RICHMOND AND THE MAJOR-GENERALNo. XRICHMOND AND THE MAJOR-GENERALThe fellows talk such a lot of absolute piffle about what I did, and tell such a frightful number of regular right down lies about it, that I have decided to write out the whole thing myself from the beginning, that the truth shall be known. There is nothing like truth really, and it is the only thing that lasts, and I am going to tell the truth fearlessly, because honesty is the best policy, however hard it may be at the time.Well, after I gave up preaching to the chaps at Merivale, owing to the row about Browne and Stopford and all the unpleasantness afterwards, I felt that my occupation was gone in a sort of way; and it so weighed on my mind that I was one of the first to get German measles and one of the last to recover. I was shut up in the hospital and had a great deal of time on my hands for thought, and the more I thought, the more I felt that my preaching gift ought not to be wasted like this. I tried preaching to myself once or twice, to keep my hand in, and I found that I was clean out of practice and couldn't work up to "thirdly and lastly" without getting regularly tied in a knot. Then I tried to preach to the matron, and she said it was morbid and told the doctor (for I heard her through the door) that I was very low and taking a most unhealthy interest in religion. After which I had a lot more most uncalled for and beastly medicine, and was isolated for three more days; because the doctor said it might be something else threatening. What was threatening really was my conscience. I was perfectly well and frightfully eager to be doing good in the world; and as it seemed simply useless to try to do any more good at Merivale, chiefly owing to that son of Belial called Stopford, I came to the terrific resolve of going. I decided to leave quietly. I thought on the last day of being isolated I would steal out into the world in a spirit of calm courage, and try to do good, and leave the rest to Providence.I did nothing rashly, because it is well known that Heaven helps those who help themselves, and we must not throw all the burden on Providence, however much inclined we may feel to do so. We are given our talents to use, not to put under a bushel. I had ten shillings and a telescope, worth eight-and-six. I had nothing else but my volume of Skeleton Sermons. It seemed enough.One is bound to be worldly-wise up to a certain point; and this is right and proper. If you have a mission, you must use the best means for carrying it out, and even money may be put to very proper purposes if it is spent with a high object. Besides, the labourer is worthy of his hire.With my money I determined to use artificial means for getting as far from Merivale as possible. For ten shillings you can go an immense distance by train, though a half-ticket was no longer possible for me, as I was over twelve; but a train is far too public and I should have been discovered. Therefore I decided upon the simple plan of hiring a bicycle. The time was May and the evenings were long. Therefore I determined to hire the bicycle during the hour when everybody would be in chapel for evening prayer. Being isolated I could do this.The eventful night was fine and warm. I slipped out unperceived, but I had taken the precaution not to wear my hat with the school colours, as that would have been instantly observed. So I went to my private box and took out my round bowler hat, which could not lead to detection. I then got over the hedge into the main road, because to have walked out of the gate by the lodge would have much decreased my chances of escape.All went well. The people at the bicycle shop raised no difficulty, and for five shillings they let me have a machine for two hours—also matches to light the lamp. It was put into their minds to trust me, and I saw from the first that Providence was going to help me. The man even shortened the steps a little as I am unusually stumpy in the legs.I gave him five shillings and set off. Pursuit would not begin till my supper was brought by the matron, and I had a clear hour before that time. Then I knew what would happen; because two terms before, young Watkinson, who was homesick, had run away and tried to walk from Merivale, in Devonshire, to Edinburgh, where his grandmother lives; but he had been taken by Mannering riding that way on his bicycle, two miles out of Merivale. So I knew that the masters on bicycles and policemen on foot would soon be after me, and I intended to avoid the main roads and spend the night in some harmless and wholesome cowhouse on a bed of sweet meadow hay. Then in the morning I should rise, get a drink of milk and a little bread-and-butter from some simple and kind-hearted housewife, and leave the bicycle with her to be returned by train to the bicycle shop at Merivale. What would happen after that I left entirely to Providence.A telescope and a rather fat book are awkward things on a bicycle, and they bumped me rather heavily, one on each side, as I started. So after riding a few miles I dismounted, slung the telescope over my back and buttoned the Skeleton Sermons to my chest. Though not comfortable, they did not bump, and I went steadily on my way. At a quarter to nine I lighted my lamp and well knew that Mannering and Chambers had started, and that many telegrams, including one to my father, had probably been sent off by Dr. Dunstan from Merivale. For the first time I considered what view my father would take of my action, and I was bound to feel that he might not care much about it. My father, though a good father to me, has never trusted as much in Providence as I could have wished; which is curious, seeing that he is not only a clergyman but also a rural dean. He wants me to go into some lucrative business, but I never will, for I have no feeling for it. My father thinks that money is everything, and I know well it is not. He said to me once that you can always tell a gentleman by his neckties and the cigars he smokes. Which is childish, because many perfect gentlemen never smoke cigars at all.I got rather depressed after dark—entirely owing to thinking about my father. I also got strangely hungry and was beginning to wonder whether I had better try for some supper anywhere, or just leave nature to settle that. Then a most serious and unforeseen thing happened and the hind tyre of the bicycle went off with a loud explosion, like a pistol. I dismounted instantly. I kept my nerve and quietly considered the situation. For a moment it looked as if Providence was against me, but I could not be sure of this yet. I wheeled the bicycle to a gate and sat on the gate and considered. Then, far down the road I had come, I saw a light and instantly perceived that another bicycle was approaching at quite twenty miles an hour. To drag my bicycle through the gate into the field, to shut the gate, extinguish the lamp, and crouch in the hedge motionless and silent, was the work of an instant. The bicycle flew past and the man on it grunted with little grunts. It was, in fact, the well-known grunt of Mannering—a sound he always makes at footer and hockey. So I saw that Providence was still with me and felt very much cheered; because, if the lyre had not burst, I should have been quietly riding along not thinking of Mannering, and he would have overtaken me and all would have been over.My resolutions were soon made. I left the main road, which was evidently now no place for me, and wheeled the bicycle down a lane near a farm. I felt that it would be necessary to my health to eat something before sleeping, but cared little what it was, and decided that I would just take the fruits of the earth—corn or a few turnips, or anything. In the morning I should mention it to the farmer's wife and ask her to change my five-shilling piece. For the change from my ten-shilling piece, after paying for the bicycle hire, was a five-shilling piece.I now became conscious of the fact that the bicycle was a hindrance rather than a help. To leave it behind was, therefore, the work of a moment. But first I took a leaf out of my pocketbook and wrote on it these words—"Kindly return this bicycle to the shop of Messrs. Jones and Garratt, bicycle works, Merivale, and all will be well. The hind wheel is punctured. The finder will probably be rewarded."To show, however, that I was not careless for the bicycle, I may say that I went on till I found a cowshed, so that the machine might be dry and not suffer from night dew or possible rain. It was not the sort of cowshed that I meant to sleep in myself, being evidently used purely for cows, and having no fragrant, clean hay or anything of the kind in it; but it was good enough for the bicycle; so I left it there and went on my way.There are very peculiar and creepy sounds to be heard in the country at night, and I heard them all. Everything, in fact, is quite different to what it is by day. Especially the colours of things. There was a watery sort of moon, and it made all the leaves on the trees look as if they were cut out of dirty white paper. And it made gate-posts and tree-stems look as if they were alive. I got a curious sort of feeling about this time and lit a match and read a couple of Skeleton Sermons. This put me absolutely all right, and I went to seek some of the fruits of the earth. But May is evidently a bad time for that purpose. In fact, there were simply no fruits of the earth to eat anywhere, so I had to trust to young leaves. Beech leaves are all right in a way, but you soon have enough. That was all I could get, however, and I washed them down with a drink from a brook, but unluckily slipped in while filling my bowler hat with water. Then the thing was to find a comfortable place with sweet, snug straw; and I crept down to a farmhouse; and, hearing me creeping down unfortunately upset a dog so much that it barked steadily for half-an-hour and woke many other dogs for miles round.At last I found a poorish sort of shed which had no sweet, fragrant hay but only a cart with sacks in it. The sacks had been used for guano. Still they were better than nothing, and I got into the cart and pulled the sacks over me, having first taken off my socks and hung them on the edge of the cart to dry. I slept, but not well, and when morning came I found myself deeply scented with guano and starving for food, but otherwise all right and still free. So I read a bit, and put on my socks, and set out boldly down a lane to the farm. But, after all, I did not go to this particular farm, because, instead of a motherly woman or some beautiful young girl standing at the door feeding chickens and pigeons, there were two men in a corner killing a pig, and the pig simply hated it; and to see this done on an empty stomach is very trying to the nerves. So I went hastily and boldly on, and at last found a quiet and humble cottage and a woman in it. I don't think she would have given me food for nothing; but when I said I would pay her a shilling for a breakfast, and showed her my five shillings to prove it, she met my views gladly and gave me three pieces of bread-and-butter, an egg, that was not laid yesterday, and some tea. Then she changed the five-shilling piece and gave me back four shillings.Much refreshed and with nothing to trouble me but a cold in the head, doubtless owing to getting my feet wet, I went on my way. My idea was to get to Exeter and then boldly take my stand in the cathedral yard and try to begin doing good and arresting the careless passer-by, and leaving the rest to Providence. I did not know whether it might be possible to get to Exeter by lanes and footpaths over fields. Nothing happened except that I gave away two shillings in charity to a blind woman with four children. I also said a few encouraging words to her. And then, being now in the middle of a very lonely common covered with yellow gorse and white may, I came suddenly upon a man sitting under a bush smoking a cigarette. He was evidently not a happy man, being very ragged and with one laced boot and one elastic one. His hair was long, partly yellow and partly grey; his face was as brown as leather; and he had little rings in his ears. His clothes were faded and a good deal patched. He evidently did not mind what he wore. His eyes were blue and bright, but rather kind on the whole. There was a paper opened beside him. It was a bit of newspaper and contained bones and the sort of food you give to dogs. His nails were long and black, and some of his fingers perfectly yellow from smoking cigarettes.I said—"Good-morning! Can you kindly tell me the distance to Exeter?"And he said—"I'm going there myself after I've finished my breakfast. It's about ten miles from here."I thought very likely that Providence had thrown this rather unsuccessful man into my path for a good purpose; so I said—"As we are both going to Exeter, we might perhaps walk part of the way together. Only I like the quiet lanes and field-paths best—not the high road."He seemed to think the idea quite possible. He said—"Can't be too quiet for me."I said—"I cannot tell you my history, but I may tell you this much: I am quite determined to do some good in the world."He said—"Funny you should say that. I'm just the same. I'm nuts on doing some good myself. In fact, I was sitting here this minute wondering what the dickens it should be."I said—"The truest way to make yourself happy is to set to work to make other people happy."And he said—"Righto! I've always stuck to that. And I've been so busy lately, trying to make other people cheerful, that I've got rather down on my own luck."He offered me the remains of his repast, which I declined. Then I told him that I had two shillings and that, if he was still hungry, he might share my lunch with me when we came to some quiet inn. He thanked me heartily and fell in with this. He said he wasn't hungry but was suffering from an agonizing thirst. He said that thirst was a disease with him, also smoking; and I told him that it was a terrible mistake to become the victim of a habit; and he said he knew only too well that it was.I improved his mind a good deal before we came to an inn, and then, not wishing to be seen, I gave him one of my shillings and told him to spend sixpence on himself and sixpence on me. I merely wanted sixpennyworth of good, wholesome bread-and-cheese; and I went behind some haystacks and waited for him.He was a long time coming, and, when he did come, I was surprised to find how little bread-and-cheese he brought for sixpence. Me admitted frankly that it was very little; but he said the landlord was a hard man and he would not give a crumb more for the money.While I ate, Marmaduke FitzClarence Beresford—for that was this friend's name—told me something of his life. He was a gentleman by birth and also by education. He had, in fact, been to Eton and Oxford and also in the army. He had won the Victoria Cross and been mentioned several times in dispatches. He had even shaken hands with the King and been thanked by the House of Commons for his services in the Boer War. But then, at the very height of his worldly prosperity, a bank had broken and he had suddenly found himself quite ruined and penniless. Of course he had to leave the army, for in the position he had now reached, which was that of major-general, his mess bill alone ran into gold every week. A major-general has to buy champagne every day of his life, whether he drinks it or not. It is a rule in the British army and very important. But he said that nothing mattered as long as one tried to do good in the condition in life that one found oneself in. He said I was perfectly right to carry my Skeleton Sermons with me, and that the first thing he was going to do, when he had saved a little money, was to buy a volume himself. But, if anything, he was still more interested in my telescope. He said that it was good for five shillings and advised me to sell it. He explained that it was useless to me if I was going to devote the rest of my life to doing good; and of course this was true.He said we had better stop where we were till dusk, and that there was a small town, two miles off, where it might be possible for him, as a favour to me, to get a friend of his to buy the telescope. So we sat a good many hours in this quiet field; and he smoked thousands of cigarettes, and I told him many things that it was useful for him to know; and he told me many things that it was not particularly useful for me to know, yet interesting. He was a well-meaning and religious officer, but he was rather soured, naturally enough, owing to the utter breaking of his bank and the loss of his hard-earned savings.He admitted that I had made him see several things in a very new and different light, and then, towards evening, he said we might now start to sell the telescope. He said with a part of the proceeds I might get a fairly clean bed at the little town, and that he hoped, after a comfortable night's rest, I should be able to start refreshed and strong to do good at Exeter. I asked him where he was going to sleep, and he said in some ditch, because, for the moment, he was absolutely without means, having given away his last shilling to a poor tramp who was even worse off than himself. I told him he might be very sure that he would never regret that shilling; and he said probably not in the long run, but, just for the moment, as it was going to be a wet night and he had a bad cold on his chest developing into bronchitis, he felt a little weak and regretful. Then I said—"You shall share this telescope with me, Major-general Beresford, and if you like to throw in your lot with me, we will take a humble lodging for the night and start to do good to-morrow."He said it was almost more than he had a right to expect; and yet it showed how wicked he had been to doubt Providence for a moment. He almost cried, and I cheered him up and told him to be courageous and hopeful. Then he said he would try to be; and then he went off with the telescope, while I waited just outside the small town behind a hoarding. The major-general had said that he should be about an hour, as a thing of this kind wanted a good deal of doing; but he wasn't: he came back in twenty minutes, and he brought the telescope with him, and he was in a frightful rage and spoke several soldierly words that were not at all right to use for a man who wanted to do good.Me said—"The blighters won't let me pop it! They all want to know how I came by it! Dash their infernal impudence! Why, they'd have had the cops on me if I'd stopped to argue about it! You'd better take it yourself. But I'll be even with some of 'em yet, clash and bash them! I'll burn their very bad-word houses down about their ears before they're much older!"In this dreadful way he went on for some time; then I tried to calm him down and told him he must not feel too much hurt because common, crafty men in shops regarded him suspiciously. I said—"You evidently lost your temper with them, and that is never right or wise. It was your boots that made them doubt you. You ought quietly to have told them who you are, and about the King shaking hands with you, and the bank breaking, and so on. Then they would have understood, and if they had been Christian men, they would have sympathized with you and very likely have given six or seven shillings for the telescope."He said, rather foolishly—"Given six or seven grandmothers for the telescope!"Then he seemed to grow suddenly suspicious of me and he asked—"Where didyouget it from anyhow? If I thought you'd sneaked it, I'd——""I got it from my Uncle Horace," I said. "He is an amateur astronomer and understands the stars.""Well, I ought to understand three balls by this time," answered the major-general, though what this meant I have never understood myself to this day.Then he began to make me rather uncomfortable, and I detected a good deal of vulgarity in him. But doubtless it often turns people vulgar and brutal to come down in the world, owing to having to mix with their inferiors and suchlike.Now he began to ask me about myself in a very cross-questioning manner, and at last it seemed to me that I must tell him the truth. In fact, he kept on so about who I was and where I had come from, that it got to be a simple question between telling him the truth and telling him a lie. Therefore, of course, I told him the truth, and said that my name was Richmond and that I had lately changed my way of life by leaving school in order to do some public work in the way of goodness.He seemed much surprised."You've run away from school then?" he exclaimed."Yes," I said; "but of course I am telling you this in the strictest confidence."He quite saw that, and said that he regarded the confidence as a great compliment to him. He became perfectly friendly again and said that, when a boy, he had run away from school also, and that most boys of spirit did so—in fact, nearly every boy who ever made much of a mark in the world began in that manner. I reminded him that he had been to Eton and Oxford, and he admitted it. It was from Eton that he had run away, but he had been subsequently captured and taken back."Now you have confided in me," he said, "I think I can really be of some practical use to you."He guessed at the time and said, that if we put our best foot foremost, we ought to be in Exeter by midnight. I remember, curiously enough, wondering which was his best foot—the one in the lace-up boot, or the one with elastic sides. Anyway, we set off after I had shared my last shilling with him. This he changed into food and drink at a small public-house by the wayside."At Exeter," he said, "I am widely known and respected. When we get there, certain people will welcome me in a friendly spirit, and I am quite sure they will welcome you too. In fact, I can promise you a very warm welcome and a good night's rest.""Will they take the telescope?" I asked."No," he said. "They are not people like that. When they understand the situation, they will be perfectly well satisfied with you as you are."I was glad that the major-general had come back to this quieter and wiser frame of mind, and thanked him."I hope it may be in my power to do you a service some day," I said; and then, in his turn, he thanked me."You never know," he replied. "You may be able to do me a good turn even sooner than you think for."He smoked thousands more cigarettes, and asked me about my home and my family. He was rather interested to hear that my father was a rural dean, and kindly hoped that he made a good thing out of it. I told him that I believed he did; but I explained to him that money was not everything—indeed, far from it—and that too much is a great temptation. He said that he had never had enough, even in his palmiest days, to judge; and I said—"There are many precious things that money will not buy, major-general. You must admit that. It won't buy affection, for instance."He sniffed and evidently doubted this. He said—"It will buy all the affection I want—and a bit over."Then the lights of Exeter at last appeared and I was frightfully exhausted by now and jolly glad to see them."Here we are at last, thank the Lord," said my companion, though not in a very pious tone. Then, at the outskirts of the town, we came to a building with a light outside, and the major-general pushed me in in front of him—rather roughly, I thought. The inside was brightly illuminated with gas and, to my amazement, the building contained nothing but policemen. One of these was much astonished to see us."Hullo, Slimey Sam!" he said to my companion. "'Tisn't often you give us a call without a little help from behind!"Then, to my horror, the major-general cast subterfuge to the winds and appeared in his true character."No," he said. "It took four of you blue worms to carry me in last time I was here; but this is just a friendly visit. I've been doing a bit of your work, in fact."Instantly I perceived my position and made a dart for the door; but my faithless companion was too quick for me."No, you don't, my little man!" he cried out, and grabbed me by the collar as he did so. "This is the missing link," he said to the policemen, and they were much interested instantly."The boy from Merivale?""Yes."Several policemen hastened to the telephone, and one hurried off to the main police-station of Exeter, and all was excitement, disorder and confusion. Slimey Samuel—for this was the real name of the treacherous and unfeeling man—told them the whole story in my hearing; but he omitted the part about not being able to sell the telescope, and the only thing that interested him personally was the question of the reward.And really there is not much more to add, because what my father said, and what Dr. Dunstan said and did, and what Mannering said, and what the bicycle people said, and what the other chaps said when I went back, is none of it particularly interesting in a general way.In fact, the only thing that would have been very interesting and that I should really like to be able to tell, is what Slimey Samuel said when he got his blood-money for giving me up to justice. He declared to the police in my hearing that it ought to be good for a hundred quid at least. But his nature was far too hopeful, and as a matter of fact he only got two pounds from my father and an offer of honest work. He only took the money; and I expect he felt rather bitter about it; and I felt rather bitter about it in secret also; because it seemed to show that my father did not put much value on me. Two pounds for a human life—let alone your own son—is really rather little. No doubt my father will go on thinking nothing of me till I am a man. Then, perhaps, the day may come when I shall be able to show him that, after all, money is mere dust in the balance against a son, who can do the sort of things I hope and intend to do, when I grow up into manhood.THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZENo. XITHE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZEIGoing through the school-room of the third, which is my own form, I chanced to see Saunders minor and Fowle there; and, just as I passed them, Saunders minor said that he wished he was dead.This, from Saunders minor, was a bit out of the common, so I stopped and asked him why. He said—"It's only a manner of speaking, Thwaites; but, all the same, I do, because of the Good Conduct Prize.""Well," I said, "you're a snip for it; everybody knows that.""Not now," he answered. "In fact, it's all up, and the silver watch and chain are gone."Of course, when young Saunders talked about a silver watch and chain, he didn't mean Dr. Dunstan's footling Good Conduct Prize, which is always a book of a particularly deadly kind, such asLays of Ancient Rome; but he meant the special prize his father had promised him if he won the highest marks for good conduct in his class. And he was simply romping home when this happened."Of course, it's that beast Foster," said Fowle. "I always hated Foster, and now, knowing he couldn't win by fair means, he made that peculiar face at Saunders just as the Doctor came in to say prayers last night; and Saunders laughed, not knowing the Doctor had actually come in; and the Doctor took off five conduct marks at one fell swoop.""Foster must win now," said Saunders. "But it's a blackguard thing.""And if Foster doesn't win, you will," said Fowle to me.Curiously enough, this was true. I had been going rather strong on good conduct this term for private reasons. In fact, my father had promised me—not a silver watch—but a flogging, or very likely two, if I came home again with a holiday punishment.You must know that at Merivale there was a putrid system called 'holiday punishments,' and if you didn't get a certain number of good conduct marks in the term, instead of going home in glory with a good report, you went home with a holiday punishment. Well, owing to one thing and another, I had taken home a holiday punishment four terms running; and my father began to get rather nasty about it. As a rule, he is a sort of father who talks very ferociously but doesn't do much; therefore, when he actually does flog me, which happens now and then, it comes as a great and unpleasant surprise. And I felt, in the matter of the good conduct marks, that if I went back with another holiday punishment, he would certainly keep his word and flog me to the best of his power. Therefore, I bucked up in a very unusual way, and though miles behind Saunders minor and Foster, was miles in front of the others; and when suddenly Fowle said this to me, that if Foster also smashed up as Saunders had done, I must get the Good Conduct Prize in the third, I felt quite giddy. Needless to say, I had never taken home a prize in my life. In fact, it seemed almost too much. My people would never believe it.Of course, if such a thing really did happen, it would be a frightful score off my father; but then there was Foster. He stood six clear marks ahead of me, and unless some awful catastrophe overtook Foster, it was impossible for me to catch him. Then it seemed to me as Foster, in the most unsporting manner, had made his well-known comic face that always forced Saunders minor to laugh, and so he had got ahead of Saunders by a paltry trick, therefore it was only right that Foster should be scored off too. Needless to say, I was quite prepared to score off Foster myself; but then, very likely that would end by smashing me up, so it seemed to me that the thing to do was to try and get some outside person to score off Foster, like he had scored off Saunders minor.I thought a lot about it, but I couldn't see any way that was perfectly sportsmanlike. Then Fowle, who is not sportsmanlike but very cunning, said there was a way. I felt pretty certain his way must be mean and piffling; but for once he thought of rather a good way. At least, it seemed good to me."I can't do anything myself," Fowle said, "because the last time I was interested in a fight, you will remember, the result was very unpleasant for me; but all the same, in a case like this, there ought to be a fight, and very likely if you explained in a perfectly friendly spirit to Saunders minor that he owes it to himself to fight Foster, he will be much obliged to you, and so into training for it."Well, I was bound to admit that for once Fowle seemed to be right. Because, if Saunders minor fought Foster, the marks of battle would appear on Foster, even if he won; and they would be noticed by Browne, who hates fighting, and always takes off half the term's good conduct marks when he finds a chap who has clearly had a fight.So I put it to Saunders minor.I said, "I come in a perfectly friendly spirit, Saunders minor, and I don't want to put you to any inconvenience with Foster. But, as he's knocked you out of the Good Conduct Prize and your silver watch, which your father may never offer again, as they often change their minds, you have a frightful and bitter grievance against Foster.""You may also add that Queen Anne is dead," said Saunders minor."I know," I said. "But the point is that I'm rather worried to see you taking this lying down. It isn't worthy of the third. We've always been a fighting form, and, in fact, you ought to resist this tooth and nail; and I'd be your second like a shot; and West, the champion of the lower school, would referee—to oblige me."Saunders minor was a good deal interested."D'you think I ought to lick him?" he asked."I think you ought to try," I said; "and you might even succeed if you went into training, and had a bit of luck."Saunders minor thought. He was a pale, putty-coloured chap, and when he thought, he frowned terrifically till his forehead got quite wrinkled and old. There was also a very peculiar vein on his temple you could see when he was thinking extra hard, but not at other times."The question is what I should gain," he said."Also what he would lose," I said. This was, of course, Fowle's idea, but it came in jolly handy here."What can he lose unless I lick him?""Well, the beauty of it would be," I explained, "that if you licked him, or if he licked you, it would be all the same as far as the Good Conduct Prize is concerned. If you knock him about a bit and black an eye or so, Browne will pounce upon him for certain, as well as you, and away go half his conduct marks for the term, and bang goes the Good Conduct Prize."Saunders minor nodded."Did you think of this?" he asked."Yes," I said; "with help from Fowle.""As a matter of fact, if this happened you'd get the Good Conduct Prize, Thwaites," said Saunders minor."It seems rather a wild idea," I answered, "but as a matter of fact I should—unless, of course, I come to grief myself before the end of the term. I've had to be awful keen on conduct this term, owing to my father, who has rather overdone it about conduct lately; and so I've been piling up marks in a small way, but of course such a thing as a good conduct prize is bang out of my line.""Or any prize," added Saunders minor thoughtfully."Or any prize, as you truly say," I answered."Well, we've always been friendly enough," kindly remarked Saunders minor.Needless to say I agreed."It would, of course, be a terrific act of kindness on your part to me if you knocked Foster out," I said; "and also it would be an act of justice to yourself; and also it would be what is expected of third form chaps.""You speak as a fighter yourself," said Saunders minor."I am, of course, a great fighter," I said, "and have only once been beaten, and that by West, who is a champion and nearly two years older than me. But I believe you would be a very good fighter if you cared about it.""I never should care about it," said Saunders minor. "But the point is Foster. Supposing he refuses to fight?""My dear chap," I said, "he couldn't. You've got a frightful grievance against him. The sixth, when they heard, would mighty soon make him fight.""You'll second me, Thwaites, if it comes off?""Yes," I said. "Certainly I will."Saunders minor began to think again, and his forehead became much furrowed."I'm just wondering, if I explained to my father about it, whether he'd still give me the watch if I succeeded in licking Foster," he said.I told him that from what I knew of fathers like his it was very unlikely, and he'd better not hope."I have heard you say that your father is a clergyman," I said. "Don't buoy yourself up to think that he'll give you the watch if you lick Foster. Far from it. In the case of Morrison it was very different. His father always gave him half-a-crown if he went home with a black eye, and Morrison generally managed to do so; but then his father was a royal sea captain, and had commanded a first-class battleship. Your father is religious, naturally, and against fighting for certain."It happened that just at this moment Foster and some other chaps, including his chum, Tin Lin Chow—commonly called 'Tinned Cow'—the Chinaman, came by, and Saunders minor, in the excitement of the moment, stopped Foster and spoke—He said, "I've been thinking over losing the Good Conduct Prize, Foster; and as it was your fault, something must be done."Foster said, "I've apologized. Nothing more can be done."But Saunders minor said, "Much more can be done. In fact, I challenge you to fight; and Thwaites is my second, and West will referee."Foster was much astonished at this."I'm bigger than you," he said. "It wouldn't be fair. I'm bound to lick you if we have a real serious fight.""You might lick me, no doubt," said Saunders minor. "But I shall do a bit first: and I dare say you'll know what'll happen then.""The only thing that can happen is that you'll have to give in," said Foster."Something else will happen besides that," answered Saunders minor. "However, you'll see. To-morrow week in the wood, if that will suit you."He mentioned a half-holiday, and as the first had no match on, West would be able to referee comfortably, while everybody was looking at the second eleven match fixed for that day."Saturday week in the wood; but you'd better think twice," said Foster."I have," said Saunders minor.And then Foster himself appeared to think twice. At least, Tin Lin Chow reminded him of something, and he came back rather mildly to us after he had walked away in a very cold and haughty manner."Look here, Saunders," he said; "would you mind putting off this fight till next term? I'm not in the least anxious not to oblige you; but for private reasons I would rather not fight this term.""Yes, I know," said Saunders minor; "and for private reasons I rather would. You've knocked me out of the Good Conduct Prize when it was a dead certainty for me; and now——"Foster went away to think; but, needless to say, his thinking didn't get him out of the mess. In fact, the fight had to come off, though Foster met Saunders minor three times before the day, and once actually sank to offering him a valuable and remarkable knife if he would put off the fight till the next term.But Saunders minor jolly well scorned to do so.IIWhat Foster did in the matter of training I don't know, but Saunders minor had rather bad luck. We sat together, and I gave up my meat at meals to him in exchange for his pudding. Well, of course, to eat all my meat as well as his own ought to have made him strong. But, unfortunately, it didn't. He seemed to miss his puddings frightfully, and his tongue went white the day before the fight, and he got a headache. The matron spotted him looking a bit off, and then a frightful thing happened, for the very night before the fight she made him take a huge dose of some beastliness, and of course, instead of being full of solid meat and strength for the fight, when the time came Saunders minor was quite the reverse.Needless to say, he gave up all hope, and at dinner wouldn't eat any meat worth mentioning, and wouldn't give up his apple tart to me, but ate it himself. He said he was bound to lose, so it didn't matter, especially as apple tart was his favourite food.The time came, and those in the fight sneaked off to the great wood that runs by Merivale playing-fields, and everything went very smoothly indeed. Saunders minor had me and Saunders minimus for his seconds, and Foster had Tin Lin Chow and Trelawny. And West not only was referee, but he wrote a magnificent description of the fight, like a newspaper. He had read about thousands of proper prize fights in a book of his brother's at home; so he understood everything about it. And he and Trelawny rather hoped that Masterman, who is the editor of our school magazine, would put the fight in; and if he had, it would have been far and away the best thing that he ever did put in. But Masterman wouldn't, though he was jolly sorry not to. He said—"You see, West, the people who read the magazine most are the parents, and they like improving articles about foreign travel and what old boys are doing, and poetry, and so on. If I published this fight, the Doctor would get into an awful bate, because it would be too ferocious, and very likely frighten the parents of future new boys away when they read it."Certainly it was a very horrid account written as West wrote it; but as he most kindly let me have the description to copy, I shall write it out again here; because certainly I couldn't do it half so well as him—him being champion of the lower school, and champion of the upper school, too, when Trelawny goes.This is word for word what West wrote—
RICHMOND AND THE MAJOR-GENERAL
No. X
RICHMOND AND THE MAJOR-GENERAL
The fellows talk such a lot of absolute piffle about what I did, and tell such a frightful number of regular right down lies about it, that I have decided to write out the whole thing myself from the beginning, that the truth shall be known. There is nothing like truth really, and it is the only thing that lasts, and I am going to tell the truth fearlessly, because honesty is the best policy, however hard it may be at the time.
Well, after I gave up preaching to the chaps at Merivale, owing to the row about Browne and Stopford and all the unpleasantness afterwards, I felt that my occupation was gone in a sort of way; and it so weighed on my mind that I was one of the first to get German measles and one of the last to recover. I was shut up in the hospital and had a great deal of time on my hands for thought, and the more I thought, the more I felt that my preaching gift ought not to be wasted like this. I tried preaching to myself once or twice, to keep my hand in, and I found that I was clean out of practice and couldn't work up to "thirdly and lastly" without getting regularly tied in a knot. Then I tried to preach to the matron, and she said it was morbid and told the doctor (for I heard her through the door) that I was very low and taking a most unhealthy interest in religion. After which I had a lot more most uncalled for and beastly medicine, and was isolated for three more days; because the doctor said it might be something else threatening. What was threatening really was my conscience. I was perfectly well and frightfully eager to be doing good in the world; and as it seemed simply useless to try to do any more good at Merivale, chiefly owing to that son of Belial called Stopford, I came to the terrific resolve of going. I decided to leave quietly. I thought on the last day of being isolated I would steal out into the world in a spirit of calm courage, and try to do good, and leave the rest to Providence.
I did nothing rashly, because it is well known that Heaven helps those who help themselves, and we must not throw all the burden on Providence, however much inclined we may feel to do so. We are given our talents to use, not to put under a bushel. I had ten shillings and a telescope, worth eight-and-six. I had nothing else but my volume of Skeleton Sermons. It seemed enough.
One is bound to be worldly-wise up to a certain point; and this is right and proper. If you have a mission, you must use the best means for carrying it out, and even money may be put to very proper purposes if it is spent with a high object. Besides, the labourer is worthy of his hire.
With my money I determined to use artificial means for getting as far from Merivale as possible. For ten shillings you can go an immense distance by train, though a half-ticket was no longer possible for me, as I was over twelve; but a train is far too public and I should have been discovered. Therefore I decided upon the simple plan of hiring a bicycle. The time was May and the evenings were long. Therefore I determined to hire the bicycle during the hour when everybody would be in chapel for evening prayer. Being isolated I could do this.
The eventful night was fine and warm. I slipped out unperceived, but I had taken the precaution not to wear my hat with the school colours, as that would have been instantly observed. So I went to my private box and took out my round bowler hat, which could not lead to detection. I then got over the hedge into the main road, because to have walked out of the gate by the lodge would have much decreased my chances of escape.
All went well. The people at the bicycle shop raised no difficulty, and for five shillings they let me have a machine for two hours—also matches to light the lamp. It was put into their minds to trust me, and I saw from the first that Providence was going to help me. The man even shortened the steps a little as I am unusually stumpy in the legs.
I gave him five shillings and set off. Pursuit would not begin till my supper was brought by the matron, and I had a clear hour before that time. Then I knew what would happen; because two terms before, young Watkinson, who was homesick, had run away and tried to walk from Merivale, in Devonshire, to Edinburgh, where his grandmother lives; but he had been taken by Mannering riding that way on his bicycle, two miles out of Merivale. So I knew that the masters on bicycles and policemen on foot would soon be after me, and I intended to avoid the main roads and spend the night in some harmless and wholesome cowhouse on a bed of sweet meadow hay. Then in the morning I should rise, get a drink of milk and a little bread-and-butter from some simple and kind-hearted housewife, and leave the bicycle with her to be returned by train to the bicycle shop at Merivale. What would happen after that I left entirely to Providence.
A telescope and a rather fat book are awkward things on a bicycle, and they bumped me rather heavily, one on each side, as I started. So after riding a few miles I dismounted, slung the telescope over my back and buttoned the Skeleton Sermons to my chest. Though not comfortable, they did not bump, and I went steadily on my way. At a quarter to nine I lighted my lamp and well knew that Mannering and Chambers had started, and that many telegrams, including one to my father, had probably been sent off by Dr. Dunstan from Merivale. For the first time I considered what view my father would take of my action, and I was bound to feel that he might not care much about it. My father, though a good father to me, has never trusted as much in Providence as I could have wished; which is curious, seeing that he is not only a clergyman but also a rural dean. He wants me to go into some lucrative business, but I never will, for I have no feeling for it. My father thinks that money is everything, and I know well it is not. He said to me once that you can always tell a gentleman by his neckties and the cigars he smokes. Which is childish, because many perfect gentlemen never smoke cigars at all.
I got rather depressed after dark—entirely owing to thinking about my father. I also got strangely hungry and was beginning to wonder whether I had better try for some supper anywhere, or just leave nature to settle that. Then a most serious and unforeseen thing happened and the hind tyre of the bicycle went off with a loud explosion, like a pistol. I dismounted instantly. I kept my nerve and quietly considered the situation. For a moment it looked as if Providence was against me, but I could not be sure of this yet. I wheeled the bicycle to a gate and sat on the gate and considered. Then, far down the road I had come, I saw a light and instantly perceived that another bicycle was approaching at quite twenty miles an hour. To drag my bicycle through the gate into the field, to shut the gate, extinguish the lamp, and crouch in the hedge motionless and silent, was the work of an instant. The bicycle flew past and the man on it grunted with little grunts. It was, in fact, the well-known grunt of Mannering—a sound he always makes at footer and hockey. So I saw that Providence was still with me and felt very much cheered; because, if the lyre had not burst, I should have been quietly riding along not thinking of Mannering, and he would have overtaken me and all would have been over.
My resolutions were soon made. I left the main road, which was evidently now no place for me, and wheeled the bicycle down a lane near a farm. I felt that it would be necessary to my health to eat something before sleeping, but cared little what it was, and decided that I would just take the fruits of the earth—corn or a few turnips, or anything. In the morning I should mention it to the farmer's wife and ask her to change my five-shilling piece. For the change from my ten-shilling piece, after paying for the bicycle hire, was a five-shilling piece.
I now became conscious of the fact that the bicycle was a hindrance rather than a help. To leave it behind was, therefore, the work of a moment. But first I took a leaf out of my pocketbook and wrote on it these words—
"Kindly return this bicycle to the shop of Messrs. Jones and Garratt, bicycle works, Merivale, and all will be well. The hind wheel is punctured. The finder will probably be rewarded."
To show, however, that I was not careless for the bicycle, I may say that I went on till I found a cowshed, so that the machine might be dry and not suffer from night dew or possible rain. It was not the sort of cowshed that I meant to sleep in myself, being evidently used purely for cows, and having no fragrant, clean hay or anything of the kind in it; but it was good enough for the bicycle; so I left it there and went on my way.
There are very peculiar and creepy sounds to be heard in the country at night, and I heard them all. Everything, in fact, is quite different to what it is by day. Especially the colours of things. There was a watery sort of moon, and it made all the leaves on the trees look as if they were cut out of dirty white paper. And it made gate-posts and tree-stems look as if they were alive. I got a curious sort of feeling about this time and lit a match and read a couple of Skeleton Sermons. This put me absolutely all right, and I went to seek some of the fruits of the earth. But May is evidently a bad time for that purpose. In fact, there were simply no fruits of the earth to eat anywhere, so I had to trust to young leaves. Beech leaves are all right in a way, but you soon have enough. That was all I could get, however, and I washed them down with a drink from a brook, but unluckily slipped in while filling my bowler hat with water. Then the thing was to find a comfortable place with sweet, snug straw; and I crept down to a farmhouse; and, hearing me creeping down unfortunately upset a dog so much that it barked steadily for half-an-hour and woke many other dogs for miles round.
At last I found a poorish sort of shed which had no sweet, fragrant hay but only a cart with sacks in it. The sacks had been used for guano. Still they were better than nothing, and I got into the cart and pulled the sacks over me, having first taken off my socks and hung them on the edge of the cart to dry. I slept, but not well, and when morning came I found myself deeply scented with guano and starving for food, but otherwise all right and still free. So I read a bit, and put on my socks, and set out boldly down a lane to the farm. But, after all, I did not go to this particular farm, because, instead of a motherly woman or some beautiful young girl standing at the door feeding chickens and pigeons, there were two men in a corner killing a pig, and the pig simply hated it; and to see this done on an empty stomach is very trying to the nerves. So I went hastily and boldly on, and at last found a quiet and humble cottage and a woman in it. I don't think she would have given me food for nothing; but when I said I would pay her a shilling for a breakfast, and showed her my five shillings to prove it, she met my views gladly and gave me three pieces of bread-and-butter, an egg, that was not laid yesterday, and some tea. Then she changed the five-shilling piece and gave me back four shillings.
Much refreshed and with nothing to trouble me but a cold in the head, doubtless owing to getting my feet wet, I went on my way. My idea was to get to Exeter and then boldly take my stand in the cathedral yard and try to begin doing good and arresting the careless passer-by, and leaving the rest to Providence. I did not know whether it might be possible to get to Exeter by lanes and footpaths over fields. Nothing happened except that I gave away two shillings in charity to a blind woman with four children. I also said a few encouraging words to her. And then, being now in the middle of a very lonely common covered with yellow gorse and white may, I came suddenly upon a man sitting under a bush smoking a cigarette. He was evidently not a happy man, being very ragged and with one laced boot and one elastic one. His hair was long, partly yellow and partly grey; his face was as brown as leather; and he had little rings in his ears. His clothes were faded and a good deal patched. He evidently did not mind what he wore. His eyes were blue and bright, but rather kind on the whole. There was a paper opened beside him. It was a bit of newspaper and contained bones and the sort of food you give to dogs. His nails were long and black, and some of his fingers perfectly yellow from smoking cigarettes.
I said—
"Good-morning! Can you kindly tell me the distance to Exeter?"
And he said—
"I'm going there myself after I've finished my breakfast. It's about ten miles from here."
I thought very likely that Providence had thrown this rather unsuccessful man into my path for a good purpose; so I said—
"As we are both going to Exeter, we might perhaps walk part of the way together. Only I like the quiet lanes and field-paths best—not the high road."
He seemed to think the idea quite possible. He said—
"Can't be too quiet for me."
I said—
"I cannot tell you my history, but I may tell you this much: I am quite determined to do some good in the world."
He said—
"Funny you should say that. I'm just the same. I'm nuts on doing some good myself. In fact, I was sitting here this minute wondering what the dickens it should be."
I said—
"The truest way to make yourself happy is to set to work to make other people happy."
And he said—
"Righto! I've always stuck to that. And I've been so busy lately, trying to make other people cheerful, that I've got rather down on my own luck."
He offered me the remains of his repast, which I declined. Then I told him that I had two shillings and that, if he was still hungry, he might share my lunch with me when we came to some quiet inn. He thanked me heartily and fell in with this. He said he wasn't hungry but was suffering from an agonizing thirst. He said that thirst was a disease with him, also smoking; and I told him that it was a terrible mistake to become the victim of a habit; and he said he knew only too well that it was.
I improved his mind a good deal before we came to an inn, and then, not wishing to be seen, I gave him one of my shillings and told him to spend sixpence on himself and sixpence on me. I merely wanted sixpennyworth of good, wholesome bread-and-cheese; and I went behind some haystacks and waited for him.
He was a long time coming, and, when he did come, I was surprised to find how little bread-and-cheese he brought for sixpence. Me admitted frankly that it was very little; but he said the landlord was a hard man and he would not give a crumb more for the money.
While I ate, Marmaduke FitzClarence Beresford—for that was this friend's name—told me something of his life. He was a gentleman by birth and also by education. He had, in fact, been to Eton and Oxford and also in the army. He had won the Victoria Cross and been mentioned several times in dispatches. He had even shaken hands with the King and been thanked by the House of Commons for his services in the Boer War. But then, at the very height of his worldly prosperity, a bank had broken and he had suddenly found himself quite ruined and penniless. Of course he had to leave the army, for in the position he had now reached, which was that of major-general, his mess bill alone ran into gold every week. A major-general has to buy champagne every day of his life, whether he drinks it or not. It is a rule in the British army and very important. But he said that nothing mattered as long as one tried to do good in the condition in life that one found oneself in. He said I was perfectly right to carry my Skeleton Sermons with me, and that the first thing he was going to do, when he had saved a little money, was to buy a volume himself. But, if anything, he was still more interested in my telescope. He said that it was good for five shillings and advised me to sell it. He explained that it was useless to me if I was going to devote the rest of my life to doing good; and of course this was true.
He said we had better stop where we were till dusk, and that there was a small town, two miles off, where it might be possible for him, as a favour to me, to get a friend of his to buy the telescope. So we sat a good many hours in this quiet field; and he smoked thousands of cigarettes, and I told him many things that it was useful for him to know; and he told me many things that it was not particularly useful for me to know, yet interesting. He was a well-meaning and religious officer, but he was rather soured, naturally enough, owing to the utter breaking of his bank and the loss of his hard-earned savings.
He admitted that I had made him see several things in a very new and different light, and then, towards evening, he said we might now start to sell the telescope. He said with a part of the proceeds I might get a fairly clean bed at the little town, and that he hoped, after a comfortable night's rest, I should be able to start refreshed and strong to do good at Exeter. I asked him where he was going to sleep, and he said in some ditch, because, for the moment, he was absolutely without means, having given away his last shilling to a poor tramp who was even worse off than himself. I told him he might be very sure that he would never regret that shilling; and he said probably not in the long run, but, just for the moment, as it was going to be a wet night and he had a bad cold on his chest developing into bronchitis, he felt a little weak and regretful. Then I said—
"You shall share this telescope with me, Major-general Beresford, and if you like to throw in your lot with me, we will take a humble lodging for the night and start to do good to-morrow."
He said it was almost more than he had a right to expect; and yet it showed how wicked he had been to doubt Providence for a moment. He almost cried, and I cheered him up and told him to be courageous and hopeful. Then he said he would try to be; and then he went off with the telescope, while I waited just outside the small town behind a hoarding. The major-general had said that he should be about an hour, as a thing of this kind wanted a good deal of doing; but he wasn't: he came back in twenty minutes, and he brought the telescope with him, and he was in a frightful rage and spoke several soldierly words that were not at all right to use for a man who wanted to do good.
Me said—
"The blighters won't let me pop it! They all want to know how I came by it! Dash their infernal impudence! Why, they'd have had the cops on me if I'd stopped to argue about it! You'd better take it yourself. But I'll be even with some of 'em yet, clash and bash them! I'll burn their very bad-word houses down about their ears before they're much older!"
In this dreadful way he went on for some time; then I tried to calm him down and told him he must not feel too much hurt because common, crafty men in shops regarded him suspiciously. I said—
"You evidently lost your temper with them, and that is never right or wise. It was your boots that made them doubt you. You ought quietly to have told them who you are, and about the King shaking hands with you, and the bank breaking, and so on. Then they would have understood, and if they had been Christian men, they would have sympathized with you and very likely have given six or seven shillings for the telescope."
He said, rather foolishly—
"Given six or seven grandmothers for the telescope!"
Then he seemed to grow suddenly suspicious of me and he asked—
"Where didyouget it from anyhow? If I thought you'd sneaked it, I'd——"
"I got it from my Uncle Horace," I said. "He is an amateur astronomer and understands the stars."
"Well, I ought to understand three balls by this time," answered the major-general, though what this meant I have never understood myself to this day.
Then he began to make me rather uncomfortable, and I detected a good deal of vulgarity in him. But doubtless it often turns people vulgar and brutal to come down in the world, owing to having to mix with their inferiors and suchlike.
Now he began to ask me about myself in a very cross-questioning manner, and at last it seemed to me that I must tell him the truth. In fact, he kept on so about who I was and where I had come from, that it got to be a simple question between telling him the truth and telling him a lie. Therefore, of course, I told him the truth, and said that my name was Richmond and that I had lately changed my way of life by leaving school in order to do some public work in the way of goodness.
He seemed much surprised.
"You've run away from school then?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," I said; "but of course I am telling you this in the strictest confidence."
He quite saw that, and said that he regarded the confidence as a great compliment to him. He became perfectly friendly again and said that, when a boy, he had run away from school also, and that most boys of spirit did so—in fact, nearly every boy who ever made much of a mark in the world began in that manner. I reminded him that he had been to Eton and Oxford, and he admitted it. It was from Eton that he had run away, but he had been subsequently captured and taken back.
"Now you have confided in me," he said, "I think I can really be of some practical use to you."
He guessed at the time and said, that if we put our best foot foremost, we ought to be in Exeter by midnight. I remember, curiously enough, wondering which was his best foot—the one in the lace-up boot, or the one with elastic sides. Anyway, we set off after I had shared my last shilling with him. This he changed into food and drink at a small public-house by the wayside.
"At Exeter," he said, "I am widely known and respected. When we get there, certain people will welcome me in a friendly spirit, and I am quite sure they will welcome you too. In fact, I can promise you a very warm welcome and a good night's rest."
"Will they take the telescope?" I asked.
"No," he said. "They are not people like that. When they understand the situation, they will be perfectly well satisfied with you as you are."
I was glad that the major-general had come back to this quieter and wiser frame of mind, and thanked him.
"I hope it may be in my power to do you a service some day," I said; and then, in his turn, he thanked me.
"You never know," he replied. "You may be able to do me a good turn even sooner than you think for."
He smoked thousands more cigarettes, and asked me about my home and my family. He was rather interested to hear that my father was a rural dean, and kindly hoped that he made a good thing out of it. I told him that I believed he did; but I explained to him that money was not everything—indeed, far from it—and that too much is a great temptation. He said that he had never had enough, even in his palmiest days, to judge; and I said—
"There are many precious things that money will not buy, major-general. You must admit that. It won't buy affection, for instance."
He sniffed and evidently doubted this. He said—
"It will buy all the affection I want—and a bit over."
Then the lights of Exeter at last appeared and I was frightfully exhausted by now and jolly glad to see them.
"Here we are at last, thank the Lord," said my companion, though not in a very pious tone. Then, at the outskirts of the town, we came to a building with a light outside, and the major-general pushed me in in front of him—rather roughly, I thought. The inside was brightly illuminated with gas and, to my amazement, the building contained nothing but policemen. One of these was much astonished to see us.
"Hullo, Slimey Sam!" he said to my companion. "'Tisn't often you give us a call without a little help from behind!"
Then, to my horror, the major-general cast subterfuge to the winds and appeared in his true character.
"No," he said. "It took four of you blue worms to carry me in last time I was here; but this is just a friendly visit. I've been doing a bit of your work, in fact."
Instantly I perceived my position and made a dart for the door; but my faithless companion was too quick for me.
"No, you don't, my little man!" he cried out, and grabbed me by the collar as he did so. "This is the missing link," he said to the policemen, and they were much interested instantly.
"The boy from Merivale?"
"Yes."
Several policemen hastened to the telephone, and one hurried off to the main police-station of Exeter, and all was excitement, disorder and confusion. Slimey Samuel—for this was the real name of the treacherous and unfeeling man—told them the whole story in my hearing; but he omitted the part about not being able to sell the telescope, and the only thing that interested him personally was the question of the reward.
And really there is not much more to add, because what my father said, and what Dr. Dunstan said and did, and what Mannering said, and what the bicycle people said, and what the other chaps said when I went back, is none of it particularly interesting in a general way.
In fact, the only thing that would have been very interesting and that I should really like to be able to tell, is what Slimey Samuel said when he got his blood-money for giving me up to justice. He declared to the police in my hearing that it ought to be good for a hundred quid at least. But his nature was far too hopeful, and as a matter of fact he only got two pounds from my father and an offer of honest work. He only took the money; and I expect he felt rather bitter about it; and I felt rather bitter about it in secret also; because it seemed to show that my father did not put much value on me. Two pounds for a human life—let alone your own son—is really rather little. No doubt my father will go on thinking nothing of me till I am a man. Then, perhaps, the day may come when I shall be able to show him that, after all, money is mere dust in the balance against a son, who can do the sort of things I hope and intend to do, when I grow up into manhood.
THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE
No. XI
THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE
I
Going through the school-room of the third, which is my own form, I chanced to see Saunders minor and Fowle there; and, just as I passed them, Saunders minor said that he wished he was dead.
This, from Saunders minor, was a bit out of the common, so I stopped and asked him why. He said—
"It's only a manner of speaking, Thwaites; but, all the same, I do, because of the Good Conduct Prize."
"Well," I said, "you're a snip for it; everybody knows that."
"Not now," he answered. "In fact, it's all up, and the silver watch and chain are gone."
Of course, when young Saunders talked about a silver watch and chain, he didn't mean Dr. Dunstan's footling Good Conduct Prize, which is always a book of a particularly deadly kind, such asLays of Ancient Rome; but he meant the special prize his father had promised him if he won the highest marks for good conduct in his class. And he was simply romping home when this happened.
"Of course, it's that beast Foster," said Fowle. "I always hated Foster, and now, knowing he couldn't win by fair means, he made that peculiar face at Saunders just as the Doctor came in to say prayers last night; and Saunders laughed, not knowing the Doctor had actually come in; and the Doctor took off five conduct marks at one fell swoop."
"Foster must win now," said Saunders. "But it's a blackguard thing."
"And if Foster doesn't win, you will," said Fowle to me.
Curiously enough, this was true. I had been going rather strong on good conduct this term for private reasons. In fact, my father had promised me—not a silver watch—but a flogging, or very likely two, if I came home again with a holiday punishment.
You must know that at Merivale there was a putrid system called 'holiday punishments,' and if you didn't get a certain number of good conduct marks in the term, instead of going home in glory with a good report, you went home with a holiday punishment. Well, owing to one thing and another, I had taken home a holiday punishment four terms running; and my father began to get rather nasty about it. As a rule, he is a sort of father who talks very ferociously but doesn't do much; therefore, when he actually does flog me, which happens now and then, it comes as a great and unpleasant surprise. And I felt, in the matter of the good conduct marks, that if I went back with another holiday punishment, he would certainly keep his word and flog me to the best of his power. Therefore, I bucked up in a very unusual way, and though miles behind Saunders minor and Foster, was miles in front of the others; and when suddenly Fowle said this to me, that if Foster also smashed up as Saunders had done, I must get the Good Conduct Prize in the third, I felt quite giddy. Needless to say, I had never taken home a prize in my life. In fact, it seemed almost too much. My people would never believe it.
Of course, if such a thing really did happen, it would be a frightful score off my father; but then there was Foster. He stood six clear marks ahead of me, and unless some awful catastrophe overtook Foster, it was impossible for me to catch him. Then it seemed to me as Foster, in the most unsporting manner, had made his well-known comic face that always forced Saunders minor to laugh, and so he had got ahead of Saunders by a paltry trick, therefore it was only right that Foster should be scored off too. Needless to say, I was quite prepared to score off Foster myself; but then, very likely that would end by smashing me up, so it seemed to me that the thing to do was to try and get some outside person to score off Foster, like he had scored off Saunders minor.
I thought a lot about it, but I couldn't see any way that was perfectly sportsmanlike. Then Fowle, who is not sportsmanlike but very cunning, said there was a way. I felt pretty certain his way must be mean and piffling; but for once he thought of rather a good way. At least, it seemed good to me.
"I can't do anything myself," Fowle said, "because the last time I was interested in a fight, you will remember, the result was very unpleasant for me; but all the same, in a case like this, there ought to be a fight, and very likely if you explained in a perfectly friendly spirit to Saunders minor that he owes it to himself to fight Foster, he will be much obliged to you, and so into training for it."
Well, I was bound to admit that for once Fowle seemed to be right. Because, if Saunders minor fought Foster, the marks of battle would appear on Foster, even if he won; and they would be noticed by Browne, who hates fighting, and always takes off half the term's good conduct marks when he finds a chap who has clearly had a fight.
So I put it to Saunders minor.
I said, "I come in a perfectly friendly spirit, Saunders minor, and I don't want to put you to any inconvenience with Foster. But, as he's knocked you out of the Good Conduct Prize and your silver watch, which your father may never offer again, as they often change their minds, you have a frightful and bitter grievance against Foster."
"You may also add that Queen Anne is dead," said Saunders minor.
"I know," I said. "But the point is that I'm rather worried to see you taking this lying down. It isn't worthy of the third. We've always been a fighting form, and, in fact, you ought to resist this tooth and nail; and I'd be your second like a shot; and West, the champion of the lower school, would referee—to oblige me."
Saunders minor was a good deal interested.
"D'you think I ought to lick him?" he asked.
"I think you ought to try," I said; "and you might even succeed if you went into training, and had a bit of luck."
Saunders minor thought. He was a pale, putty-coloured chap, and when he thought, he frowned terrifically till his forehead got quite wrinkled and old. There was also a very peculiar vein on his temple you could see when he was thinking extra hard, but not at other times.
"The question is what I should gain," he said.
"Also what he would lose," I said. This was, of course, Fowle's idea, but it came in jolly handy here.
"What can he lose unless I lick him?"
"Well, the beauty of it would be," I explained, "that if you licked him, or if he licked you, it would be all the same as far as the Good Conduct Prize is concerned. If you knock him about a bit and black an eye or so, Browne will pounce upon him for certain, as well as you, and away go half his conduct marks for the term, and bang goes the Good Conduct Prize."
Saunders minor nodded.
"Did you think of this?" he asked.
"Yes," I said; "with help from Fowle."
"As a matter of fact, if this happened you'd get the Good Conduct Prize, Thwaites," said Saunders minor.
"It seems rather a wild idea," I answered, "but as a matter of fact I should—unless, of course, I come to grief myself before the end of the term. I've had to be awful keen on conduct this term, owing to my father, who has rather overdone it about conduct lately; and so I've been piling up marks in a small way, but of course such a thing as a good conduct prize is bang out of my line."
"Or any prize," added Saunders minor thoughtfully.
"Or any prize, as you truly say," I answered.
"Well, we've always been friendly enough," kindly remarked Saunders minor.
Needless to say I agreed.
"It would, of course, be a terrific act of kindness on your part to me if you knocked Foster out," I said; "and also it would be an act of justice to yourself; and also it would be what is expected of third form chaps."
"You speak as a fighter yourself," said Saunders minor.
"I am, of course, a great fighter," I said, "and have only once been beaten, and that by West, who is a champion and nearly two years older than me. But I believe you would be a very good fighter if you cared about it."
"I never should care about it," said Saunders minor. "But the point is Foster. Supposing he refuses to fight?"
"My dear chap," I said, "he couldn't. You've got a frightful grievance against him. The sixth, when they heard, would mighty soon make him fight."
"You'll second me, Thwaites, if it comes off?"
"Yes," I said. "Certainly I will."
Saunders minor began to think again, and his forehead became much furrowed.
"I'm just wondering, if I explained to my father about it, whether he'd still give me the watch if I succeeded in licking Foster," he said.
I told him that from what I knew of fathers like his it was very unlikely, and he'd better not hope.
"I have heard you say that your father is a clergyman," I said. "Don't buoy yourself up to think that he'll give you the watch if you lick Foster. Far from it. In the case of Morrison it was very different. His father always gave him half-a-crown if he went home with a black eye, and Morrison generally managed to do so; but then his father was a royal sea captain, and had commanded a first-class battleship. Your father is religious, naturally, and against fighting for certain."
It happened that just at this moment Foster and some other chaps, including his chum, Tin Lin Chow—commonly called 'Tinned Cow'—the Chinaman, came by, and Saunders minor, in the excitement of the moment, stopped Foster and spoke—
He said, "I've been thinking over losing the Good Conduct Prize, Foster; and as it was your fault, something must be done."
Foster said, "I've apologized. Nothing more can be done."
But Saunders minor said, "Much more can be done. In fact, I challenge you to fight; and Thwaites is my second, and West will referee."
Foster was much astonished at this.
"I'm bigger than you," he said. "It wouldn't be fair. I'm bound to lick you if we have a real serious fight."
"You might lick me, no doubt," said Saunders minor. "But I shall do a bit first: and I dare say you'll know what'll happen then."
"The only thing that can happen is that you'll have to give in," said Foster.
"Something else will happen besides that," answered Saunders minor. "However, you'll see. To-morrow week in the wood, if that will suit you."
He mentioned a half-holiday, and as the first had no match on, West would be able to referee comfortably, while everybody was looking at the second eleven match fixed for that day.
"Saturday week in the wood; but you'd better think twice," said Foster.
"I have," said Saunders minor.
And then Foster himself appeared to think twice. At least, Tin Lin Chow reminded him of something, and he came back rather mildly to us after he had walked away in a very cold and haughty manner.
"Look here, Saunders," he said; "would you mind putting off this fight till next term? I'm not in the least anxious not to oblige you; but for private reasons I would rather not fight this term."
"Yes, I know," said Saunders minor; "and for private reasons I rather would. You've knocked me out of the Good Conduct Prize when it was a dead certainty for me; and now——"
Foster went away to think; but, needless to say, his thinking didn't get him out of the mess. In fact, the fight had to come off, though Foster met Saunders minor three times before the day, and once actually sank to offering him a valuable and remarkable knife if he would put off the fight till the next term.
But Saunders minor jolly well scorned to do so.
II
What Foster did in the matter of training I don't know, but Saunders minor had rather bad luck. We sat together, and I gave up my meat at meals to him in exchange for his pudding. Well, of course, to eat all my meat as well as his own ought to have made him strong. But, unfortunately, it didn't. He seemed to miss his puddings frightfully, and his tongue went white the day before the fight, and he got a headache. The matron spotted him looking a bit off, and then a frightful thing happened, for the very night before the fight she made him take a huge dose of some beastliness, and of course, instead of being full of solid meat and strength for the fight, when the time came Saunders minor was quite the reverse.
Needless to say, he gave up all hope, and at dinner wouldn't eat any meat worth mentioning, and wouldn't give up his apple tart to me, but ate it himself. He said he was bound to lose, so it didn't matter, especially as apple tart was his favourite food.
The time came, and those in the fight sneaked off to the great wood that runs by Merivale playing-fields, and everything went very smoothly indeed. Saunders minor had me and Saunders minimus for his seconds, and Foster had Tin Lin Chow and Trelawny. And West not only was referee, but he wrote a magnificent description of the fight, like a newspaper. He had read about thousands of proper prize fights in a book of his brother's at home; so he understood everything about it. And he and Trelawny rather hoped that Masterman, who is the editor of our school magazine, would put the fight in; and if he had, it would have been far and away the best thing that he ever did put in. But Masterman wouldn't, though he was jolly sorry not to. He said—
"You see, West, the people who read the magazine most are the parents, and they like improving articles about foreign travel and what old boys are doing, and poetry, and so on. If I published this fight, the Doctor would get into an awful bate, because it would be too ferocious, and very likely frighten the parents of future new boys away when they read it."
Certainly it was a very horrid account written as West wrote it; but as he most kindly let me have the description to copy, I shall write it out again here; because certainly I couldn't do it half so well as him—him being champion of the lower school, and champion of the upper school, too, when Trelawny goes.
This is word for word what West wrote—