Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Thirteen.A Fly in the Ointment.Ainger’s prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled. While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle even to the captain. Others said it was because he could not win anything even if he tried. Others darkly hinted that he was one of the authors of the house’s present disgrace; and others whispered that there was no love lost between Railsford and his fourth prefect. In this last conjecture the gossips were right. Felgate and the Master of the Shell had not hit it from the first day of their acquaintance; and within the last few days an occurrence had taken place which had brought the two into violent collision.Railsford on leaving his room one afternoon had been attracted by the noise of groans and weeping at the far end of the passage. Going in the direction of the melancholy sounds, he discovered Bateson, the Baby, with a face as white as a sheet, huddled up all of a heap, the picture of misery and tribulation.“What is the matter?” inquired the master.The sufferer did not hear him at first; but on a repetition of the question he looked up and groaned.“Oh, I’m dying! I’m so ill! Oh, whatshall Ido?”Railsford was alarmed. The boy looked so white, and trembled all over. He stooped down to lift him up; but Bateson blubbered.“Don’t touch me, please. Oh, I’m dying!” and rolled over, groaning.It was no time for parleying. Railsford lifted him up in his arms and looked at him. There were beads of perspiration on his face, and a flavour of strong tobacco about his jacket. Bateson had been smoking. The master carried him downstairs and out into the square, where he set him on his feet. The cool air instantly revived the unhappy boy, and what it left undone a short and sharp fit of sickness completed.“You’re better now,” said Railsford, when this little ceremony was over.Bateson was fain to admit it.“How many more cigars have you got about you?” inquired the master, as he stalked with the delinquent at his heels into his room, and closed the door.The Baby was pale this time with terror, not with tobacco. He tremblingly turned out his trousers pockets, and produced a big cigar of which about a quarter had been consumed.“That’s all, really, sir,” he faltered.Railsford took the cigar and sniffed it. In his old college days he would not like to say he had not smoked as good a one himself.“Very well,” said he, handing it back to the astonished Baby. “Now, Bateson, sit down on that chair. Here are some matches. You must finish this cigar to the end before you leave this room.”The wretched Bateson turned green and began to howl.“Oh no, please sir! Don’t say that, sir! It will kill me! Please, Mr Railsford!”Railsford quietly lit a match, and handed it to the boy. Bateson fairly went down on his knees, and grovelled at the master’s feet.“Oh, Mr Railsford! I’ll promise never to touch one again—I really will if you’ll only let me off. I should die if you made me. Oh, please!”Railsford blew out the match and told the boy to get up.“I never did it before,” whimpered Bateson—it was hardly necessary to say that. “I didn’t know it was any harm. Felgate said it would do me good. Please, Mr Railsford, may I put it in the fire? I’ll never touch such a beastly thing again.”And as Railsford said nothing to prevent it, he flung the origin of his evils into the fire.“Now go to your room,” said the master. “And don’t be so foolish again.”Bateson departed, marvelling that he had not been thrashed for his crime, but pretty effectually cured of any ambition to renew his narcotic experiments. Railsford, had he been anyone else but Master of the House, would have enjoyed this little adventure. As it was, he did not like it, for it could scarcely end where it had. He astonished Felgate that evening by a visit to his study.“Felgate,” said he, “I wish to know your reason for giving Bateson a cigar to smoke.”“I give Bateson a cigar, sir?”“Do you deny it, Felgate?” demanded the master sternly.“Oh,” said the prefect, with a forced laugh, “I believe there was some joke about a cigar. He had a great fancy to try one.”A scornful look came into Railsford’s face as he said, “Do you really suppose, Felgate, any good is gained by not telling the truth at once?”“The truth, sir?” said Felgate, firing up as uncandid persons always do when their veracity is questioned. “I don’t understand you, sir.”“You understand me perfectly,” said Railsford. “You know that it is against rules for boys to smoke here.”“I wasn’t smoking,” said Felgate.“No. You encouraged another boy to do what you dared not do yourself; that is hardly creditable in a prefect.”Felgate shifted his ground.“There’s nothing wrong in smoking,” said he; “lots of fellows do it.”“I do it myself,” said Railsford bluntly, “but what has that to do with this matter? You, as a monitor, are on your honour to observe the rules of the school, and see that others observe them. You break them yourself, and encourage others to break them. Is there nothing wrong in that?”Felgate said nothing, and jauntily took up a book.“Put down that book, and bring me all the cigars or tobacco you have, at once.”Railsford said this quietly and firmly. He had lost his shy, hesitating manner with his prefects; and now, when, for the first time, he was in collision with one of their number, he showed himself a stronger man than Felgate, at any rate, had given him credit for being. The prefect looked for a moment as if he would resist. Then he sullenly went to his locker and produced a case containing four cigars.“These are all you have?”Felgate nodded.“They are confiscated by the rules of the school,” said Railsford. “They will be returned to you after breaking-up. I wish I were able to return them to you now, and rely on your honour not to repeat your offence.”“I don’t want them back,” said Felgate, with a sneer. “You may smoke them yourself, sir.”He repented of the insult before it had left his lips. Railsford, however, ignored it, and quietly taking the cigars from the case, took them away with him, leaving the case on the table. Felgate’s impulse was to follow him and apologise for his ill-bred words. But his evil genius kept him back; and before bed-time arrived he not only repented of his repentance, but reproached himself for not saying a great deal more than he had. Felgate had a wonderful gift of self-delusion. He knew he had acted wrongly and meanly. “And yet,” he argued, “smoking is no crime, and if the school rules make it one, it doesn’t follow that I’m a sinner if I have a whiff now and then. He admits he smokes himself. He doesn’t call himself a sinner. Easy enough for him to be high and mighty. One law for him and another for me.”Poor young Bateson had a sorry time of it for the next week. In his terror at the prospect of having to smoke that awful cigar to the bitter end, he had scarcely known what he was saying; and it was not until Felgate charged him with being a sneak that he realised he had said anything to compromise his senior. Felgate was not one of the vulgar noisy sort of bullies, but a good deal worse. He made the wretched Baby’s life miserable with all sorts of exquisite torture. He hounded him on to break rules, and then caught him red-handed, and held over his head threats of exposure and punishment. He passed the word round the house that the boy was a tell-tale, and little was the mercy poor Bateson got either from friend or foe when that became known. Nor did Felgate, in his revengeful whims, omit the orthodox functions of the bully. Only he took care to perform such ceremonies in private, for fear of a mishap. But in these precautions he unluckily reckoned without his host.Railsford, after what had happened, was hardly likely to consider Bateson’s lot a happy one, and kept a sharp look-out to prevent any mischief coming to the luckless Baby on account of his confessions. For some days, no sign of any such trouble came under the master’s notice; and he was beginning to congratulate himself that Felgate had taken a proper view of his delinquencies, and was taking the only manly course of making amends, when the smouldering fires broke out unexpectedly and fiercely. Master Bateson was one of those practical young gentlemen who believe in having a shilling’s worth for a shilling; and when after a day or two he heard himself called a sneak from every corner of the house, it occurred to him, “What’s the use of being called a sneak if I’m not one?” Whereupon he marched off to Railsford, and informed him that Felgate had twice screwed his arm; once made him catch hold of a poker at the hot end—the proof whereof he bore on his hand—had once made him stand in the corner on one foot for the space of an hour by the clock; and had half a dozen times threatened him that unless he did something wrong he would accuse him of theft or some other horrible crime to the doctor. By reason of which ill-usage and threats, he, the deponent, went in bodily fear of his life.“Oh, and please, Mr Railsford, be sure and not let him know I told you, or he’ll kill me!”Railsford had another uncomfortable interview with Felgate after this. Felgate as usual began by impugning the junior’s veracity, but on the master’s proposing to send for the boy, and let him repeat his story there and then, he sullenly admitted that he might have played practical jokes on his tender person of the kind suggested. When Railsford said the matter was a serious one, the prefect smiled deprecatingly, and said it was not pleasant to him to be spoken to in this manner, and that if Mr Railsford wished to punish him he would be glad to have it over and done with. Railsford said that the question in his mind was whether he would allow Felgate to continue a prefect of the house. Whereupon Felgate promptly changed colour and dropped his sneer entirely.“I’m sure,” said he, “I had no intention of hurting him. I may have been a trifle inconsiderate, but I didn’t suppose—he didn’t complain to me, so I could hardly know he minded it.”“I can have very little confidence in a prefect who acts as you have done, Felgate.”“You may depend on me, sir, not to touch him again.”“I want to depend on more than that,” said the master. “As a prefect, you hold a position of influence in the house. If that influence is badly used—”“I don’t think you will have to complain any more,” said Felgate.“I sincerely hope not—for you may be sure another offence of this kind could not possibly be passed over. For the present I shall say no more about this, and shall do my best to treat you with the same confidence as heretofore. Just now we need all to work together for the good of our house and the school; and the boys are sure to look to the prefects to help them. Good-night, Felgate.”The grimace with which the prefect returned the salute, after the door closed, might have convinced Railsford, had he seen it, that he had done no good either to himself, the house, or the prefect by his leniency. As it was, he was destined to make the discovery later on. Felgate, to all appearances, resumed his old ways in the house. He let young Bateson alone, and kept to himself his feud with the master. He even attempted to pretend a languid interest in the new ambitions of his fellow-prefects, and at Ainger’s request entered his name for one of the events in the sports list. Railsford observed with some relief that he appeared to recognise the force of the rebuke which had been administered him, and with characteristic hopefulness was tempted to look upon the incident as ended.It was by no means ended. Felgate, to all appearance docile and penitent, nursed his wrath within him, and kept his eye open, with all the keenness of a sportsman, to the slightest opening for a revenge. In a quiet way he continued to do a great deal in the house to thwart the spirit of enterprise which was at present knitting all factions together. He sneered in a superior way at the enthusiasm all round him, and succeeded in making one or two of the fellows a little ashamed of their own eagerness.The funds for Railsford’s testimonial came in slowly. The result of a fortnight’s hard work was only four shillings and threepence, and to get even that wretched sum Arthur had made himself temporary enemies all over the house. He wrote an urgent letter to Daisy, to “shell out” something, and strove to work on the feelings of his parents to assist him to do honour to their future son-in-law. Meanwhile he conceived the wild project of approaching the prefects on the subject. Unluckily for everybody, he made his first attempt with Felgate.“A testimonial for Marky?” inquired that worthy. “What for?”“Well, you know he’s been pretty civil since he came, and he’s backed us up in that row about Bickers, you know. We thought we’d get him a ring, you know. He’s spoons on my sister Daisy, and Dig and I thought it would fetch him if we stuck ‘Chuckey’—that’s the pet name he calls her—on it. Don’t you think it would be a good dodge? He’d be sure to be pleased if he saw your name on the list of subscribers, Felgate.”“I’m certain of that,” said Felgate, laughing, “and if only I’d got any tin I’d be delighted. By the way, I fancy I did see a sixpence kicking about somewhere.”“Thanks, awfully. That’ll be a stunning lift. He’s sure to be extra civil to you after it.”“Oh, I see. Bribery, is it?” said Felgate, laughing. “And what particular reason have you for getting Mr Chuckey a testimonial?”“Ha, ha!” said Arthur, who felt bound to laugh at the senior’s joke. “Jolly good name for him. Oh, some of the fellows think he’s backed us up, you know, about Bickers and all that. Thanks awfully for the sixpence, Felgate. I’ll be sure and stick your name at the top of the list. I say, when’s that trial adjourned to?”“I don’t know. By the way, youngster, what a smart barrister you made that evening. Where did you pick it all up?”“Oh, I don’t know,” said Arthur, feeling rather flattered. “Dig and I went and heard a chap tried at the Old Bailey once. It was rather slow. But, I say, do you really think I doubled up Dig well? He was awfully wild.”“I don’t wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?”“Oh, I don’t know,” said Arthur, getting a little “tilted” with all this flattery from a senior. “It was a notion I had.”“Not half a bad notion,” said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. “Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge.”“That’s just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there.”“Of course, unless someone got on a chair.”“I thought of that,” responded Arthur grandly; “only there were one or two other things to come out if I’d had time. I say, do you know when it’s adjourned to?”“I don’t know. I hope not for long. I’d like to hear what else you’ve got. I could never make up such things to save my life.”“Perhaps I didn’t make them up,” said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness.“You don’t mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor.”“Can’t I, though, I can!” said Arthur, “and something else too. Suppose we’d found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name—eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to—eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn’t it?”“My word, youngster; you’re a sharp one. But I suppose it’s all make-up!”“Not a bit of it,” said Arthur, flushed by his triumph.“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Felgate sceptically.“I’ll show it you now,” said Arthur, “if you’ll promise to keep it dark. I’m not making up a bit of it.”“If you aren’t, all I can say is—Where are they?”“Come and see,” said Arthur, leading the way to his study.Dig was out on leave in the village.“There you are,” said Arthur, when he had opened his locker and produced the precious relics. “There’s the match-box. Have you ever seen any others of the same kind? I have.”“I fancy I saw one once,” said Felgate.“Belonging to a fellow six foot two who could reach up to the ledge?”Felgate nodded.“Now look at that paper—a bit of theStandard: there’s part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy’s fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there’s the sack—precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren’t they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don’t blame him if he did scrag old Bickers—very good job; and as it happens, it don’t hurt our house very much now we’re going to get all the sports; and I’m booked for the Swift Exhibition—£20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that’s one reason why we’re going to give him the testimonial—though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won’t you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it.”“Don’t you be afraid of me, youngster,” said Felgate. “I’d advise you to take good care of those things. We’ll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don’t go saying too much about it till then. Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from ‘A Friend.’ I must go now, young ’un.”He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with.

Ainger’s prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled. While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle even to the captain. Others said it was because he could not win anything even if he tried. Others darkly hinted that he was one of the authors of the house’s present disgrace; and others whispered that there was no love lost between Railsford and his fourth prefect. In this last conjecture the gossips were right. Felgate and the Master of the Shell had not hit it from the first day of their acquaintance; and within the last few days an occurrence had taken place which had brought the two into violent collision.

Railsford on leaving his room one afternoon had been attracted by the noise of groans and weeping at the far end of the passage. Going in the direction of the melancholy sounds, he discovered Bateson, the Baby, with a face as white as a sheet, huddled up all of a heap, the picture of misery and tribulation.

“What is the matter?” inquired the master.

The sufferer did not hear him at first; but on a repetition of the question he looked up and groaned.

“Oh, I’m dying! I’m so ill! Oh, whatshall Ido?”

Railsford was alarmed. The boy looked so white, and trembled all over. He stooped down to lift him up; but Bateson blubbered.

“Don’t touch me, please. Oh, I’m dying!” and rolled over, groaning.

It was no time for parleying. Railsford lifted him up in his arms and looked at him. There were beads of perspiration on his face, and a flavour of strong tobacco about his jacket. Bateson had been smoking. The master carried him downstairs and out into the square, where he set him on his feet. The cool air instantly revived the unhappy boy, and what it left undone a short and sharp fit of sickness completed.

“You’re better now,” said Railsford, when this little ceremony was over.

Bateson was fain to admit it.

“How many more cigars have you got about you?” inquired the master, as he stalked with the delinquent at his heels into his room, and closed the door.

The Baby was pale this time with terror, not with tobacco. He tremblingly turned out his trousers pockets, and produced a big cigar of which about a quarter had been consumed.

“That’s all, really, sir,” he faltered.

Railsford took the cigar and sniffed it. In his old college days he would not like to say he had not smoked as good a one himself.

“Very well,” said he, handing it back to the astonished Baby. “Now, Bateson, sit down on that chair. Here are some matches. You must finish this cigar to the end before you leave this room.”

The wretched Bateson turned green and began to howl.

“Oh no, please sir! Don’t say that, sir! It will kill me! Please, Mr Railsford!”

Railsford quietly lit a match, and handed it to the boy. Bateson fairly went down on his knees, and grovelled at the master’s feet.

“Oh, Mr Railsford! I’ll promise never to touch one again—I really will if you’ll only let me off. I should die if you made me. Oh, please!”

Railsford blew out the match and told the boy to get up.

“I never did it before,” whimpered Bateson—it was hardly necessary to say that. “I didn’t know it was any harm. Felgate said it would do me good. Please, Mr Railsford, may I put it in the fire? I’ll never touch such a beastly thing again.”

And as Railsford said nothing to prevent it, he flung the origin of his evils into the fire.

“Now go to your room,” said the master. “And don’t be so foolish again.”

Bateson departed, marvelling that he had not been thrashed for his crime, but pretty effectually cured of any ambition to renew his narcotic experiments. Railsford, had he been anyone else but Master of the House, would have enjoyed this little adventure. As it was, he did not like it, for it could scarcely end where it had. He astonished Felgate that evening by a visit to his study.

“Felgate,” said he, “I wish to know your reason for giving Bateson a cigar to smoke.”

“I give Bateson a cigar, sir?”

“Do you deny it, Felgate?” demanded the master sternly.

“Oh,” said the prefect, with a forced laugh, “I believe there was some joke about a cigar. He had a great fancy to try one.”

A scornful look came into Railsford’s face as he said, “Do you really suppose, Felgate, any good is gained by not telling the truth at once?”

“The truth, sir?” said Felgate, firing up as uncandid persons always do when their veracity is questioned. “I don’t understand you, sir.”

“You understand me perfectly,” said Railsford. “You know that it is against rules for boys to smoke here.”

“I wasn’t smoking,” said Felgate.

“No. You encouraged another boy to do what you dared not do yourself; that is hardly creditable in a prefect.”

Felgate shifted his ground.

“There’s nothing wrong in smoking,” said he; “lots of fellows do it.”

“I do it myself,” said Railsford bluntly, “but what has that to do with this matter? You, as a monitor, are on your honour to observe the rules of the school, and see that others observe them. You break them yourself, and encourage others to break them. Is there nothing wrong in that?”

Felgate said nothing, and jauntily took up a book.

“Put down that book, and bring me all the cigars or tobacco you have, at once.”

Railsford said this quietly and firmly. He had lost his shy, hesitating manner with his prefects; and now, when, for the first time, he was in collision with one of their number, he showed himself a stronger man than Felgate, at any rate, had given him credit for being. The prefect looked for a moment as if he would resist. Then he sullenly went to his locker and produced a case containing four cigars.

“These are all you have?”

Felgate nodded.

“They are confiscated by the rules of the school,” said Railsford. “They will be returned to you after breaking-up. I wish I were able to return them to you now, and rely on your honour not to repeat your offence.”

“I don’t want them back,” said Felgate, with a sneer. “You may smoke them yourself, sir.”

He repented of the insult before it had left his lips. Railsford, however, ignored it, and quietly taking the cigars from the case, took them away with him, leaving the case on the table. Felgate’s impulse was to follow him and apologise for his ill-bred words. But his evil genius kept him back; and before bed-time arrived he not only repented of his repentance, but reproached himself for not saying a great deal more than he had. Felgate had a wonderful gift of self-delusion. He knew he had acted wrongly and meanly. “And yet,” he argued, “smoking is no crime, and if the school rules make it one, it doesn’t follow that I’m a sinner if I have a whiff now and then. He admits he smokes himself. He doesn’t call himself a sinner. Easy enough for him to be high and mighty. One law for him and another for me.”

Poor young Bateson had a sorry time of it for the next week. In his terror at the prospect of having to smoke that awful cigar to the bitter end, he had scarcely known what he was saying; and it was not until Felgate charged him with being a sneak that he realised he had said anything to compromise his senior. Felgate was not one of the vulgar noisy sort of bullies, but a good deal worse. He made the wretched Baby’s life miserable with all sorts of exquisite torture. He hounded him on to break rules, and then caught him red-handed, and held over his head threats of exposure and punishment. He passed the word round the house that the boy was a tell-tale, and little was the mercy poor Bateson got either from friend or foe when that became known. Nor did Felgate, in his revengeful whims, omit the orthodox functions of the bully. Only he took care to perform such ceremonies in private, for fear of a mishap. But in these precautions he unluckily reckoned without his host.

Railsford, after what had happened, was hardly likely to consider Bateson’s lot a happy one, and kept a sharp look-out to prevent any mischief coming to the luckless Baby on account of his confessions. For some days, no sign of any such trouble came under the master’s notice; and he was beginning to congratulate himself that Felgate had taken a proper view of his delinquencies, and was taking the only manly course of making amends, when the smouldering fires broke out unexpectedly and fiercely. Master Bateson was one of those practical young gentlemen who believe in having a shilling’s worth for a shilling; and when after a day or two he heard himself called a sneak from every corner of the house, it occurred to him, “What’s the use of being called a sneak if I’m not one?” Whereupon he marched off to Railsford, and informed him that Felgate had twice screwed his arm; once made him catch hold of a poker at the hot end—the proof whereof he bore on his hand—had once made him stand in the corner on one foot for the space of an hour by the clock; and had half a dozen times threatened him that unless he did something wrong he would accuse him of theft or some other horrible crime to the doctor. By reason of which ill-usage and threats, he, the deponent, went in bodily fear of his life.

“Oh, and please, Mr Railsford, be sure and not let him know I told you, or he’ll kill me!”

Railsford had another uncomfortable interview with Felgate after this. Felgate as usual began by impugning the junior’s veracity, but on the master’s proposing to send for the boy, and let him repeat his story there and then, he sullenly admitted that he might have played practical jokes on his tender person of the kind suggested. When Railsford said the matter was a serious one, the prefect smiled deprecatingly, and said it was not pleasant to him to be spoken to in this manner, and that if Mr Railsford wished to punish him he would be glad to have it over and done with. Railsford said that the question in his mind was whether he would allow Felgate to continue a prefect of the house. Whereupon Felgate promptly changed colour and dropped his sneer entirely.

“I’m sure,” said he, “I had no intention of hurting him. I may have been a trifle inconsiderate, but I didn’t suppose—he didn’t complain to me, so I could hardly know he minded it.”

“I can have very little confidence in a prefect who acts as you have done, Felgate.”

“You may depend on me, sir, not to touch him again.”

“I want to depend on more than that,” said the master. “As a prefect, you hold a position of influence in the house. If that influence is badly used—”

“I don’t think you will have to complain any more,” said Felgate.

“I sincerely hope not—for you may be sure another offence of this kind could not possibly be passed over. For the present I shall say no more about this, and shall do my best to treat you with the same confidence as heretofore. Just now we need all to work together for the good of our house and the school; and the boys are sure to look to the prefects to help them. Good-night, Felgate.”

The grimace with which the prefect returned the salute, after the door closed, might have convinced Railsford, had he seen it, that he had done no good either to himself, the house, or the prefect by his leniency. As it was, he was destined to make the discovery later on. Felgate, to all appearances, resumed his old ways in the house. He let young Bateson alone, and kept to himself his feud with the master. He even attempted to pretend a languid interest in the new ambitions of his fellow-prefects, and at Ainger’s request entered his name for one of the events in the sports list. Railsford observed with some relief that he appeared to recognise the force of the rebuke which had been administered him, and with characteristic hopefulness was tempted to look upon the incident as ended.

It was by no means ended. Felgate, to all appearance docile and penitent, nursed his wrath within him, and kept his eye open, with all the keenness of a sportsman, to the slightest opening for a revenge. In a quiet way he continued to do a great deal in the house to thwart the spirit of enterprise which was at present knitting all factions together. He sneered in a superior way at the enthusiasm all round him, and succeeded in making one or two of the fellows a little ashamed of their own eagerness.

The funds for Railsford’s testimonial came in slowly. The result of a fortnight’s hard work was only four shillings and threepence, and to get even that wretched sum Arthur had made himself temporary enemies all over the house. He wrote an urgent letter to Daisy, to “shell out” something, and strove to work on the feelings of his parents to assist him to do honour to their future son-in-law. Meanwhile he conceived the wild project of approaching the prefects on the subject. Unluckily for everybody, he made his first attempt with Felgate.

“A testimonial for Marky?” inquired that worthy. “What for?”

“Well, you know he’s been pretty civil since he came, and he’s backed us up in that row about Bickers, you know. We thought we’d get him a ring, you know. He’s spoons on my sister Daisy, and Dig and I thought it would fetch him if we stuck ‘Chuckey’—that’s the pet name he calls her—on it. Don’t you think it would be a good dodge? He’d be sure to be pleased if he saw your name on the list of subscribers, Felgate.”

“I’m certain of that,” said Felgate, laughing, “and if only I’d got any tin I’d be delighted. By the way, I fancy I did see a sixpence kicking about somewhere.”

“Thanks, awfully. That’ll be a stunning lift. He’s sure to be extra civil to you after it.”

“Oh, I see. Bribery, is it?” said Felgate, laughing. “And what particular reason have you for getting Mr Chuckey a testimonial?”

“Ha, ha!” said Arthur, who felt bound to laugh at the senior’s joke. “Jolly good name for him. Oh, some of the fellows think he’s backed us up, you know, about Bickers and all that. Thanks awfully for the sixpence, Felgate. I’ll be sure and stick your name at the top of the list. I say, when’s that trial adjourned to?”

“I don’t know. By the way, youngster, what a smart barrister you made that evening. Where did you pick it all up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Arthur, feeling rather flattered. “Dig and I went and heard a chap tried at the Old Bailey once. It was rather slow. But, I say, do you really think I doubled up Dig well? He was awfully wild.”

“I don’t wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Arthur, getting a little “tilted” with all this flattery from a senior. “It was a notion I had.”

“Not half a bad notion,” said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. “Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge.”

“That’s just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there.”

“Of course, unless someone got on a chair.”

“I thought of that,” responded Arthur grandly; “only there were one or two other things to come out if I’d had time. I say, do you know when it’s adjourned to?”

“I don’t know. I hope not for long. I’d like to hear what else you’ve got. I could never make up such things to save my life.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make them up,” said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness.

“You don’t mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor.”

“Can’t I, though, I can!” said Arthur, “and something else too. Suppose we’d found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name—eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to—eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn’t it?”

“My word, youngster; you’re a sharp one. But I suppose it’s all make-up!”

“Not a bit of it,” said Arthur, flushed by his triumph.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Felgate sceptically.

“I’ll show it you now,” said Arthur, “if you’ll promise to keep it dark. I’m not making up a bit of it.”

“If you aren’t, all I can say is—Where are they?”

“Come and see,” said Arthur, leading the way to his study.

Dig was out on leave in the village.

“There you are,” said Arthur, when he had opened his locker and produced the precious relics. “There’s the match-box. Have you ever seen any others of the same kind? I have.”

“I fancy I saw one once,” said Felgate.

“Belonging to a fellow six foot two who could reach up to the ledge?”

Felgate nodded.

“Now look at that paper—a bit of theStandard: there’s part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy’s fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there’s the sack—precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren’t they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don’t blame him if he did scrag old Bickers—very good job; and as it happens, it don’t hurt our house very much now we’re going to get all the sports; and I’m booked for the Swift Exhibition—£20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that’s one reason why we’re going to give him the testimonial—though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won’t you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it.”

“Don’t you be afraid of me, youngster,” said Felgate. “I’d advise you to take good care of those things. We’ll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don’t go saying too much about it till then. Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from ‘A Friend.’ I must go now, young ’un.”

He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with.

Chapter Fourteen.Challenging the Record.On the Monday before Railsford’s sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a document which lay on the table between them.It was Smedley’s report of the School sports held the Saturday before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader.“‘The Mile Race. Smedley 1, Branscombe 2. Time 4 minutes 50 seconds.’ Whew!” said Ainger, “I can’t beat that; 4.52 is the shortest I’ve done it in, and I doubt if I could do that again.”“Fiddlesticks! If you don’t do it in 4.48 you deserve to be sent home to the nursery. But do you see Branscombe gave up before the end? That’s odd. I rather thought he was the better man of the two.”“Branscombe seems to be down on his luck altogether this term,” said Ainger. “I fancy he hasn’t a very sweet time at Bickers’s.”“But he ought to have won the mile, for all that. He’s got the longest legs in Grandcourt, and used to have the best wind.”“Gone stale,” said Ainger, “and growing too fast. Why, he must be as tall as Railsford already; and he’s good for an inch or so more.”“Poor beggar! But what about the high jump?”“High jump? Smedley and Clipstone a tie, 5 feet 4½.”“Thank you,” said Barnworth. “I may as well scratch at once. I once jumped that, but that was in the days of my youth.”“Fiddlesticks! If you don’t clear 5 feet 5, you deserve to be sent home to a daily governess,” said Ainger, laughing. “And, by the way, I hear Wake has been jumping finely lately. Mind he doesn’t do it for you.”“Wake had better mind his own business,” responded Barnworth. “I, a prefect and a very great person in this house, should greatly resent it if a Fifth-form fellow beat me at the jump. Upon my word I’d give him 100 lines.”“‘Cricket-ball. Clipstone 77 yards.’ What a poor throw! Felgate is sure to beat that, at any rate.”“Not if he can help,” said Barnworth. “In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it. Unless you do, we lose it.”“Do you mean he’d throw short on purpose?”“My dear fellow, you are just beginning to perceive what anybody who isn’t a born simpleton would have seen for himself a week ago.”Ainger’s brow clouded. “I’ll enter myself, then,” said he.“No you won’t; enter Stafford. Stafford won’t get the mile, which you will. A little success may keep him with us; otherwise the odds are he may go over to the enemy—aliasyour friend Felgate.”Ainger wrote Stafford’s name down there and then.In this way the two friends went through the list. It was a strong record to beat, and if they were doubtful of themselves they were still more doubtful of some of their juniors.For instance, Arthur, if he meant to win the long jump under sixteen, would have to clear 15 feet 8 inches; and Dimsdale, to secure the 100 yards under fifteen, would have to do it in 13 seconds. Tilbury was safe for the cricket-ball in his class; and Arthur, if he took care, might beat Smith’s record for the Shell half-mile. Most of the other events were decidedly doubtful, and it was evident the week which remained would need to be used well, if the ambitious attempt of Railsford’s house was to succeed. By no means the least interested peruser of the list when presently it was posted up on the common room door Railsford himself.For a week or two past he had been as nearly happy as he could be in the congenial work of training and encouraging the youthful athletes of his house. He had felt drawn to them and they to him by quite a new bond of sympathy. He spared himself in nothing for the common cause, and his enthusiasm was, as might be expected, contagious.“There are one or two of these records we shall not beat,” said the master to Ainger; “but the majority of them we should be able to manage.”He spoke so hopefully that Ainger’s spirits went up decidedly. A final overhaul of the list was made, and the times registered compared with the times on the School list. In one or two cases Railsford advised that a second man should be run with a good start, in order to force the pace, and through one or two names belonging to hopeless triflers or malcontents he quietly passed his pencil.“I see Stafford has entered for the cricket-ball,” said he, “as well as Felgate; how is that?”“We should lose the cricket-ball otherwise,” said Ainger. “Felgate may do his best if someone is against him, but he won’t if he’s the only man in for us. He has no interest in sports.”Railsford’s face clouded.“Is Stafford the best man to enter? Should not you or Barnworth go in?”“I think not, sir. Stafford made some good practice yesterday, and can beat the School record as it is.”During the next few days every spare moment at Railsford’s house was used in preparing for the great trial of Saturday. Nor, strange to say, did the school-work suffer in consequence. The idlers in the Shell, being in the way of spurts, took a sudden spurt of interest in class—partly for fear of being excluded by detention or otherwise from Saturday’s celebration, and partly because the healthy condition of their bodies had begotten for the time being a healthier condition of mind. Arthur and the baronet actually knew their syntax for two days running, and the astounding phenomenon of a perfectly empty detention-room occurred on both the Friday and the Saturday. The latter event was specially satisfactory to Railsford, as he was able to secure the services of Monsieur Lablache as assistant-judge—not exactly a popular appointment, but, failing any better, one which fellows had to make the best of.The house rose that Saturday morning with a full sense of the crisis which was upon it. Despite Felgate’s sneers, and the jealous ridicule which floated in from outside on their efforts, they felt that they stood face to face with a great chance. Their reputation as a house was on its trial; they were boycotted by the doctor, and held up as a warning to evil-doers. They resolved to make themselves a warning to good and evil-doers alike that day, and show the doctor and everyone else that the spirit was not yet knocked out of them.The half-holiday at Railsford’s, as we have said, began under the newrégimeimmediately after breakfast, and ended at one o’clock, so that the farce of morning school did not interpose to chill the ardour of the combatants. The whole house assembled in flannels in honour of the occasion. The weather was very much like what the School had had a week ago; if anything, the ground was hardly in quite as good condition. At any rate, it was felt that, as far as externals went, the test between the two days’ performances would be a fair one. True, there was something a little chilly about the empty field. The usual inspiriting crowd of partisan spectators was absent, and the juniors of Railsford, who usually had to fight for front places, felt it a little dismal when they discovered that they could occupy any position they liked—even the ladies’ stand.Arthur was very angry with himself for not getting Daisy down for the occasion. Her presence would have lent undoubted prestige both to himself and Dig, as well as to Railsford; and if she could have given the prizes afterwards it would have been a magnificent family affair. He bemoaned this omission to Railsford himself as he walked down with him to the fields. However, just before proceedings begun, the wished-for excitement was supplied by three most unexpected arrivals on the course. The first was that of the doctor’s niece, who, having watched the School sports a week ago with great interest, and being secretly rather sorry for the misfortunes which had over taken Railsford’s house, saw no reason why she should not take her accustomed place in the stand to-day. The boys were just in the mood to appreciate this little act of chivalry, and as she shyly walked up to the pavilion, they welcomed her with a cheer which brought the blushes to her cheeks and a smile of half-frightened pleasure to her lips. Boys who had seen her every day for the last three months in chapel suddenly discovered that she was simply charming; they greeted her much as mortals in distress would greet the apparition of the good fairy, and fifty champions there and then were ready to do battle for her, and only wished they had the chance.The excitement of this arrival was hardly passed when another figure appeared on the scene, hardly less important or less popular. This was no other than Smedley, the School captain, who had asked and obtained special leave from Mr Roe to be present as representing the school on the occasion. He was still indignant at the disabilities imposed upon the rival house; and though he by no means wished it success in its ambitious project of beating the School record, his sense of fair play told him that if no one was on the ground to represent the other houses, they would compete at a disadvantage. If it went out that the School captain had been present, everyone, at any rate, would have to admit there had been fair play and no opening for dispute, whatever the result might be. So Smedley, although it might be to see his own record beaten, came down to the fields that morning. There was a little uncertainty as to his reception at first, for Railsford’s was in an Ishmaelitish mood, and was ready to call everybody an enemy who wasn’t on its side.But when Ainger was heard to say—“Hurrah! he’s a regular brick to come and back us up like this!” everybody jumped to the correct view of Smedley’s motives, and cheered him scarcely less enthusiastically than they had just now cheered their “Queen of Love and Beauty.”“I only wish he was in his flannels,” said Arthur, “and would run the mile against us. It would be something like to lick him off his own stride.”Arthur was rather proud of his athletic slang. What he meant was that he would sooner see Ainger win the mile against Smedley himself than against Smedley’s time.“Never mind, he’s going to be the judge, do you see? I say, old man, you and I’ll have to sit up now.”This was the universal effect of the captain’s presence. Perhaps he hardly realised himself what an advantage his presence was conferring on his rivals.The first event on the programme was the Babies’ hundred yards, for which our friends Bateson and Jukes were entered, with the serious record of twenty-two seconds to beat. They were both a little pale and nervous with the excitement of opening the ball, and looked round wistfully, first at Railsford, then at Smedley, where he stood, watch in hand, at the winning-post, and then up at the ladies’ stand.“Now, youngsters,” said Railsford, “do your very best. You ought both of you to run it under twenty seconds. Are you ready now? Off!”The flood-gates were opened now; and from this moment till the end of the sports Railsford’s kept up a continual roar. Both Bateson and Jukes had little difficulty in registering a double victory for their house. Bateson covered the ground in nineteen seconds and Jukes in twenty-one. While the cheers for this initial victory were in full cry, the third of that morning’s apparitions came upon the scene. This was no other than Mr Bickers, at sight of whom a chill fell upon the assembly. What did he want there? Hadn’t he done them harm enough? Who asked him to come? Why wasn’t he making his own fellows miserable instead of coming here and spoiling their fun?Mr Bickers, after looking round him, and taking in the scene generally, walked up to the ladies’ stand. Fellows dropped back sullenly to make room for him, although one or two pretended not to notice him and continued to stand and shout “Bateson!” “Jukes,” until he pushed them aside.“Good-morning, Miss Violet,” said he, lifting his hat. “I did not expect to see you here.”“Didn’t you, Mr Bickers? I’m going to see all the events. They have just run the first race, and Bateson and Jukes have both beaten the boy in your house who won last week. Haven’t you a programme? Mr Railsford will give you one.”“Thank you. I’m not staying long. It will be rather dull for you, will it not?”“Dull!” said Miss Phyllis, laughing. “Idon’t think it dull, thank you.”Mr Bickers walked slowly into the enclosure, watched by everyone. Railsford greeted him with a nod, and then walked off to the starting-post to prepare for the next race. The prefects of the house looked another way, and Smedley was busy comparing his watch with that of monsieur.“Smedley,” said Mr Bickers, “how come you to be here? You ought to be in your house.”“I have anexeat, sir,” said the captain.“From the doctor?”“From Mr Roe.”“Mr Roe can scarcely be aware that I have refused a similar application to boys in my own house.”Smedley made no reply to this observation, about which he had nothing to say.“You had better go in, Smedley. I will explain to Mr Roe.”Smedley looked at him in blank astonishment. It sounded more like a jest than sober earnest.“I have my master’sexeat” he said; “if he or the doctor cancels it I shall go in at once, sir.”It was Mr Bickers’s turn to stare now. He had overdone it for once in a way. His genius for interference had carried him a step too far; and with a “Very good, Smedley,” in terms which were meant to be ominous, he turned away and proceeded to where Railsford was.It was to speak to Railsford that he had come out into the fields that morning. His interviews with Miss Violet and the captain had been by the way. Railsford was busy marshalling the competitors for the Shell quarter-mile, of whom there was an unusual number. He was too much engrossed to notice Mr Bickers until that gentleman called him by name.“I want a word with you, Railsford,” said Mr Bickers.“Now then, toe the line and be ready. Be careful about fouling. Are you ready?”“Railsford, I want a word with you.”Railsford looked sharply round and perceived who the intruder was.“I can’t speak to you now, Mr Bickers, I’m busy. Now, boys, are you all ready? Off!”And he started to run beside the race. Mr Bickers put as cheerful a face on this little rebuff as he could, and presently walked across to the winning-post to make another attempt. The race had been well won by Tilbury, who had beaten the School record hollow, and shown himself a long way ahead of his fellow-runners. He of course came in for an ovation, which included a “Well run” from Smedley, and a “Bravo, indeed” from Railsford, which he valued specially. It was while he was receiving these friendly greetings that Mr Bickers once more approached Railsford.“Now you have a moment or two to spare,” he began.“I’ve not a moment to spare,” said Railsford, irritated. “What do you want?”“I want you to look at this letter. It concerns you.”And he produced an envelope from his pocket.“Give it to me,” said Railsford. “I’ll read it when I have time.”“No, thank you. I want you to—”“Ring the bell for the high jump,” said Railsford, turning his back. At the signal the whole company closed in a solid phalanx round the poles. For the high jump was one of the great events of the day. Mr Bickers became mixed up in the crowd, and saw that it was hopeless to attempt further parley. He turned on his heel, and the fellows made a lane for him to pass out. As he got clear, and began slowly to retreat to his own house, the boys raised a loud defiant cheer. But whether this was to hail his departure or to greet the appearance of Barnworth and Wake, ready stripped for the fray, it would be difficult to say. But whichever it was, Mr Bickers seemed by no means discomfited. He turned and caught sight of the head and shoulders of his rival towering among his boys, and he smiled to himself and tapped the letter in his hand.“Not a moment to spare!” said he to himself. “Good. We can wait. You may not be in such a hurry to get rid of me when you do read it; and your dear boys may change their minds about their hero, too,” added he, as a fresh cheer, mingled with a “Huzza for Railsford,” was wafted across the fields.

On the Monday before Railsford’s sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a document which lay on the table between them.

It was Smedley’s report of the School sports held the Saturday before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader.

“‘The Mile Race. Smedley 1, Branscombe 2. Time 4 minutes 50 seconds.’ Whew!” said Ainger, “I can’t beat that; 4.52 is the shortest I’ve done it in, and I doubt if I could do that again.”

“Fiddlesticks! If you don’t do it in 4.48 you deserve to be sent home to the nursery. But do you see Branscombe gave up before the end? That’s odd. I rather thought he was the better man of the two.”

“Branscombe seems to be down on his luck altogether this term,” said Ainger. “I fancy he hasn’t a very sweet time at Bickers’s.”

“But he ought to have won the mile, for all that. He’s got the longest legs in Grandcourt, and used to have the best wind.”

“Gone stale,” said Ainger, “and growing too fast. Why, he must be as tall as Railsford already; and he’s good for an inch or so more.”

“Poor beggar! But what about the high jump?”

“High jump? Smedley and Clipstone a tie, 5 feet 4½.”

“Thank you,” said Barnworth. “I may as well scratch at once. I once jumped that, but that was in the days of my youth.”

“Fiddlesticks! If you don’t clear 5 feet 5, you deserve to be sent home to a daily governess,” said Ainger, laughing. “And, by the way, I hear Wake has been jumping finely lately. Mind he doesn’t do it for you.”

“Wake had better mind his own business,” responded Barnworth. “I, a prefect and a very great person in this house, should greatly resent it if a Fifth-form fellow beat me at the jump. Upon my word I’d give him 100 lines.”

“‘Cricket-ball. Clipstone 77 yards.’ What a poor throw! Felgate is sure to beat that, at any rate.”

“Not if he can help,” said Barnworth. “In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it. Unless you do, we lose it.”

“Do you mean he’d throw short on purpose?”

“My dear fellow, you are just beginning to perceive what anybody who isn’t a born simpleton would have seen for himself a week ago.”

Ainger’s brow clouded. “I’ll enter myself, then,” said he.

“No you won’t; enter Stafford. Stafford won’t get the mile, which you will. A little success may keep him with us; otherwise the odds are he may go over to the enemy—aliasyour friend Felgate.”

Ainger wrote Stafford’s name down there and then.

In this way the two friends went through the list. It was a strong record to beat, and if they were doubtful of themselves they were still more doubtful of some of their juniors.

For instance, Arthur, if he meant to win the long jump under sixteen, would have to clear 15 feet 8 inches; and Dimsdale, to secure the 100 yards under fifteen, would have to do it in 13 seconds. Tilbury was safe for the cricket-ball in his class; and Arthur, if he took care, might beat Smith’s record for the Shell half-mile. Most of the other events were decidedly doubtful, and it was evident the week which remained would need to be used well, if the ambitious attempt of Railsford’s house was to succeed. By no means the least interested peruser of the list when presently it was posted up on the common room door Railsford himself.

For a week or two past he had been as nearly happy as he could be in the congenial work of training and encouraging the youthful athletes of his house. He had felt drawn to them and they to him by quite a new bond of sympathy. He spared himself in nothing for the common cause, and his enthusiasm was, as might be expected, contagious.

“There are one or two of these records we shall not beat,” said the master to Ainger; “but the majority of them we should be able to manage.”

He spoke so hopefully that Ainger’s spirits went up decidedly. A final overhaul of the list was made, and the times registered compared with the times on the School list. In one or two cases Railsford advised that a second man should be run with a good start, in order to force the pace, and through one or two names belonging to hopeless triflers or malcontents he quietly passed his pencil.

“I see Stafford has entered for the cricket-ball,” said he, “as well as Felgate; how is that?”

“We should lose the cricket-ball otherwise,” said Ainger. “Felgate may do his best if someone is against him, but he won’t if he’s the only man in for us. He has no interest in sports.”

Railsford’s face clouded.

“Is Stafford the best man to enter? Should not you or Barnworth go in?”

“I think not, sir. Stafford made some good practice yesterday, and can beat the School record as it is.”

During the next few days every spare moment at Railsford’s house was used in preparing for the great trial of Saturday. Nor, strange to say, did the school-work suffer in consequence. The idlers in the Shell, being in the way of spurts, took a sudden spurt of interest in class—partly for fear of being excluded by detention or otherwise from Saturday’s celebration, and partly because the healthy condition of their bodies had begotten for the time being a healthier condition of mind. Arthur and the baronet actually knew their syntax for two days running, and the astounding phenomenon of a perfectly empty detention-room occurred on both the Friday and the Saturday. The latter event was specially satisfactory to Railsford, as he was able to secure the services of Monsieur Lablache as assistant-judge—not exactly a popular appointment, but, failing any better, one which fellows had to make the best of.

The house rose that Saturday morning with a full sense of the crisis which was upon it. Despite Felgate’s sneers, and the jealous ridicule which floated in from outside on their efforts, they felt that they stood face to face with a great chance. Their reputation as a house was on its trial; they were boycotted by the doctor, and held up as a warning to evil-doers. They resolved to make themselves a warning to good and evil-doers alike that day, and show the doctor and everyone else that the spirit was not yet knocked out of them.

The half-holiday at Railsford’s, as we have said, began under the newrégimeimmediately after breakfast, and ended at one o’clock, so that the farce of morning school did not interpose to chill the ardour of the combatants. The whole house assembled in flannels in honour of the occasion. The weather was very much like what the School had had a week ago; if anything, the ground was hardly in quite as good condition. At any rate, it was felt that, as far as externals went, the test between the two days’ performances would be a fair one. True, there was something a little chilly about the empty field. The usual inspiriting crowd of partisan spectators was absent, and the juniors of Railsford, who usually had to fight for front places, felt it a little dismal when they discovered that they could occupy any position they liked—even the ladies’ stand.

Arthur was very angry with himself for not getting Daisy down for the occasion. Her presence would have lent undoubted prestige both to himself and Dig, as well as to Railsford; and if she could have given the prizes afterwards it would have been a magnificent family affair. He bemoaned this omission to Railsford himself as he walked down with him to the fields. However, just before proceedings begun, the wished-for excitement was supplied by three most unexpected arrivals on the course. The first was that of the doctor’s niece, who, having watched the School sports a week ago with great interest, and being secretly rather sorry for the misfortunes which had over taken Railsford’s house, saw no reason why she should not take her accustomed place in the stand to-day. The boys were just in the mood to appreciate this little act of chivalry, and as she shyly walked up to the pavilion, they welcomed her with a cheer which brought the blushes to her cheeks and a smile of half-frightened pleasure to her lips. Boys who had seen her every day for the last three months in chapel suddenly discovered that she was simply charming; they greeted her much as mortals in distress would greet the apparition of the good fairy, and fifty champions there and then were ready to do battle for her, and only wished they had the chance.

The excitement of this arrival was hardly passed when another figure appeared on the scene, hardly less important or less popular. This was no other than Smedley, the School captain, who had asked and obtained special leave from Mr Roe to be present as representing the school on the occasion. He was still indignant at the disabilities imposed upon the rival house; and though he by no means wished it success in its ambitious project of beating the School record, his sense of fair play told him that if no one was on the ground to represent the other houses, they would compete at a disadvantage. If it went out that the School captain had been present, everyone, at any rate, would have to admit there had been fair play and no opening for dispute, whatever the result might be. So Smedley, although it might be to see his own record beaten, came down to the fields that morning. There was a little uncertainty as to his reception at first, for Railsford’s was in an Ishmaelitish mood, and was ready to call everybody an enemy who wasn’t on its side.

But when Ainger was heard to say—

“Hurrah! he’s a regular brick to come and back us up like this!” everybody jumped to the correct view of Smedley’s motives, and cheered him scarcely less enthusiastically than they had just now cheered their “Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“I only wish he was in his flannels,” said Arthur, “and would run the mile against us. It would be something like to lick him off his own stride.”

Arthur was rather proud of his athletic slang. What he meant was that he would sooner see Ainger win the mile against Smedley himself than against Smedley’s time.

“Never mind, he’s going to be the judge, do you see? I say, old man, you and I’ll have to sit up now.”

This was the universal effect of the captain’s presence. Perhaps he hardly realised himself what an advantage his presence was conferring on his rivals.

The first event on the programme was the Babies’ hundred yards, for which our friends Bateson and Jukes were entered, with the serious record of twenty-two seconds to beat. They were both a little pale and nervous with the excitement of opening the ball, and looked round wistfully, first at Railsford, then at Smedley, where he stood, watch in hand, at the winning-post, and then up at the ladies’ stand.

“Now, youngsters,” said Railsford, “do your very best. You ought both of you to run it under twenty seconds. Are you ready now? Off!”

The flood-gates were opened now; and from this moment till the end of the sports Railsford’s kept up a continual roar. Both Bateson and Jukes had little difficulty in registering a double victory for their house. Bateson covered the ground in nineteen seconds and Jukes in twenty-one. While the cheers for this initial victory were in full cry, the third of that morning’s apparitions came upon the scene. This was no other than Mr Bickers, at sight of whom a chill fell upon the assembly. What did he want there? Hadn’t he done them harm enough? Who asked him to come? Why wasn’t he making his own fellows miserable instead of coming here and spoiling their fun?

Mr Bickers, after looking round him, and taking in the scene generally, walked up to the ladies’ stand. Fellows dropped back sullenly to make room for him, although one or two pretended not to notice him and continued to stand and shout “Bateson!” “Jukes,” until he pushed them aside.

“Good-morning, Miss Violet,” said he, lifting his hat. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t you, Mr Bickers? I’m going to see all the events. They have just run the first race, and Bateson and Jukes have both beaten the boy in your house who won last week. Haven’t you a programme? Mr Railsford will give you one.”

“Thank you. I’m not staying long. It will be rather dull for you, will it not?”

“Dull!” said Miss Phyllis, laughing. “Idon’t think it dull, thank you.”

Mr Bickers walked slowly into the enclosure, watched by everyone. Railsford greeted him with a nod, and then walked off to the starting-post to prepare for the next race. The prefects of the house looked another way, and Smedley was busy comparing his watch with that of monsieur.

“Smedley,” said Mr Bickers, “how come you to be here? You ought to be in your house.”

“I have anexeat, sir,” said the captain.

“From the doctor?”

“From Mr Roe.”

“Mr Roe can scarcely be aware that I have refused a similar application to boys in my own house.”

Smedley made no reply to this observation, about which he had nothing to say.

“You had better go in, Smedley. I will explain to Mr Roe.”

Smedley looked at him in blank astonishment. It sounded more like a jest than sober earnest.

“I have my master’sexeat” he said; “if he or the doctor cancels it I shall go in at once, sir.”

It was Mr Bickers’s turn to stare now. He had overdone it for once in a way. His genius for interference had carried him a step too far; and with a “Very good, Smedley,” in terms which were meant to be ominous, he turned away and proceeded to where Railsford was.

It was to speak to Railsford that he had come out into the fields that morning. His interviews with Miss Violet and the captain had been by the way. Railsford was busy marshalling the competitors for the Shell quarter-mile, of whom there was an unusual number. He was too much engrossed to notice Mr Bickers until that gentleman called him by name.

“I want a word with you, Railsford,” said Mr Bickers.

“Now then, toe the line and be ready. Be careful about fouling. Are you ready?”

“Railsford, I want a word with you.”

Railsford looked sharply round and perceived who the intruder was.

“I can’t speak to you now, Mr Bickers, I’m busy. Now, boys, are you all ready? Off!”

And he started to run beside the race. Mr Bickers put as cheerful a face on this little rebuff as he could, and presently walked across to the winning-post to make another attempt. The race had been well won by Tilbury, who had beaten the School record hollow, and shown himself a long way ahead of his fellow-runners. He of course came in for an ovation, which included a “Well run” from Smedley, and a “Bravo, indeed” from Railsford, which he valued specially. It was while he was receiving these friendly greetings that Mr Bickers once more approached Railsford.

“Now you have a moment or two to spare,” he began.

“I’ve not a moment to spare,” said Railsford, irritated. “What do you want?”

“I want you to look at this letter. It concerns you.”

And he produced an envelope from his pocket.

“Give it to me,” said Railsford. “I’ll read it when I have time.”

“No, thank you. I want you to—”

“Ring the bell for the high jump,” said Railsford, turning his back. At the signal the whole company closed in a solid phalanx round the poles. For the high jump was one of the great events of the day. Mr Bickers became mixed up in the crowd, and saw that it was hopeless to attempt further parley. He turned on his heel, and the fellows made a lane for him to pass out. As he got clear, and began slowly to retreat to his own house, the boys raised a loud defiant cheer. But whether this was to hail his departure or to greet the appearance of Barnworth and Wake, ready stripped for the fray, it would be difficult to say. But whichever it was, Mr Bickers seemed by no means discomfited. He turned and caught sight of the head and shoulders of his rival towering among his boys, and he smiled to himself and tapped the letter in his hand.

“Not a moment to spare!” said he to himself. “Good. We can wait. You may not be in such a hurry to get rid of me when you do read it; and your dear boys may change their minds about their hero, too,” added he, as a fresh cheer, mingled with a “Huzza for Railsford,” was wafted across the fields.

Chapter Fifteen.Mr Bickers prefers the Door to the Window.The history of the great events of Railsford’s sports were so faithfully chronicled at the time by Arthur Herapath in a long letter to his sister Daisy, that it would be presumption on my part, with that valuable document lying before me, to attempt to narrate in my own words what has been so much more vivaciously described by my young friend. Arthur was great at letter-writing, especially to his sister. And there is small doubt that, with the aid of a slang dictionary and a little imagination on her own part, that sympathetic young person was usually able to catch the drift of her young brother’s rollicking lucubrations.“Dear Da. Thanks awfully for the bob.”A good many of Arthur’s letters began with this curious observation. Whether this particular “bob” had reference to Railsford’s testimonial or not, the writer cannot speak positively.“We had a ripping time at our sports, and licked all the records but three. No end of a crow for us. The School’s tearing its hair all over the place, and our fellows have been yelling for two days without stopping. It’s a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did, as our chaps would never have pulled themselves together as they did without it. Nobody wants to find the chap out now; so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don’t mean to drip and spoil his game.” (We wonder what Daisy made of this curious sentence when she read it!) “Dig and I were awfully riled we hadn’t got you down for the sports, and I wanted Marky to wire up for you and put them off till you came. As it was, it didn’t matter a bit, for Miss Violet showed up like a trump as she is, and backed us up; so it’s just as well you hadn’t come. Violet nodded to me! She’s the most beautiful girl in the world. Smedley turned up too; brickish, wasn’t it? Bickers of course came, and tried to spoil our sports, but Marky gave him a flea in his ear, and Dig and I howled; so he didn’t stay long.“Bateson and Jukes pulled off the kids’ hundred yards; and jolly cocky they were, I can tell you. Bateson’s the sneak I told you of.“Tilbury won the Shell quarter-mile. Dig and I were in for it, but we wanted to save ourselves for the long jump and hurdles, so we ran easy, and Tilbury did it hands down.“Ah, Da, really you should have been there to see the high jump! Smedley and Clipstone tied 5 4½ last week for the School. No end of a jump to beat; and Dig and I were in a blue funk about our men. Barnworth and Wake were the only two entered;—dark horses both; at leastIdidn’t know what either of them could do. I heard Ainger tell Violet he thought we’d pull it off, so I perked up. They started at 4 foot 10. Wake muffed his first jump, and we gave ourselves up for gone ’coons. However, he hopped over second try. They went up by inches to five feet. My word! you should have seen the way Violet clapped! They’d have been cads if they hadn’t gone over, with her backing them up like that. Wake’s got the rummiest jump you ever saw. He runs sideways at the bar, and sort of lies down on his back on it as he goes over. You’d think he’d muff it every time, but just as he looks like done for, he kicks up his foot and clears. Barnworth takes it straight—skips up to the bar and goes over like a daisy, without seeming to try.“At 5 foot 1, Wake mulled twice, and we thought he was out of it. But the third time he got over finely with a good inch to spare. It got precious ticklish after this; and no one said a word till each Jump was done: and then we let out. Violet stood up and looked as if she’d got a ten-pound note on the event. At 5 foot 3 Barnworth came a cropper; and I fancy he must have screwed his foot. Anyhow, he had to sit a minute before he tried again. Then he went over like a shot—and you may guess we yelled. Five foot 3½. Both of them mulled the first—but Barnworth cleared easily second shot. We fancied Wake would too, but he missed both his other chances, and so got out of it. Awfully good jump this for a Fifth-form chap.“Barnworth pulled himself together after that, and cleared the 5 foot 3½ and 5 foot 4 first go. Then came the tug. The bar went up to 5 4½, Smedley’s jump, and you might have heard a fly cough. We were pretty nervous, I can tell you, and it would have done you good to see Violet standing up and holding her breath. Barnworth was the only chap that didn’t seem flurried. Smedley and Marky both looked blue, and poor Froggy looked as if he was going to blubber.“My wig! Daisy, if you’d heard the yell when the beggar cleared the bar first shot! Dig and I went mad; and somebody had to clout us on the head before we could take it in that the fun wasn’t over. Of course it was not.Pas un morceau de il—we’d tied them; but we’d still to lick them.“‘Bravo, Barnworth,’ yells Violet. ‘Go it, old kangaroo,’ howls Dig. ‘Take your time and tuck in that shoe-lace,’ says Marky. ‘A million to one on our man,’ says I; and then up goes the bar to 5 foot 5; and then you could have heard a caterpillar wink. Old Barnworth looked a little green himself this time; and didn’t seem in a hurry to begin. He muffed his first jump, and we all thought the game was up. But no! The beggar hopped over second time as easily as I could hop 3 feet. My word, it was a hop! Dig stood on his head and I could have done so too, only Violet was looking. She was no end glad.Elle est une brique et une demie! So’s Smedley; for though it was his jump was beaten, he cheered as loud as anybody. I forgive him the licking he gave me last term. Marky made a regular ass of himself, he was so pleased. Every one wanted Barnworth to go on, but he wouldn’t, as he had a race to come on.“Then came the Shell hurdles, 120 yards, ten flights. Dig and I were in, and had to beat 19½ seconds. I felt jolly miserable, I can tell you, at the start, and that ass Dig made it all the worse by fooling about just to show off, and making believe to spar at me, when he was shaking in his shoes all the time; Marky wasn’t much better, for he came and said, ‘You’ll have to run your very best to win it.’ As if we didn’t know that! He don’t deserve a testimonial for doing a thing like that. Next that ass Smedley went and made up to Violet just when she wanted to back us up, and I don’t believe she saw a bit of the race till the finish. It was enough to make any chap blue. Then monsieur started us, and kept us waiting a whole minute (it seemed like an hour) while the second hand of his wretched watch was getting round. And then he started us in such a rotten way that it wasn’t till I saw Dig running that I took in we were off, and coming up to the first hurdle. But soon the fellows began to yell, and I felt better.“Dig had the pull of me at the start, but I got up to him at the third hurdle. He missed a step in landing, and that put him out, and we went over the fourth and fifth neck and neck. Then I saw Violet stand up, out of the corner of my left eye; and Smedley began to look at us too. After that it was all right. At the sixth hurdle we both rose together, and then I heard a crack and a grunt behind me, and knew poor old Dig had come a cropper. Of course I had no time to grin, as I had my time to beat. But it was very lonely doing those next three hurdles. I didn’t know how I was going, only I could swear I’d been twenty seconds long before I got to the eighth. I nearly mulled the ninth, and lost a step after the jump. That made me positive I’d not beaten my time; and I had half a mind to pull up, I was so jolly miserable. However, the fellows were still yelling, so I pulled myself together and went at the last hurdle viciously and got clean over, and then put it on all I could to the winning-post. I guessed I’d done it in thirty seconds, and wished there was a pit I could tumble into at the end.“Then Marky came and patted me on the back. ‘Splendid, old fellow,’ said he. ‘How do you mean?’ said I; ‘ain’t I licked into a cocked hat?’ ‘You’ve done it in nineteen seconds,’ said he. ‘Go on!’ said I. And then the other fellows came up and cheered, and then Violet called out, ‘Bravo, Herapath,’ and Ainger said, ‘Run indeed, young ’un.’ So I had to believe it; and I can tell you I was a bit pleased.J’étais un morceau plaisé.“I was sorry for old Dig, but he won the Shell wide jump directly afterwards. I made a mess of the half-mile. I ought to have got it from Smythe, of the School-house; but all I could do was to dead heat his time. I suppose I was fagged after the hurdles. Tilbury had it all his own way with the Shell cricket-ball, and Stafford got the senior throw. Felgate was in against him—rather a decent chap, one of our prefects; had me to tea in his room the other day. He and Marky don’t hit it. He was lazy, and didn’t bother himself. Fellows said he could easily have licked the School record if he’d tried; but he didn’t; and Stafford missed it by a few inches. So that event we lost. Jolly sell,joli vendre.“Never mind, we got the mile, and that was the crackest thing of all. We had to beat Smedley and Branscombe, both—only Branscombe—he’s Bickers’s prefect—didn’t run it out last week. Smedley’s time was 4.50. Ainger and Stafford ran for us; and Ranger was put on the track with 200 yards start to force the pace.“Stafford was out of it easily; but Ranger stuck to it like a Trojan. The first lap he was still a hundred yards to the good, and going like steam. Ainger ran finely, and overhauled him gradually. Still he had about twenty yards to the good at the beginning of the last lap. Then it was fine to see Ainger tuck in his elbows and let himself out. A quarter of a mile from home Ranger was clean out of it, regularly doubled up; but Ainger kept on steadily for a couple of hundred yards.“Then, my word, he spurted right away to the finish! You never saw such a rush up as it was! The fellowsyelled, I can let you know. Every one knew that it was our event the second the spurt began, and when he got up to the tape and ‘4.42’ was shouted out, it was a sight to see the state we were in. It’s the best mile we ever did at Grandcourt, and even Smedley, though he was a bit riled, I fancy, at his licking, said he couldn’t have done it in the time if he’d tried.“I send you Dig’s programme, with the times all marked. You’ll see we won them all except the senior cricket-ball, half-mile, and senior hundred. It’s a rattling good score for us, I can tell you; and we cheered Marky like one o’clock. It was an awful sell Violet couldn’t give away our prizes; but she shied at it. I suppose old Pony would have gruffed at her. She is the most beautiful girl in the world.“You needn’t go telling themater, but I was off my feed a whole day after the sports. How soon do fellows get money enough to marry? If I get the Swift Scholarship I shall have £20 a-year for three years—something to start with. I wish you’d come down and give me a leg-up. I’m afraid that cad Smedley’s got his eye on her. His father’s only a doctor. We’re better off than that, besides being chummy with a baronet. Hullo! there’s the bell for cubicles. Ta, ta.Je suis très miserable. Your aff. A.H.”Little dreaming of the sad blight which had come over his future young kinsman’s life, Railsford was sitting in his room that Sunday evening, feeling rather more than usually comfortable. He had some cause to be pleased. His house had done better than anyone expected. They had beaten all the records but three, and, without being specially conceited, Railsford took to himself the credit of having done a good deal to bring about this satisfactory result.“Curious,” said he to himself, “that in all probability, if that affair of Bickers’s had not happened, we might never have risen as a house; indeed, it’s almost a mercy the culprit has never been discovered, for we should have then been plunged back into the current, and the work of pulling ourselves together might never have been done. It’s odd that, as time goes on, there is not even a hint or a suspicion who did it. There’s only one boy in the house I’m not sure of, and he is too great a coward to be a ruffian. Well, well, we have the cricket season and the exams, coming on. If only we do as well in them as we’ve done in the sports, it will not be altogether against us if the mystery remains a mystery a little longer.”Whereupon the door opened and Mr Bickers stepped in. Railsford had completely forgotten the episode in the fields the previous day; he scarcely recollected that Mr Bickers had been present at the sports, and was delightfully oblivious to the fact that he, Railsford, had either slighted or offended his colleague. He wondered what was the occasion of the present visit, and secretly resolved to keep both his temper and his head if he could.“Good-evening,” said he, with a friendly smile. “I’m just going to have my coffee; won’t you have a cup too, Bickers?”Mr Bickers took no notice of this hospitable invitation, but closed the door behind him and said, “I want a few words with you, Mr Railsford.”“Certainly? I’ve nothing to do— Won’t you take a seat?”Mr Bickers took a seat, a little disconcerted by Railsford’s determined good-humour. He had not counted upon that.“The last time I saw you you were hardly so polite,” said he, with a sneer.“When was that? I’m very sorry if I was rude; I had no intention, I assure you.”Railsford began to feel a little like the lamb in the fable. This wolf had evidently come bent on a quarrel, and Railsford, lamb and all as he was, would have liked to oblige him. But he was quick enough to see—with the memory of more than one failure to warn him—that his only chance with Mr Bickers was, at all costs, not to quarrel.“You are fortunate in your short memory; it is a most convenient gift.”“It’s one, at any rate, I would like to cultivate with regard to any unpleasantness there may have been between you and me, Bickers,” said Railsford.This was not a happy speech, and Mr Bickers accepted it with a laugh.“Quite so; I can understand that. It happens, however, that I have come to assist in prolonging your memory with regard to that unpleasantness. I’m sorry to interfere with your good intentions, but it cannot be helped this time.”“Really,” said Railsford, feeling his patience considerably taxed, “all this is very perplexing. Would you mind coming to the point at once, Bickers?”“Not at all. When I saw you yesterday I asked you to look at a letter I had with me.”“Oh, yes; I remember now. I was greatly taken up with the sports, and had no time then. I felt sure you would understand.”“I understood perfectly. I have brought the letter for you now,” and he held it out.Railsford took it with some curiosity, for Mr Bickers’s manner, besides being offensive, was decidedly mysterious.“Am I to read it?”“Please.”The letter was a short one, written in an evidently disguised hand:“Sir,—The name of the person who maltreated you lately is perfectly well-known in Railsford’s house. No one knows his name better than Mr Railsford himself. But as the house is thriving by what has occurred, it is to nobody’s interest to let out the secret. The writer of this knows what he is speaking about, and where to find the proofs.—A Friend.”Railsford read this strange communication once or twice, and then laughed.“It’s amusing, isn’t it?” sneered Mr Bickers.“It’s absurd!” said Railsford.“I thought you would say so,” said Bickers, taking back the letter and folding it up. “For all that, I should like to know the name of the person referred to.”“You surely do not mean, Bickers, that you attach any importance to a ridiculous joke like that?”“I attach just the importance it deserves, Railsford.”“Then I would put it in the fire, Bickers.”Mr Bickers’s face darkened. Long ere now he had calculated on reducing the citadel of his adversary’s good-humour, and now that it still held out, he felt his own self-possession deserting him.“Allow me to tell you, Railsford, that I believe what that letter states!”“Do you really? I hope when I tell you that every word of it which relates to myself is a grotesque falsehood, you will alter your opinion.”“Even that would not convince me,” said Bickers.Railsford stared at him blankly. He had surely misunderstood his words.“I said,” he repeated, and there was a tremor of excitement in his voice, which afforded his enemy the keenest pleasure—“I said that every word in that letter which refers to me is false. You surely don’t believe it after that?”“I said,” repeated Mr Bickers, with a fine sneer, “that even that would not convince me.”Surely the longed-for explosion would come now! He saw Railsford’s face flush and his eyes flash. But before the furious retort escaped from his lips, a wise whisper from somewhere fell between them and robbed the wolf of his prey.“Then,” said the Master of the Shell, forcing his lips to a smile, “there is not much to be gained by prolonging this interview, is there?”Mr Bickers was deeply mortified. There was nothing for it now but for him to assume therôleof aggressor. He would so much have preferred to be the aggrieved.“Yes, Railsford,” said he, rising from his chair and standing over his enemy. “I dare you to say that you neither know nor suspect the person who assaulted me!”Railsford felt devoutly thankful he had kept his head. He now dug his hands into his pockets, stretched himself, and replied,—“You may very safely do that, Bickers.”It was hard lines for poor Bickers, this. He had worked so hard to get himself an adversary; and here was all his labour being lost!“You’re paltering,” snarled he. “I dare you to say you did not do the cowardly deed yourself!”Railsford could not imagine how he had ever been so foolish as to be in a rage with the fellow. He laughed outright at the last piece of bluster. Bickers was now fairly beside himself, or he would never have done what he did. He struck Railsford where he sat a blow on the mouth, which brought blood to his lips. This surely was the last card, and Railsford in after years never knew exactly how it came about that he did not fly there and then at his enemy’s throat, and shake him as a big dog shakes a rat. It may have been he was too much astonished to do anything of the sort; or it may have been that he, the stronger man of the two, felt a sort of pity for the poor bully, which kept him back. At any rate, his good genius befriended him this time, and saved him both his dignity and his moral vantage. He put his handkerchief to his lips for a moment, and then said quietly—“There are two ways of leaving this room, Bickers: the door and the window. I advise you to choose the door.”Mr Bickers was too cowed by his own act to keep up the contest, and hating himself at that moment almost as much—but not quite—as he hated his enemy, he slunk out of the door and departed to his own house. Railsford sat where he was, and stared at the door by which his visitor had left, in a state of bewildered astonishment.The more Railsford thought the matter over, the less he liked it. For it convinced him that there was someone desirous of doing him an injury by means of the very master who was already predisposed to believe evil of him. It was rather a damper after the glorious result of the sports, and Railsford tried to laugh it off and dismiss the whole matter from his mind.“At least,” said he to himself, “if the accusation comes in no more likely a form than I have seen to-night, I can afford to disregard it. But though Bickers made a fool of himself for once in a way, it does not at all follow that he will not return to the attack, and that I may actually have to answer to Grandcourt the charges of that precious letter. It’s too absurd, really!”

The history of the great events of Railsford’s sports were so faithfully chronicled at the time by Arthur Herapath in a long letter to his sister Daisy, that it would be presumption on my part, with that valuable document lying before me, to attempt to narrate in my own words what has been so much more vivaciously described by my young friend. Arthur was great at letter-writing, especially to his sister. And there is small doubt that, with the aid of a slang dictionary and a little imagination on her own part, that sympathetic young person was usually able to catch the drift of her young brother’s rollicking lucubrations.

“Dear Da. Thanks awfully for the bob.”

A good many of Arthur’s letters began with this curious observation. Whether this particular “bob” had reference to Railsford’s testimonial or not, the writer cannot speak positively.

“We had a ripping time at our sports, and licked all the records but three. No end of a crow for us. The School’s tearing its hair all over the place, and our fellows have been yelling for two days without stopping. It’s a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did, as our chaps would never have pulled themselves together as they did without it. Nobody wants to find the chap out now; so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don’t mean to drip and spoil his game.” (We wonder what Daisy made of this curious sentence when she read it!) “Dig and I were awfully riled we hadn’t got you down for the sports, and I wanted Marky to wire up for you and put them off till you came. As it was, it didn’t matter a bit, for Miss Violet showed up like a trump as she is, and backed us up; so it’s just as well you hadn’t come. Violet nodded to me! She’s the most beautiful girl in the world. Smedley turned up too; brickish, wasn’t it? Bickers of course came, and tried to spoil our sports, but Marky gave him a flea in his ear, and Dig and I howled; so he didn’t stay long.

“Bateson and Jukes pulled off the kids’ hundred yards; and jolly cocky they were, I can tell you. Bateson’s the sneak I told you of.

“Tilbury won the Shell quarter-mile. Dig and I were in for it, but we wanted to save ourselves for the long jump and hurdles, so we ran easy, and Tilbury did it hands down.

“Ah, Da, really you should have been there to see the high jump! Smedley and Clipstone tied 5 4½ last week for the School. No end of a jump to beat; and Dig and I were in a blue funk about our men. Barnworth and Wake were the only two entered;—dark horses both; at leastIdidn’t know what either of them could do. I heard Ainger tell Violet he thought we’d pull it off, so I perked up. They started at 4 foot 10. Wake muffed his first jump, and we gave ourselves up for gone ’coons. However, he hopped over second try. They went up by inches to five feet. My word! you should have seen the way Violet clapped! They’d have been cads if they hadn’t gone over, with her backing them up like that. Wake’s got the rummiest jump you ever saw. He runs sideways at the bar, and sort of lies down on his back on it as he goes over. You’d think he’d muff it every time, but just as he looks like done for, he kicks up his foot and clears. Barnworth takes it straight—skips up to the bar and goes over like a daisy, without seeming to try.

“At 5 foot 1, Wake mulled twice, and we thought he was out of it. But the third time he got over finely with a good inch to spare. It got precious ticklish after this; and no one said a word till each Jump was done: and then we let out. Violet stood up and looked as if she’d got a ten-pound note on the event. At 5 foot 3 Barnworth came a cropper; and I fancy he must have screwed his foot. Anyhow, he had to sit a minute before he tried again. Then he went over like a shot—and you may guess we yelled. Five foot 3½. Both of them mulled the first—but Barnworth cleared easily second shot. We fancied Wake would too, but he missed both his other chances, and so got out of it. Awfully good jump this for a Fifth-form chap.

“Barnworth pulled himself together after that, and cleared the 5 foot 3½ and 5 foot 4 first go. Then came the tug. The bar went up to 5 4½, Smedley’s jump, and you might have heard a fly cough. We were pretty nervous, I can tell you, and it would have done you good to see Violet standing up and holding her breath. Barnworth was the only chap that didn’t seem flurried. Smedley and Marky both looked blue, and poor Froggy looked as if he was going to blubber.

“My wig! Daisy, if you’d heard the yell when the beggar cleared the bar first shot! Dig and I went mad; and somebody had to clout us on the head before we could take it in that the fun wasn’t over. Of course it was not.Pas un morceau de il—we’d tied them; but we’d still to lick them.

“‘Bravo, Barnworth,’ yells Violet. ‘Go it, old kangaroo,’ howls Dig. ‘Take your time and tuck in that shoe-lace,’ says Marky. ‘A million to one on our man,’ says I; and then up goes the bar to 5 foot 5; and then you could have heard a caterpillar wink. Old Barnworth looked a little green himself this time; and didn’t seem in a hurry to begin. He muffed his first jump, and we all thought the game was up. But no! The beggar hopped over second time as easily as I could hop 3 feet. My word, it was a hop! Dig stood on his head and I could have done so too, only Violet was looking. She was no end glad.Elle est une brique et une demie! So’s Smedley; for though it was his jump was beaten, he cheered as loud as anybody. I forgive him the licking he gave me last term. Marky made a regular ass of himself, he was so pleased. Every one wanted Barnworth to go on, but he wouldn’t, as he had a race to come on.

“Then came the Shell hurdles, 120 yards, ten flights. Dig and I were in, and had to beat 19½ seconds. I felt jolly miserable, I can tell you, at the start, and that ass Dig made it all the worse by fooling about just to show off, and making believe to spar at me, when he was shaking in his shoes all the time; Marky wasn’t much better, for he came and said, ‘You’ll have to run your very best to win it.’ As if we didn’t know that! He don’t deserve a testimonial for doing a thing like that. Next that ass Smedley went and made up to Violet just when she wanted to back us up, and I don’t believe she saw a bit of the race till the finish. It was enough to make any chap blue. Then monsieur started us, and kept us waiting a whole minute (it seemed like an hour) while the second hand of his wretched watch was getting round. And then he started us in such a rotten way that it wasn’t till I saw Dig running that I took in we were off, and coming up to the first hurdle. But soon the fellows began to yell, and I felt better.

“Dig had the pull of me at the start, but I got up to him at the third hurdle. He missed a step in landing, and that put him out, and we went over the fourth and fifth neck and neck. Then I saw Violet stand up, out of the corner of my left eye; and Smedley began to look at us too. After that it was all right. At the sixth hurdle we both rose together, and then I heard a crack and a grunt behind me, and knew poor old Dig had come a cropper. Of course I had no time to grin, as I had my time to beat. But it was very lonely doing those next three hurdles. I didn’t know how I was going, only I could swear I’d been twenty seconds long before I got to the eighth. I nearly mulled the ninth, and lost a step after the jump. That made me positive I’d not beaten my time; and I had half a mind to pull up, I was so jolly miserable. However, the fellows were still yelling, so I pulled myself together and went at the last hurdle viciously and got clean over, and then put it on all I could to the winning-post. I guessed I’d done it in thirty seconds, and wished there was a pit I could tumble into at the end.

“Then Marky came and patted me on the back. ‘Splendid, old fellow,’ said he. ‘How do you mean?’ said I; ‘ain’t I licked into a cocked hat?’ ‘You’ve done it in nineteen seconds,’ said he. ‘Go on!’ said I. And then the other fellows came up and cheered, and then Violet called out, ‘Bravo, Herapath,’ and Ainger said, ‘Run indeed, young ’un.’ So I had to believe it; and I can tell you I was a bit pleased.J’étais un morceau plaisé.

“I was sorry for old Dig, but he won the Shell wide jump directly afterwards. I made a mess of the half-mile. I ought to have got it from Smythe, of the School-house; but all I could do was to dead heat his time. I suppose I was fagged after the hurdles. Tilbury had it all his own way with the Shell cricket-ball, and Stafford got the senior throw. Felgate was in against him—rather a decent chap, one of our prefects; had me to tea in his room the other day. He and Marky don’t hit it. He was lazy, and didn’t bother himself. Fellows said he could easily have licked the School record if he’d tried; but he didn’t; and Stafford missed it by a few inches. So that event we lost. Jolly sell,joli vendre.

“Never mind, we got the mile, and that was the crackest thing of all. We had to beat Smedley and Branscombe, both—only Branscombe—he’s Bickers’s prefect—didn’t run it out last week. Smedley’s time was 4.50. Ainger and Stafford ran for us; and Ranger was put on the track with 200 yards start to force the pace.

“Stafford was out of it easily; but Ranger stuck to it like a Trojan. The first lap he was still a hundred yards to the good, and going like steam. Ainger ran finely, and overhauled him gradually. Still he had about twenty yards to the good at the beginning of the last lap. Then it was fine to see Ainger tuck in his elbows and let himself out. A quarter of a mile from home Ranger was clean out of it, regularly doubled up; but Ainger kept on steadily for a couple of hundred yards.

“Then, my word, he spurted right away to the finish! You never saw such a rush up as it was! The fellowsyelled, I can let you know. Every one knew that it was our event the second the spurt began, and when he got up to the tape and ‘4.42’ was shouted out, it was a sight to see the state we were in. It’s the best mile we ever did at Grandcourt, and even Smedley, though he was a bit riled, I fancy, at his licking, said he couldn’t have done it in the time if he’d tried.

“I send you Dig’s programme, with the times all marked. You’ll see we won them all except the senior cricket-ball, half-mile, and senior hundred. It’s a rattling good score for us, I can tell you; and we cheered Marky like one o’clock. It was an awful sell Violet couldn’t give away our prizes; but she shied at it. I suppose old Pony would have gruffed at her. She is the most beautiful girl in the world.

“You needn’t go telling themater, but I was off my feed a whole day after the sports. How soon do fellows get money enough to marry? If I get the Swift Scholarship I shall have £20 a-year for three years—something to start with. I wish you’d come down and give me a leg-up. I’m afraid that cad Smedley’s got his eye on her. His father’s only a doctor. We’re better off than that, besides being chummy with a baronet. Hullo! there’s the bell for cubicles. Ta, ta.Je suis très miserable. Your aff. A.H.”

Little dreaming of the sad blight which had come over his future young kinsman’s life, Railsford was sitting in his room that Sunday evening, feeling rather more than usually comfortable. He had some cause to be pleased. His house had done better than anyone expected. They had beaten all the records but three, and, without being specially conceited, Railsford took to himself the credit of having done a good deal to bring about this satisfactory result.

“Curious,” said he to himself, “that in all probability, if that affair of Bickers’s had not happened, we might never have risen as a house; indeed, it’s almost a mercy the culprit has never been discovered, for we should have then been plunged back into the current, and the work of pulling ourselves together might never have been done. It’s odd that, as time goes on, there is not even a hint or a suspicion who did it. There’s only one boy in the house I’m not sure of, and he is too great a coward to be a ruffian. Well, well, we have the cricket season and the exams, coming on. If only we do as well in them as we’ve done in the sports, it will not be altogether against us if the mystery remains a mystery a little longer.”

Whereupon the door opened and Mr Bickers stepped in. Railsford had completely forgotten the episode in the fields the previous day; he scarcely recollected that Mr Bickers had been present at the sports, and was delightfully oblivious to the fact that he, Railsford, had either slighted or offended his colleague. He wondered what was the occasion of the present visit, and secretly resolved to keep both his temper and his head if he could.

“Good-evening,” said he, with a friendly smile. “I’m just going to have my coffee; won’t you have a cup too, Bickers?”

Mr Bickers took no notice of this hospitable invitation, but closed the door behind him and said, “I want a few words with you, Mr Railsford.”

“Certainly? I’ve nothing to do— Won’t you take a seat?”

Mr Bickers took a seat, a little disconcerted by Railsford’s determined good-humour. He had not counted upon that.

“The last time I saw you you were hardly so polite,” said he, with a sneer.

“When was that? I’m very sorry if I was rude; I had no intention, I assure you.”

Railsford began to feel a little like the lamb in the fable. This wolf had evidently come bent on a quarrel, and Railsford, lamb and all as he was, would have liked to oblige him. But he was quick enough to see—with the memory of more than one failure to warn him—that his only chance with Mr Bickers was, at all costs, not to quarrel.

“You are fortunate in your short memory; it is a most convenient gift.”

“It’s one, at any rate, I would like to cultivate with regard to any unpleasantness there may have been between you and me, Bickers,” said Railsford.

This was not a happy speech, and Mr Bickers accepted it with a laugh.

“Quite so; I can understand that. It happens, however, that I have come to assist in prolonging your memory with regard to that unpleasantness. I’m sorry to interfere with your good intentions, but it cannot be helped this time.”

“Really,” said Railsford, feeling his patience considerably taxed, “all this is very perplexing. Would you mind coming to the point at once, Bickers?”

“Not at all. When I saw you yesterday I asked you to look at a letter I had with me.”

“Oh, yes; I remember now. I was greatly taken up with the sports, and had no time then. I felt sure you would understand.”

“I understood perfectly. I have brought the letter for you now,” and he held it out.

Railsford took it with some curiosity, for Mr Bickers’s manner, besides being offensive, was decidedly mysterious.

“Am I to read it?”

“Please.”

The letter was a short one, written in an evidently disguised hand:

“Sir,—The name of the person who maltreated you lately is perfectly well-known in Railsford’s house. No one knows his name better than Mr Railsford himself. But as the house is thriving by what has occurred, it is to nobody’s interest to let out the secret. The writer of this knows what he is speaking about, and where to find the proofs.—A Friend.”

Railsford read this strange communication once or twice, and then laughed.

“It’s amusing, isn’t it?” sneered Mr Bickers.

“It’s absurd!” said Railsford.

“I thought you would say so,” said Bickers, taking back the letter and folding it up. “For all that, I should like to know the name of the person referred to.”

“You surely do not mean, Bickers, that you attach any importance to a ridiculous joke like that?”

“I attach just the importance it deserves, Railsford.”

“Then I would put it in the fire, Bickers.”

Mr Bickers’s face darkened. Long ere now he had calculated on reducing the citadel of his adversary’s good-humour, and now that it still held out, he felt his own self-possession deserting him.

“Allow me to tell you, Railsford, that I believe what that letter states!”

“Do you really? I hope when I tell you that every word of it which relates to myself is a grotesque falsehood, you will alter your opinion.”

“Even that would not convince me,” said Bickers.

Railsford stared at him blankly. He had surely misunderstood his words.

“I said,” he repeated, and there was a tremor of excitement in his voice, which afforded his enemy the keenest pleasure—“I said that every word in that letter which refers to me is false. You surely don’t believe it after that?”

“I said,” repeated Mr Bickers, with a fine sneer, “that even that would not convince me.”

Surely the longed-for explosion would come now! He saw Railsford’s face flush and his eyes flash. But before the furious retort escaped from his lips, a wise whisper from somewhere fell between them and robbed the wolf of his prey.

“Then,” said the Master of the Shell, forcing his lips to a smile, “there is not much to be gained by prolonging this interview, is there?”

Mr Bickers was deeply mortified. There was nothing for it now but for him to assume therôleof aggressor. He would so much have preferred to be the aggrieved.

“Yes, Railsford,” said he, rising from his chair and standing over his enemy. “I dare you to say that you neither know nor suspect the person who assaulted me!”

Railsford felt devoutly thankful he had kept his head. He now dug his hands into his pockets, stretched himself, and replied,—

“You may very safely do that, Bickers.”

It was hard lines for poor Bickers, this. He had worked so hard to get himself an adversary; and here was all his labour being lost!

“You’re paltering,” snarled he. “I dare you to say you did not do the cowardly deed yourself!”

Railsford could not imagine how he had ever been so foolish as to be in a rage with the fellow. He laughed outright at the last piece of bluster. Bickers was now fairly beside himself, or he would never have done what he did. He struck Railsford where he sat a blow on the mouth, which brought blood to his lips. This surely was the last card, and Railsford in after years never knew exactly how it came about that he did not fly there and then at his enemy’s throat, and shake him as a big dog shakes a rat. It may have been he was too much astonished to do anything of the sort; or it may have been that he, the stronger man of the two, felt a sort of pity for the poor bully, which kept him back. At any rate, his good genius befriended him this time, and saved him both his dignity and his moral vantage. He put his handkerchief to his lips for a moment, and then said quietly—

“There are two ways of leaving this room, Bickers: the door and the window. I advise you to choose the door.”

Mr Bickers was too cowed by his own act to keep up the contest, and hating himself at that moment almost as much—but not quite—as he hated his enemy, he slunk out of the door and departed to his own house. Railsford sat where he was, and stared at the door by which his visitor had left, in a state of bewildered astonishment.

The more Railsford thought the matter over, the less he liked it. For it convinced him that there was someone desirous of doing him an injury by means of the very master who was already predisposed to believe evil of him. It was rather a damper after the glorious result of the sports, and Railsford tried to laugh it off and dismiss the whole matter from his mind.

“At least,” said he to himself, “if the accusation comes in no more likely a form than I have seen to-night, I can afford to disregard it. But though Bickers made a fool of himself for once in a way, it does not at all follow that he will not return to the attack, and that I may actually have to answer to Grandcourt the charges of that precious letter. It’s too absurd, really!”

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