mrs. Hartland? I am the doctor who attended your boy, and I've come to have a look at him. No, no; don't make a fuss. I'll come straight through, if you don't mind." And closing the door, he followed Mrs. Hartland into the sitting-room."Well, young shaver," said he, patting Jim on the back, "how do you feel now?—better? That was a very plucky thing you did.—You ought to be proud of him, ma'am; he deserves the Society's medal. And who is this young lady?" stooping to touch Susie's hair. "Can't get up? Dear me! that is sad. Any one attending her?""Not now, sir. You see, the doctors—""Quite so; I understand. Now, suppose I have a look at her in the morning—eh? I've had some experience in these cases. I shan't call professionally—just as a friend of this young gentleman's, you know.""O sir, how can I thank you?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartland gratefully."No need of thanks to any one yet, ma'am; but if I can do the dear child any good, she can thank her brother, because, but for him, I should not be here to-night. Eh, Pussy?" And he pulled Susie's ear playfully."Jim tried to save the other boy," said Susie with tears in her eyes."Yes, I know, and nearly lost his own life. He was very silly in the first place, but turned out a real hero after all.—Now, Jim, brighten up and look cheerful. You've had a hard lesson; show the world you've learned something from it. What's done can't be undone, and moping won't make things a bit better. Well, I must go.—Good-night, Pussy. Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning? That will suit me nicely." And with a bright smile all round, and a last word of encouragement to Jim, he took his leave."O mother," cried Susie, "isn't he a nice man?""He is, my dear, and wonderfully clever too, I've heard," replied Mrs. Hartland. "Oh, what a good thing it will be if he can make you stronger!"They talked about it till bedtime, but Jim was very quiet. He was still thinking of the boy who had gone so suddenly to his death.CHAPTER IX.THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning, and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry for the loss of their schoolmate.As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for being the cause of Braithwaite's death."He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into. I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight.""They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in," exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!""Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything against his popular chum.All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr. Stewart would be able to do for Susie.The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the doctor was leaving."Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it." And stepping into his gig, he drove off.Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face."O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him. And what do you think he has offered to do?""I can't guess," replied the boy."To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee.""He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically."And he thinks—though, of course, I haven't told Susie—that at the end of six months she may be able towalk! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course.""What does Susie say about going?""Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination."Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely."Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose—suppose you should be able to walk some day!"There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim—not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen.""I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it.""Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly."Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time. Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick before I go.""So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening. Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with him."I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something. Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm gone when you get back."True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of his little patient."There," said he, "now you're comfortable—eh? Oh yes; mother's coming too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have our big brother to see how we're getting on—eh, my lassie?"Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the affairs of her neighbours."As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An' her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland" written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself later on.She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her mother's grief.The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely."You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good.""Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned myself.""Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim, 'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows—why, half of them think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!""I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily."What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no reason why they should spoil their own lives.It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr. Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type—"The Gayton Scholarship." His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther. Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.This is the announcement as it appeared inThe Beauleigh Evening News:—"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.—The result of the examination for the Gayton Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible thousand:—CANDIDATE. SCHOOL. MARKS.Braithwaite, Percy . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 871Temple, Hugh . . . . . . . St. Paul's . . . . . 868Carter, Robert . . . . . . Bath Street Board . . 839Boden, Richard . . . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 810Jones, Samuel . . . . . . Royal British . . . . 750Morris, William Charles . Somerton Board . . . 716The honour of winning the scholarship thus goes to the Deanery School; but, unhappily, the successful candidate cannot take advantage of his victory. Our readers will, no doubt, remember the sad accident which recently occurred at the Old Fort, in which Percy Braithwaite lost his life. Great sympathy is felt for the sorrowing parents. It is sad to think of the early termination to what evidently might have been a distinguished career. The scholarship will therefore be awarded to the candidate next on the list, Hugh Temple of St. Paul's, who, it will be noticed, is only three marks behind the leader."At first, Jim could think of nothing but the blow to his own pride. Most of the Deanery boys fully expected him to win the scholarship; they had coupled his name with it as far back as the cricket match for the Challenge Shield; they had looked up to him as their champion. And now the list was out, and he was not even in the first six!I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told. Jim fairly broke down. He was angry, mortified, and ashamed. He felt the blow with bitter humiliation, and while doing his round that evening he had not the courage to look any one in the face. It seemed as if all the town must be jeering at him as a dead failure.He could have yielded pride of place to Temple, but to be beaten by Braithwaite, and even by the light-hearted Angel! This was where the sting lay, because, knowing the extent of their abilities, he felt that he was far superior to them.Of course, he had had hard lines in his father's death, in the necessity for finding work, and again in his mother's illness; but he could not tell all the world that. The Deanery fellows bothered little about his misfortunes; in their eyes the thing would be simple enough: he had failed even to get into the first six, and there was an end of it.When he got home that night, he said nothing of the news; so that his mother, who rarely bought a paper, did not know that the list was out."She will know soon enough," he thought bitterly, "and on Sunday I shall have to tell Susie."CHAPTER X.GOING DOWN HILL.Nowhere was the result of the examination received with greater surprise than at the Deanery School. It is safe to say that every boy looked twice at the published list before admitting Jim Hartland's name was not there.On the following morning the boys of the upper classes, gathering together in the playground, discussed the matter excitedly."It's just what I've always said," exclaimed Simpson; "the chap's no better than the rest of us. Just because he can play cricket a bit, we put him on the top of a monument, and now, down he comes—flop!""Well, you needn't be afraid of tumbling," laughed little Macdonald, "because you'll never be put on the top of anything. You're always having a dig at Hartland, because he wouldn't have you in the cricket eleven.""Well said, Alec!" cried the Angel. "That's the truth. Now look at me. I came out fourth.""So you did!""Good old Angel!""You'll be first another time!""Oh, what rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Can't you let a fellow speak? What I want to say is that Jim Hartland's twice as good as me.""He didn't make much show, anyhow," growled Simpson."No, he didn't. And why? Because, when his father was drowned, he went to work to help his mother. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have won the 'Gayton' easily.""Well, he lost it!" growled Simpson; "and through him the Deanery lost it, too!""How's that?""How's that! Why, wasn't it through his bounce that Dandy Braithwaite got drowned?""Don't listen to him, Angel," said Macdonald, for Dick had doubled up his fists, and his eyes were flashing fire."Pooh!" said Simpson. "I don't care; everybody knows it's true.""He owned as much as that himself," chimed in Archer, who owed Jim a grudge."Perhaps you think he wanted Braithwaite to get drowned," exclaimed Dick sarcastically, "and that he and I put up the little job between us?""I'm not saying anything against you," replied Simpson; "but I do say it's Hartland's fault we lost the 'Gayton,' and you can take it how you like."This was the view held by many of the Deanery boys, who were very sore that the scholarship had gone to St. Paul's. Thus the subject of the tragedy was brought to the front again, and during the interval at morning school Jim could not help overhearing some of the remarks. Angry and miserable, he went to a corner of the playground, where Dick followed him."Look here, Jim," said the Angel cheerily; "don't mope about the 'Gayton.' We've all seen the list, of course, and I'm awfully sorry you aren't in it. It's too ridiculous putting me above you. I know that, and so do the others. It's like turning you out of the eleven to put Simpson in; but buck up, old chap—you'll soon get over it.""I wasn't thinking about you, Dicky," replied his chum. "I'm jolly glad you're high up.""What are you looking so miserable about, then?""Oh, hang it all!" cried Jim excitedly; "can't you hear what the fellows are saying? They look at me as black as thunder!""Let 'em," rejoined the Angel serenely; "that won't hurt you.""Oh," said Jim, jerking himself away savagely, "it's easy for you to talk! I wish the place was at the bottom of the sea!""I don't!" replied Dick. "My mac's worn out, and I shan't get another this side of Christmas. Here's Macdonald coming; don't eat him.""I say, Hartland," began Alec, who was as red as a turkey-cock, "I'm awfully sorry you didn't get the 'Gayton.' I know from what the Angel has said that you've had jolly hard lines.""Thanks!" growled Jim. "But I wonder you aren't afraid to be seen speaking to me.""I wish you didn't feel so cut up about it," returned Macdonald, ignoring Jim's surliness. "You're looking at it through magnifying glasses."Unfortunately Jim did feelcut up, and by continual brooding made himself more and more miserable. From this time, I fear, he began to go slowly down hill, and the only gleam of good feeling he displayed was with regard to his mother and Susie."I'm very sorry, my boy," said his mother, when he told her; "and yet I shall never think of this scholarship without feeling proud of you. I know you had a good chance of winning it, and threw it away for the sake of helping me.""No, no, mother," cried the boy cheerfully; "you mustn't look at it that way. I mightn't have won the scholarship at all; and anyhow, I couldn't have accepted it."On Sunday, when at the hospital, he talked to Susie much in the same way, making light of his disappointment so successfully that the girl was quite deceived.At school, however, he was very different, becoming surly and morose, and making enemies of the boys who would willingly have remained his friends.Mr. Broad, too, noticed his altered manner; but knowing the circumstances, he said nothing, thinking the trouble would soon blow over; besides, Jim did not neglect his work. He was always punctual, and had such a quick grasp of his duties that he saved his employer a great deal of labour.His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school."Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well."Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company.The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside."Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?""Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I'd come and meet you—that's all. We haven't seen much of each other lately.""That isn't my fault.""No; I'm not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though."Jim's face became red."How is that?" he asked."Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum.""Why shouldn't I? What's the matter with Curly?""Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily—"only he's a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you'll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?"That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,—"You'll be getting another nickname soon: they'll be calling you the Saint.""They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I'd make a cleaner saint than Curly.""That's right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you're like all the rest. Just because the chap's poor and has no friends you're down on him. I've been through it myself."The Angel laughed genially."There's something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter's Court millionaires"—Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter's Court—"don't care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He's dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don't know that he's over honest.""Well, he hasn't asked for your company," said Jim sullenly."No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced against him. And now let's talk about something else. How's Susie?""Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."Let me hasten to place something to the credit side of Jim's account. Whatever evil habits he might have fallen into, he was a good brother. At every opportunity he visited the hospital to cheer his sister. With her he was always kind and bright and cheerful. For her sake he denied himself many little pleasures, saving up his odd coppers in order to buy some little present that would please and delight her.As for Susie, she thought there was no one like her brother; to her he was the one hero in the world, followed, though at a long distance, by Dick.On the subject of Susie, therefore, the boys could talk without restraint; but when that was exhausted they became silent, both vaguely realizing that, in some strange way, a barrier was rising up between them, and that the good old times were gradually disappearing.Both were sorry; yet the mischief appeared unavoidable. Dick tried hard to restore matters to their former footing. He was really fond of Jim, and could not see him drift without an effort to check him. Frequently he waited outside the shop till his chum left, thinking to entice him away from his fresh associates.One night as they walked away together Curly Peters came towards them."You aren't going to stop, are you?" asked Dick anxiously."Why not? D'you think he'll give us the plague?""Oh, well," said Dick, "I'm off. I'd be ashamed to be seen speaking to him."Now this was an unfortunate remark, as it reminded Jim of an incident which occurred only the previous evening. Mr. Broad, coming into the shop unexpectedly, had seen Peters slinking out."What did that customer want, Hartland?" he asked sharply.Jim felt cornered for a moment, but replied steadily,—"He wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a paper job."This was a lie; but I warned you Jim had sadly deteriorated, and he dared not tell his master that the boy was his friend.Thinking of this, he turned on Dick savagely, saying,—"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you.""All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I know have a lot of taste—all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll have a bath when you get home.""My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud? Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller, Jimmy, talking to a toff like that.""Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap better than you or me."Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation, and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop."You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after a time."No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last one back.""You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately. I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow from the old man's till; it's dangerous.""Borrow from the till? What do you mean?""Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday nights.""Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd rather starve than do that.""Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?""Home," said Jim. "I'm tired.""All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?""I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it.""What did he say last night, then?""Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street.""All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added, "Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular old-fashioned sort."
CHAPTER VIII.
"DID I SAVE HIM?"
When Dick Boden ran from the Fort and raised the alarm, he waited till his companions made their appearance; then, expecting they would all follow, he dashed off across the stone bridge. In his opinion, as he afterwards said, the worst that could happen for any one was a few hours' imprisonment in the old tower.
No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed that Braithwaite had stopped.
"Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and they all began to shout.
"What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along."
"Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay.
"Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim will have to stay in the Fort."
As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon and Spencer ran down the beach.
"Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.—Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a match. Are the oars there? Right you are!—Now—one, two, three, and all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with you!—Give me an oar, Spencer.—You steer, Tommy—straight for Braithwaite."
"No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming back. We should never reach there in a straight course."
"All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't mind as long as he's saved."
The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's Hartland going for him!—Well done, Jim!—Pull, you fellows!"
They tugged away desperately, but suddenly a piercing shriek startled them, and they knew that Braithwaite was fighting for life in the water.
Dick groaned, and pulled till it seemed as if his arms must come out.
"They'll both be lost!" he cried, knowing well that Jim would not hesitate a second in jumping to the rescue.
"There are some men on the shore," said Spencer; "they're getting out another boat."
"Too late!" muttered Dick gloomily. "Listen! There's Jim calling for help. Shout back. Now again, and all together."
The sweat poured down their faces, their muscles ached terribly, their throats were dry and parched, but they pulled on without a second's pause.
Again the cry for help rang out, this time much nearer, and soon they discerned a dark object in the water.
"Keep her steady!" roared Spencer. "Grab the other fellow, Dick!" And he himself caught Jim, and pulled him up so that he partly rested on the gunwale.
The whole manoeuvre was full of danger, but they were taking risks that night. By degrees, Spencer, who was fortunately strong as a horse, managed to pull Jim into the boat, and then helped to drag in Braithwaite, who displayed no sign of life.
"Let's put our coats over them, and that dry sail in the corner," said Dick. "Now, a pull for the shore. Keep her head straight, Tommy!"
News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.
Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets.
"Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.
Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon were doing the same for Braithwaite.
"That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead, so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."
Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling sure in his mind that Jim was dead.
Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!"
"Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth.
"Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."
As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by, where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders.
"Now," said that gentleman, "there's nothing but a few hours' sleep required. Let this youngster stay in the room. I'm going to see how the other poor boy's getting on."
So Dick sat beside the bed on which his friend lay, and wondered what was happening on the beach. After a time Jim stirred uneasily, opened his eyes, and recognized his chum.
"Dick!" he whispered faintly.
"Don't try to talk, old chap. It's all right. Go to sleep."
There was an uneasy look in Jim's eyes, and his forehead puckered up as if he were in thought. Then he said in a whisper, "Did I save him?"
Jim had asked a question difficult to answer, but his chum thought it best to soothe him.
"Yes," said he; "you kept him afloat till the boat came up. Now go to sleep—there's a good chap—or I shan't be allowed to stay with you."
Jim's lips moved as if in speech, but no words passed them, and in a short time he was fast asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face.
Meantime, news of the accident had reached Mrs. Hartland, who, getting a neighbour to stay with Susie, hurried to the hotel, where she was permitted to go into the boy's room to satisfy herself that he was really alive.
"I'm going to stay with him," said Dick, following her to the door, "and the doctor says there's no need at all to worry. Does Susie know?"
"Yes; I couldn't keep it from her. How did it happen?"
Dick told the story briefly, and then, promising to bring Jim home in the morning, he returned to the room. An hour later the doctor came to have another look at his patient, who was still sleeping nicely.
"Hum!" said he, rubbing his hands, "one's better than none, though it is a pity the other slipped past us."
"Is Braithwaite dead, sir?" asked Dick, sinking his voice to a whisper lest Jim should hear him.
"Yes, my boy, I'm sorry to say he is. We've tried hard to restore breathing, but it's no good. How came he to get into the water?"
Dick told him.
"And this lad jumped in to save him? Well, that was very plucky, but none of you had any business there at all."
"No, sir," replied Dick humbly, "but I only thought to have a joke."
"Well, well, I don't suppose you're more to blame than the rest!" exclaimed the doctor; and then, after making a note of Jim's name and address, he said he would call at his house in a day or two.
That was a wretched night for Dick. The kind-hearted landlady brought him in a good supper, and a servant made him a comfortable bed on the floor, but he could not sleep.
"Poor old Dandy!" he murmured again and again, "but for me he would be alive now."
Early in the morning Jim wakened, and in an instant Dick was by his side.
"Feel better, old boy?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm all right. Where's Braithwaite? What's the matter? Why are you looking like that? Is he—dead?"
"Yes," said Dick, and no one would have known it was the Angel speaking.
"Then I've killed him! He only went because I called him a coward."
"'Twas as much my fault as yours," said Dick. "I started it. Poor old Dandy!"
Jim did not speak again; and even when, later in the day, he went home, his mother could hardly get a word from him; but at the inquest he told the story without hiding anything, and took all the blame on his own shoulders.
"Braithwaite wouldn't have gone," he said; "only I laughed at him for being afraid."
The whole incident was so plain that the jury at once brought in a verdict of "accidental death," adding a rider that, in their opinion, the Old Fort and the bridge should be destroyed.
The event, of course, caused a tremendous sensation in the town. Many people spoke harshly of Jim, but all admired his courage both in attempting to save the drowning boy and in frankly telling the truth afterwards.
"The lad has grit," remarked the doctor who had brought him round. "I hope he won't take it too much to heart."
He was a Scotsman named Stewart, a pleasant, cheery fellow, well known in Beauleigh both for his ability and kindliness.
"I've a good mind to call and have a look at him," said he. "What's his address?" pulling out his notebook. "Hum! Brook Street! Not very much burdened with this world's goods, I expect."
That same evening Mrs. Hartland was startled by a loud rat-tat, and going to the door, found the doctor there.
"Good-evening!" said he briskly; "are you Mrs. Hartland? I am the doctor who attended your boy, and I've come to have a look at him. No, no; don't make a fuss. I'll come straight through, if you don't mind." And closing the door, he followed Mrs. Hartland into the sitting-room.
"Well, young shaver," said he, patting Jim on the back, "how do you feel now?—better? That was a very plucky thing you did.—You ought to be proud of him, ma'am; he deserves the Society's medal. And who is this young lady?" stooping to touch Susie's hair. "Can't get up? Dear me! that is sad. Any one attending her?"
"Not now, sir. You see, the doctors—"
"Quite so; I understand. Now, suppose I have a look at her in the morning—eh? I've had some experience in these cases. I shan't call professionally—just as a friend of this young gentleman's, you know."
"O sir, how can I thank you?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartland gratefully.
"No need of thanks to any one yet, ma'am; but if I can do the dear child any good, she can thank her brother, because, but for him, I should not be here to-night. Eh, Pussy?" And he pulled Susie's ear playfully.
"Jim tried to save the other boy," said Susie with tears in her eyes.
"Yes, I know, and nearly lost his own life. He was very silly in the first place, but turned out a real hero after all.—Now, Jim, brighten up and look cheerful. You've had a hard lesson; show the world you've learned something from it. What's done can't be undone, and moping won't make things a bit better. Well, I must go.—Good-night, Pussy. Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning? That will suit me nicely." And with a bright smile all round, and a last word of encouragement to Jim, he took his leave.
"O mother," cried Susie, "isn't he a nice man?"
"He is, my dear, and wonderfully clever too, I've heard," replied Mrs. Hartland. "Oh, what a good thing it will be if he can make you stronger!"
They talked about it till bedtime, but Jim was very quiet. He was still thinking of the boy who had gone so suddenly to his death.
CHAPTER IX.
THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.
There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning, and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry for the loss of their schoolmate.
As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for being the cause of Braithwaite's death.
"He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into. I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight."
"They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in," exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!"
"Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."
Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything against his popular chum.
All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr. Stewart would be able to do for Susie.
The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the doctor was leaving.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it." And stepping into his gig, he drove off.
Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face.
"O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him. And what do you think he has offered to do?"
"I can't guess," replied the boy.
"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."
"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.
"And he thinks—though, of course, I haven't told Susie—that at the end of six months she may be able towalk! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course."
"What does Susie say about going?"
"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."
Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination.
"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.
"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose—suppose you should be able to walk some day!"
There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim—not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen."
"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."
"Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly.
"Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time. Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."
At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick before I go."
"So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening. Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."
As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with him.
"I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something. Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm gone when you get back."
True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of his little patient.
"There," said he, "now you're comfortable—eh? Oh yes; mother's coming too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have our big brother to see how we're getting on—eh, my lassie?"
Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the affairs of her neighbours.
"As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An' her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"
Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland" written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself later on.
She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.
Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her mother's grief.
The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely.
"You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good."
"Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned myself."
"Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim, 'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows—why, half of them think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!"
"I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily.
"What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"
This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no reason why they should spoil their own lives.
It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.
One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr. Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.
Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type—"The Gayton Scholarship." His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther. Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.
This is the announcement as it appeared inThe Beauleigh Evening News:—
"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.—The result of the examination for the Gayton Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible thousand:—
CANDIDATE. SCHOOL. MARKS.Braithwaite, Percy . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 871Temple, Hugh . . . . . . . St. Paul's . . . . . 868Carter, Robert . . . . . . Bath Street Board . . 839Boden, Richard . . . . . . Deanery . . . . . . . 810Jones, Samuel . . . . . . Royal British . . . . 750Morris, William Charles . Somerton Board . . . 716
The honour of winning the scholarship thus goes to the Deanery School; but, unhappily, the successful candidate cannot take advantage of his victory. Our readers will, no doubt, remember the sad accident which recently occurred at the Old Fort, in which Percy Braithwaite lost his life. Great sympathy is felt for the sorrowing parents. It is sad to think of the early termination to what evidently might have been a distinguished career. The scholarship will therefore be awarded to the candidate next on the list, Hugh Temple of St. Paul's, who, it will be noticed, is only three marks behind the leader."
At first, Jim could think of nothing but the blow to his own pride. Most of the Deanery boys fully expected him to win the scholarship; they had coupled his name with it as far back as the cricket match for the Challenge Shield; they had looked up to him as their champion. And now the list was out, and he was not even in the first six!
I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told. Jim fairly broke down. He was angry, mortified, and ashamed. He felt the blow with bitter humiliation, and while doing his round that evening he had not the courage to look any one in the face. It seemed as if all the town must be jeering at him as a dead failure.
He could have yielded pride of place to Temple, but to be beaten by Braithwaite, and even by the light-hearted Angel! This was where the sting lay, because, knowing the extent of their abilities, he felt that he was far superior to them.
Of course, he had had hard lines in his father's death, in the necessity for finding work, and again in his mother's illness; but he could not tell all the world that. The Deanery fellows bothered little about his misfortunes; in their eyes the thing would be simple enough: he had failed even to get into the first six, and there was an end of it.
When he got home that night, he said nothing of the news; so that his mother, who rarely bought a paper, did not know that the list was out.
"She will know soon enough," he thought bitterly, "and on Sunday I shall have to tell Susie."
CHAPTER X.
GOING DOWN HILL.
Nowhere was the result of the examination received with greater surprise than at the Deanery School. It is safe to say that every boy looked twice at the published list before admitting Jim Hartland's name was not there.
On the following morning the boys of the upper classes, gathering together in the playground, discussed the matter excitedly.
"It's just what I've always said," exclaimed Simpson; "the chap's no better than the rest of us. Just because he can play cricket a bit, we put him on the top of a monument, and now, down he comes—flop!"
"Well, you needn't be afraid of tumbling," laughed little Macdonald, "because you'll never be put on the top of anything. You're always having a dig at Hartland, because he wouldn't have you in the cricket eleven."
"Well said, Alec!" cried the Angel. "That's the truth. Now look at me. I came out fourth."
"So you did!"
"Good old Angel!"
"You'll be first another time!"
"Oh, what rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Can't you let a fellow speak? What I want to say is that Jim Hartland's twice as good as me."
"He didn't make much show, anyhow," growled Simpson.
"No, he didn't. And why? Because, when his father was drowned, he went to work to help his mother. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have won the 'Gayton' easily."
"Well, he lost it!" growled Simpson; "and through him the Deanery lost it, too!"
"How's that?"
"How's that! Why, wasn't it through his bounce that Dandy Braithwaite got drowned?"
"Don't listen to him, Angel," said Macdonald, for Dick had doubled up his fists, and his eyes were flashing fire.
"Pooh!" said Simpson. "I don't care; everybody knows it's true."
"He owned as much as that himself," chimed in Archer, who owed Jim a grudge.
"Perhaps you think he wanted Braithwaite to get drowned," exclaimed Dick sarcastically, "and that he and I put up the little job between us?"
"I'm not saying anything against you," replied Simpson; "but I do say it's Hartland's fault we lost the 'Gayton,' and you can take it how you like."
This was the view held by many of the Deanery boys, who were very sore that the scholarship had gone to St. Paul's. Thus the subject of the tragedy was brought to the front again, and during the interval at morning school Jim could not help overhearing some of the remarks. Angry and miserable, he went to a corner of the playground, where Dick followed him.
"Look here, Jim," said the Angel cheerily; "don't mope about the 'Gayton.' We've all seen the list, of course, and I'm awfully sorry you aren't in it. It's too ridiculous putting me above you. I know that, and so do the others. It's like turning you out of the eleven to put Simpson in; but buck up, old chap—you'll soon get over it."
"I wasn't thinking about you, Dicky," replied his chum. "I'm jolly glad you're high up."
"What are you looking so miserable about, then?"
"Oh, hang it all!" cried Jim excitedly; "can't you hear what the fellows are saying? They look at me as black as thunder!"
"Let 'em," rejoined the Angel serenely; "that won't hurt you."
"Oh," said Jim, jerking himself away savagely, "it's easy for you to talk! I wish the place was at the bottom of the sea!"
"I don't!" replied Dick. "My mac's worn out, and I shan't get another this side of Christmas. Here's Macdonald coming; don't eat him."
"I say, Hartland," began Alec, who was as red as a turkey-cock, "I'm awfully sorry you didn't get the 'Gayton.' I know from what the Angel has said that you've had jolly hard lines."
"Thanks!" growled Jim. "But I wonder you aren't afraid to be seen speaking to me."
"I wish you didn't feel so cut up about it," returned Macdonald, ignoring Jim's surliness. "You're looking at it through magnifying glasses."
Unfortunately Jim did feelcut up, and by continual brooding made himself more and more miserable. From this time, I fear, he began to go slowly down hill, and the only gleam of good feeling he displayed was with regard to his mother and Susie.
"I'm very sorry, my boy," said his mother, when he told her; "and yet I shall never think of this scholarship without feeling proud of you. I know you had a good chance of winning it, and threw it away for the sake of helping me."
"No, no, mother," cried the boy cheerfully; "you mustn't look at it that way. I mightn't have won the scholarship at all; and anyhow, I couldn't have accepted it."
On Sunday, when at the hospital, he talked to Susie much in the same way, making light of his disappointment so successfully that the girl was quite deceived.
At school, however, he was very different, becoming surly and morose, and making enemies of the boys who would willingly have remained his friends.
Mr. Broad, too, noticed his altered manner; but knowing the circumstances, he said nothing, thinking the trouble would soon blow over; besides, Jim did not neglect his work. He was always punctual, and had such a quick grasp of his duties that he saved his employer a great deal of labour.
His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school.
"Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well."
Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company.
The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside.
"Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?"
"Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I'd come and meet you—that's all. We haven't seen much of each other lately."
"That isn't my fault."
"No; I'm not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though."
Jim's face became red.
"How is that?" he asked.
"Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum."
"Why shouldn't I? What's the matter with Curly?"
"Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily—"only he's a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you'll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?"
That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,—
"You'll be getting another nickname soon: they'll be calling you the Saint."
"They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I'd make a cleaner saint than Curly."
"That's right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you're like all the rest. Just because the chap's poor and has no friends you're down on him. I've been through it myself."
The Angel laughed genially.
"There's something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter's Court millionaires"—Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter's Court—"don't care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He's dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don't know that he's over honest."
"Well, he hasn't asked for your company," said Jim sullenly.
"No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced against him. And now let's talk about something else. How's Susie?"
"Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."
Let me hasten to place something to the credit side of Jim's account. Whatever evil habits he might have fallen into, he was a good brother. At every opportunity he visited the hospital to cheer his sister. With her he was always kind and bright and cheerful. For her sake he denied himself many little pleasures, saving up his odd coppers in order to buy some little present that would please and delight her.
As for Susie, she thought there was no one like her brother; to her he was the one hero in the world, followed, though at a long distance, by Dick.
On the subject of Susie, therefore, the boys could talk without restraint; but when that was exhausted they became silent, both vaguely realizing that, in some strange way, a barrier was rising up between them, and that the good old times were gradually disappearing.
Both were sorry; yet the mischief appeared unavoidable. Dick tried hard to restore matters to their former footing. He was really fond of Jim, and could not see him drift without an effort to check him. Frequently he waited outside the shop till his chum left, thinking to entice him away from his fresh associates.
One night as they walked away together Curly Peters came towards them.
"You aren't going to stop, are you?" asked Dick anxiously.
"Why not? D'you think he'll give us the plague?"
"Oh, well," said Dick, "I'm off. I'd be ashamed to be seen speaking to him."
Now this was an unfortunate remark, as it reminded Jim of an incident which occurred only the previous evening. Mr. Broad, coming into the shop unexpectedly, had seen Peters slinking out.
"What did that customer want, Hartland?" he asked sharply.
Jim felt cornered for a moment, but replied steadily,—
"He wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a paper job."
This was a lie; but I warned you Jim had sadly deteriorated, and he dared not tell his master that the boy was his friend.
Thinking of this, he turned on Dick savagely, saying,—
"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you."
"All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I know have a lot of taste—all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll have a bath when you get home."
"My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud? Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller, Jimmy, talking to a toff like that."
"Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap better than you or me."
Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation, and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop.
"You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after a time.
"No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last one back."
"You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately. I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow from the old man's till; it's dangerous."
"Borrow from the till? What do you mean?"
"Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday nights."
"Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd rather starve than do that."
"Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?"
"Home," said Jim. "I'm tired."
"All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?"
"I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it."
"What did he say last night, then?"
"Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street."
"All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added, "Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular old-fashioned sort."