Chapter Nineteen.Halting between Two Opinions.There was no mistaking the doctor’s meaning this time. Sharpe’s had had a long rope, but had come to the end of it at last. I would not for the world have confessed it at the time, but I was half glad a crisis had come. My conscience had smitten me more than once about my work. I had fooled away the good chance with which I had entered Low Heath. Fellows far below me in scholarship had got ahead of me by force of steady plodding, while I was wasting my time. The good resolutions which I had brought up with me had one by one fallen overboard, and I had been content enough to take my place among the rowdies without an effort.I had counted all through on Tempest’s backing up. If he had been keen on the credit of the house, I felt I could have been so too. If he had been down on me for my neglect of work, I felt I should have stuck to it. As it was, slackness reigned supreme. Tempest was slack because he was out of humour. Pridgin was slack because he was lazy. Wales was slack because he wanted to be in the fashion. And all of us were slack because our betters set us the example. It needs no little courage for a single boy to attempt to stem the drift of slackness in a school house. A dull, dogged boy like Dicky Brown might have done it; but I could not afford to be peculiar, and therefore succumbed, against my judgment, to the prevalent dry rot.Now that a crisis had come I hoped Tempest might, if not for his own sake, for ours, pull up, and take his house in hand, as he well could do if he chose. A short conversation I overheard as I was fagging in his study that morning, however, was not encouraging.“What’s it to be,” said Wales, “a lecture or a row?”“A row, I hope,” said Tempest wearily.“What’s wrong, old chap?” asked Pridgin.“Nothing. Out of curl, that’s all,” said Tempest, trying to assume a laugh.“You’re not going to cave in to Jarman at this time of day,” said Wales, “are you?”“Do you think it likely?” said Tempest.“I tell you what I don’t like,” said Pridgin presently; “that’s the way Crofter’s lately taken to do the virtuous.”“That’s not the worst of him,” said Wales; “but he’s been chumming up with Jarman. I’ve met them twice lately walking together.”“I suppose he’s got his eye on the headship of the house,” said Tempest, “when I get kicked out.”“Look here, old chap,” responded Pridgin, looking really anxious, “it’s not to come to that, surely. It would be intolerable to have him over us. Come what will, you must stick to us.”“All very well,” said Tempest dismally; “that’s England’s affair more than mine. If knuckling under to Jarman is a condition, I’m out of it, and Crofter is welcome to it.”This was all; and it was bad enough. When the summons to assemble in hall came, I went there in a state of dejection, feeling that the fates were all against me, and that the new leaf I hoped for was several pages further on yet.My fellow-Philosophers, I regret to say, neither shared in nor appreciated my forebodings.“Look at that ass Sarah, trying to look virtuous,” said Trimble. “Just like him, when there’s a row on.”“I’m not trying to look virtuous,” said I; “I’m sick of all these rows, though.”“Pity you aren’t sick when you’re getting us into them, instead of after. You know you’ve been at the bottom of every row there’s been on this term.”This sweeping statement was not calculated to allay my discomfort.“Don’t tell lies,” said I.“No more we are. Who got us into that mess at Camp Hill Bottom? Sarah did. Who landed us in the row about Jarman’s guy? Old Sarah. Who played the fool with that barge and got us all licked? Cad Sarah. Who started the shindy last night that’s fetched us all in here? Lout Sarah. Who’s going to be expelled? Howling Sarah. And who’ll be a jolly good riddance of bad rubbish? Chimpanzee Sarah. There you are. Make what you like of it, and don’t talk to us.”This tirade took my breath away. I knew it said more than it meant. Still, it wasn’t flattering, and it taxed my affection sorely to sit quietly and hear it out. But, somehow, to-day I was too anxious and worried to care much what anybody said.Fortunately the entrance of the doctor, Mr Sharpe, and Mr Jarman, made further discussion for the time being unnecessary—and a gloomy silence fell over the assembly.Dr England was evidently worried. Secretly, I believe, he was bored by the whole affair, and wished Mr Sharpe and his prefects could manage the affairs of their own house. Perhaps, too, the fact that Mr Jarman was once more the complainant had something to do with his lack of humour.“Now, boys,” said he, “this is an unusual and unpleasant interview, and I heartily wish it were not necessary. When a whole house is reported for rowdiness, it shows, I’m afraid, that the sense of duty to the school is in a bad way. This is not the first occasion this term on which this house has been reported, but I have previously refrained from interfering, in the hope that the good feeling of the boys themselves would assert itself and make any action of mine unnecessary. I am sorry it has not been so. As to the scrimmage in the quadrangle yesterday, I am not disposed to make too much of that; at any rate, that weighs less with me than what I understand to have been a deliberate act of disobedience to the master, who quite properly interfered to restore order; disobedience, I am sorry to say, encouraged, if not instigated, by the head boy of the house. I hope there may be some mistake about this. Will the boys who were engaged in the fight stand up?”The Philosophers rose to a man, with a promptitude which was almost aggressive. Bother it all, why should we be backward in admitting that we had gone for those day boys, and “put them to bed” for once?“I ask you boys to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell you to wait till he spoke to you?”“I did, sir,” said Langrish.“So did I,” said Trimble.“We all did,” said I.“And why did you not obey?”“Tempest told us to come in, so we did,” said I.“That’s right, sir,” said Coxhead.And the others assented.“Very well,” said the doctor. “Tempest, I ask you to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell the boys to wait?”“Yes, sir.”“And did you tell them, in spite of that, to come in?”“Yes, sir.”“Why?”“Because I’m head of the house, and I’m responsible for the order of my house.”“I am glad to hear you think so,” said the doctor drily. “Have you always been equally jealous for the order of your house this term, Tempest?”This was a “facer,” as we all felt. Tempest flushed and glanced up at the head master.“No, sir, I have not,” he said.The doctor was a chivalrous man, and did not try to rub in a sore. Tempest had made a damaging admission against himself, and might be left alone to his own sense of discomfort.Unluckily, however, Mr Jarman stood by, and the matter could hardly be allowed to drop.“As regards the incident last night,” said the doctor, “you know quite well, all of you, that no boy, even the head of his house, has the right to set his authority against that of a master. Your conduct was an insult to him, and requires an apology. These small boys may have considered they were not doing wrong in obeying you. Tempest, but you can plead no such ignorance. I expect you to apologise to Mr Jarman.”A struggle evidently passed through Tempest’s mind. His conscience had been roused by what the doctor had said, and his manner of saying it. Had the apology been demanded for any one else but Mr Jarman, he could have given it, and in one word have put himself on the side of duty. But apologise to Jarman! “If Mr Jarman wants me to tell a lie,” said he, slowly, “I’ll say I’m sorry. I can’t apologise to him.”“Come, Tempest,” said the doctor, evidently disconcerted at this threatened difficulty, “you must be aware of the consequences, if you refuse to do this.”“I know, sir, but I can’t help it. I can’t apologise to Mr Jarman.”Dead silence followed, broken only by the hard breathing of the Philosophers. The doctor twirled the tassel of his cap restlessly. Mr Sharpe looked straight before him through his glasses. Mr Jarman stroked his moustache and smiled. Tempest stood pale and determined, with his eyes on the floor.“I shall not prolong this scene,” said the doctor at last. “For the remaining week of this term the boys concerned in yesterday’s disturbance are forbidden to appear in the playing fields. You, Tempest, will have a day to think over your determination. Come to me in my house this time to-morrow.”“I’d sooner it were settled now,” said Tempest respectfully and dismally. “I cannot apologise.”“Come to me this time to-morrow,” repeated the doctor. “As to the other boys of the house, I want you to understand that you are all concerned in the wellbeing of your house. If, as I fear, a spirit of insubordination is on foot, and your own proper spirit and loyalty to the school is not enough to stamp it out, I must use methods which I have never had to use yet in Low Heath. It may need courage and self-sacrifice in a boy to stand up against the prevailing tone, but I trust there is some of that left even in this misguided house. Now dismiss.”It had been a memorable interview. The doctor might have stormed and raged, and done nothing. As it was, he had talked like a quiet gentleman, and made us all thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.And yet, as we all of us felt, everything now depended on Tempest. If he surrendered he might count on us to fall in line and make up to him for all he had sacrificed on our behalf. If he held out, and refused his chance, wetoorefused ours and went out with him! If only any one could have brought home to him how much depended on him!Yet who could blame him for finding it impossible to apologise to Jarman, who had persecuted him all the term with a petty rancour which, so far from deserving apology, had to thank Tempest’s moderation that it did not receive much rougher treatment than it had? He might go through the words of apology, but it would be a farce, and Tempest was too honest to be a hypocrite.There was unwonted quiet in Sharpe’s house that afternoon. Fellows were too eagerly speculating as to the fate in store for them to venture on a riot. The Philosophers, of course, stoutly advocated a policy of “no surrender”; but one or two of us, I happened to know, would have been unfeignedly glad to hear that Tempest had squared matters with his pride, and left himself free to take our reform in hand.Tempest himself preserved a glum silence until after afternoon chapel, when he said to me,—“Isn’t this one of Redwood’s evenings, youngster? I’ll go with you if you’re going.”The Redwoods had given me an open invitation to drop in any Thursday evening to tea and bring a friend. I had been several times with Dicky, and once, in great triumph, had taken Tempest as my guest. It had been a most successful experiment. Not only had Tempest taken the two little girls (and therefore their mother) by storm, but between him and Redwood had sprung up an unexpected friendship, born of mutual admiration and confidence. Since then he had once repeated the visit, and to-night, to my great satisfaction, proposed to go again.To me it was a miniature triumph to carry off the hero of Sharpe’s from under the eyes of his house, and on an occasion like the present, to a destination of which he and I alone knew the secret.I flattered myself that, in spite of their mocking comments, the Philosophers were bursting with envy. It is always a rare luxury to be envied by a Philosopher; and I think I duly appreciated my blessings, and showed it in the swagger with which I marched my man under the faggery window.Tempest was depressingly gloomy as we walked along, and my gentle reminder that we could not take the short cut across the playing fields, after the doctor’s prohibition, but should have to walk round, did not tend to cheer him up. I half feared he would propose to walk over, in defiance of all consequences. Possibly, if he had been alone, he would have done so, but on my account he made a grudging concession to law and order.At the Redwoods’, however, he cheered up at once. He received a royal welcome from the little girls—in marked contrast to Miss Mamie’s sulky reception of me as the destroyer of her nice sash. Redwood himself was delighted to see him, and the family tea was quite a merry one.When we adjourned to the captain’s “den” afterwards I was decidedly out of it. Indeed, it was broadly hinted to me that the little girls downstairs were anxious for some one to teach them “consequences”; would I mind?Considering there was no game I detested more than “consequences,” and no young ladies less open to instruction than the Misses Redwood, I did not jump at the offer. It was evident, however, Tempest and Redwood wanted to talk, and with a vague sense that by leaving them to do so I was somehow acting for the benefit of Low Heath, I sacrificed myself, and sat down to assist in the usual composite stories; how, for instance, the square Dr England met the mealy-faced Sarah (the little girls knew my nickname as well as the Philosophers) up a tree. He said to her, “We must part for ever;” she (that is I) said to him, “My ma shall know of this;” the consequence was that there was a row, and the world said, “It’s all up.”In present circumstances these occult narratives were full of serious meaning for me, and my thoughts were far more with the two seniors above than with the two exacting female juniors below. However, the time passed, and presently Tempest’s “Come along, youngster,” apprised me that the hour of release had come.Redwood walked back with us, and from certain fragments of conversation which fell on my ears I was able to gather something of the result of the conference.“If it were only yourself, you know,” said Redwood, “I’d say stick out.”“But,” said Tempest, “he knows I’m not sorry, even if I say so.”“It’s a choice between humble pie and Low Heath losing you,” said the captain.“Not much loss.”“That’s all you know. There’s not a fellow we could spare less.”They walked on in silence; then Redwood said,—“England ought to see that Jarman rots everything the way he goes on. We’ll be in a better position to get it altered if you cave in this once.”“I vowed I wouldn’t do it. He’ll only chuckle,” said Tempest, with a groan.“Let him! Who cares whether Jarman chuckles or not?” retorted the captain. “Look here, old chap, don’t you think he’d chuckle more if you got expelled? That would be the biggest score you could give him. Take my advice, and only give him the smallest.”“I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” said Tempest.“Of course you will, for the sake of Low Heath. Next term we’ll go ahead, and the fellows will owe you more than they think.”Here, by an odd chance, just as we came to the school gate, we met Mr Jarman and Crofter walking out in deep confabulation.I do not know if they saw us. If they did, they pretended not to have done so, and walked on, leaving us to proceed.“Do you see that?” said Tempest.“Rather. I know what it means too. It’s an extra reason why you should swallow your pride for once, in order to sell them. I tell you they are probably counting on your sticking out, and nothing would disappoint them more.”“Well, old chap,” said Tempest, as we came to our door, “it’s not your fault if I don’t do it. I know you’re right, but—”“But it’s a jolly bitter pill, and I wish I could swallow it for you. Good night.”I had the sense for once to keep what I had heard to myself, and retired to bed more hopeful that all would turn out right than I had been for a day or two.The next morning I was wandering about, aloof from my comrades, in the quadrangle, waiting for the bell to ring for first school, when Marple, the town bookseller, a tradesman familiar to most Low Heathens, accosted me. He was evidently not at home in the school precincts, and, with my usual modesty, I felt he had come to the right source for information.“Do you belong to Mr Sharpe’s house, young gentleman?” said he, with a respectful nod which quite captivated me.“Yes. Who do you want?”“I want to see Mr Tempest very particular.”“Oh, he’s up in his room. Wait a bit till the bell rings, and he’ll come out.”So Mr Marple and I stopped and chatted about the holidays, which were to begin in a day or two, and the football matches and the river.“You know Mr Tempest pretty well?” said he.“Rather; I’m his fag, you know.”“A nice gentleman, I fancy. Pretty well off, eh?”“Oh no. He’s a swell, but his people are poor, I know.”“Oh, indeed. Not likely to buy much in my way, eh?”“Rather not. He’s hard up as it is. It’s not much good your trying to sell him anything,” said I, remembering the rumour about my friend’s indebtedness, and anxious to screen him from further debt.“Ah, indeed—he’s in debt, is he—all round?”“How do you know that?” said I, bristling up. “I don’t expect he owes you anything.”Mr Marple laughed.“That’s just what he does; that’s why I’ve stepped over. I don’t like showing young gents up, but—”“Look here,” cried I aghast, “for mercy’s sake, don’t show him up, Marple! It’s as likely as not he’s to be expelled as it is; this would finish him up.”“If he’s likely to be expelled, all the more reason I should get my money before he goes.”“How much is it?” I gasped.“A matter of two pounds,” said the tradesman.“Look here,” said I, “I’ll promise you shall be paid. Wait till the last day of the term, do, Marple.”Mr Marple stared at me. The security I fear was not good enough for him. On the other hand, he probably knew that it would not be good for trade if he were to show up a “Low Heathen.”He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. It contained Tempest’s bill for sundry stationery, magazines, books, postage stamps, and so on; headed “Fourth and final application.” The envelope itself was addressed, “Dr England, with W. Marple’s respectful compliments.”The bell rang just then, and I was so anxious to get Marple off the scene that I wildly promised anything to be rid of him, and was finally left, just in time, to meet Tempest unconsciously strolling across the quadrangle on his way to keep his appointment with the doctor.
There was no mistaking the doctor’s meaning this time. Sharpe’s had had a long rope, but had come to the end of it at last. I would not for the world have confessed it at the time, but I was half glad a crisis had come. My conscience had smitten me more than once about my work. I had fooled away the good chance with which I had entered Low Heath. Fellows far below me in scholarship had got ahead of me by force of steady plodding, while I was wasting my time. The good resolutions which I had brought up with me had one by one fallen overboard, and I had been content enough to take my place among the rowdies without an effort.
I had counted all through on Tempest’s backing up. If he had been keen on the credit of the house, I felt I could have been so too. If he had been down on me for my neglect of work, I felt I should have stuck to it. As it was, slackness reigned supreme. Tempest was slack because he was out of humour. Pridgin was slack because he was lazy. Wales was slack because he wanted to be in the fashion. And all of us were slack because our betters set us the example. It needs no little courage for a single boy to attempt to stem the drift of slackness in a school house. A dull, dogged boy like Dicky Brown might have done it; but I could not afford to be peculiar, and therefore succumbed, against my judgment, to the prevalent dry rot.
Now that a crisis had come I hoped Tempest might, if not for his own sake, for ours, pull up, and take his house in hand, as he well could do if he chose. A short conversation I overheard as I was fagging in his study that morning, however, was not encouraging.
“What’s it to be,” said Wales, “a lecture or a row?”
“A row, I hope,” said Tempest wearily.
“What’s wrong, old chap?” asked Pridgin.
“Nothing. Out of curl, that’s all,” said Tempest, trying to assume a laugh.
“You’re not going to cave in to Jarman at this time of day,” said Wales, “are you?”
“Do you think it likely?” said Tempest.
“I tell you what I don’t like,” said Pridgin presently; “that’s the way Crofter’s lately taken to do the virtuous.”
“That’s not the worst of him,” said Wales; “but he’s been chumming up with Jarman. I’ve met them twice lately walking together.”
“I suppose he’s got his eye on the headship of the house,” said Tempest, “when I get kicked out.”
“Look here, old chap,” responded Pridgin, looking really anxious, “it’s not to come to that, surely. It would be intolerable to have him over us. Come what will, you must stick to us.”
“All very well,” said Tempest dismally; “that’s England’s affair more than mine. If knuckling under to Jarman is a condition, I’m out of it, and Crofter is welcome to it.”
This was all; and it was bad enough. When the summons to assemble in hall came, I went there in a state of dejection, feeling that the fates were all against me, and that the new leaf I hoped for was several pages further on yet.
My fellow-Philosophers, I regret to say, neither shared in nor appreciated my forebodings.
“Look at that ass Sarah, trying to look virtuous,” said Trimble. “Just like him, when there’s a row on.”
“I’m not trying to look virtuous,” said I; “I’m sick of all these rows, though.”
“Pity you aren’t sick when you’re getting us into them, instead of after. You know you’ve been at the bottom of every row there’s been on this term.”
This sweeping statement was not calculated to allay my discomfort.
“Don’t tell lies,” said I.
“No more we are. Who got us into that mess at Camp Hill Bottom? Sarah did. Who landed us in the row about Jarman’s guy? Old Sarah. Who played the fool with that barge and got us all licked? Cad Sarah. Who started the shindy last night that’s fetched us all in here? Lout Sarah. Who’s going to be expelled? Howling Sarah. And who’ll be a jolly good riddance of bad rubbish? Chimpanzee Sarah. There you are. Make what you like of it, and don’t talk to us.”
This tirade took my breath away. I knew it said more than it meant. Still, it wasn’t flattering, and it taxed my affection sorely to sit quietly and hear it out. But, somehow, to-day I was too anxious and worried to care much what anybody said.
Fortunately the entrance of the doctor, Mr Sharpe, and Mr Jarman, made further discussion for the time being unnecessary—and a gloomy silence fell over the assembly.
Dr England was evidently worried. Secretly, I believe, he was bored by the whole affair, and wished Mr Sharpe and his prefects could manage the affairs of their own house. Perhaps, too, the fact that Mr Jarman was once more the complainant had something to do with his lack of humour.
“Now, boys,” said he, “this is an unusual and unpleasant interview, and I heartily wish it were not necessary. When a whole house is reported for rowdiness, it shows, I’m afraid, that the sense of duty to the school is in a bad way. This is not the first occasion this term on which this house has been reported, but I have previously refrained from interfering, in the hope that the good feeling of the boys themselves would assert itself and make any action of mine unnecessary. I am sorry it has not been so. As to the scrimmage in the quadrangle yesterday, I am not disposed to make too much of that; at any rate, that weighs less with me than what I understand to have been a deliberate act of disobedience to the master, who quite properly interfered to restore order; disobedience, I am sorry to say, encouraged, if not instigated, by the head boy of the house. I hope there may be some mistake about this. Will the boys who were engaged in the fight stand up?”
The Philosophers rose to a man, with a promptitude which was almost aggressive. Bother it all, why should we be backward in admitting that we had gone for those day boys, and “put them to bed” for once?
“I ask you boys to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell you to wait till he spoke to you?”
“I did, sir,” said Langrish.
“So did I,” said Trimble.
“We all did,” said I.
“And why did you not obey?”
“Tempest told us to come in, so we did,” said I.
“That’s right, sir,” said Coxhead.
And the others assented.
“Very well,” said the doctor. “Tempest, I ask you to say whether you heard Mr Jarman tell the boys to wait?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you tell them, in spite of that, to come in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m head of the house, and I’m responsible for the order of my house.”
“I am glad to hear you think so,” said the doctor drily. “Have you always been equally jealous for the order of your house this term, Tempest?”
This was a “facer,” as we all felt. Tempest flushed and glanced up at the head master.
“No, sir, I have not,” he said.
The doctor was a chivalrous man, and did not try to rub in a sore. Tempest had made a damaging admission against himself, and might be left alone to his own sense of discomfort.
Unluckily, however, Mr Jarman stood by, and the matter could hardly be allowed to drop.
“As regards the incident last night,” said the doctor, “you know quite well, all of you, that no boy, even the head of his house, has the right to set his authority against that of a master. Your conduct was an insult to him, and requires an apology. These small boys may have considered they were not doing wrong in obeying you. Tempest, but you can plead no such ignorance. I expect you to apologise to Mr Jarman.”
A struggle evidently passed through Tempest’s mind. His conscience had been roused by what the doctor had said, and his manner of saying it. Had the apology been demanded for any one else but Mr Jarman, he could have given it, and in one word have put himself on the side of duty. But apologise to Jarman! “If Mr Jarman wants me to tell a lie,” said he, slowly, “I’ll say I’m sorry. I can’t apologise to him.”
“Come, Tempest,” said the doctor, evidently disconcerted at this threatened difficulty, “you must be aware of the consequences, if you refuse to do this.”
“I know, sir, but I can’t help it. I can’t apologise to Mr Jarman.”
Dead silence followed, broken only by the hard breathing of the Philosophers. The doctor twirled the tassel of his cap restlessly. Mr Sharpe looked straight before him through his glasses. Mr Jarman stroked his moustache and smiled. Tempest stood pale and determined, with his eyes on the floor.
“I shall not prolong this scene,” said the doctor at last. “For the remaining week of this term the boys concerned in yesterday’s disturbance are forbidden to appear in the playing fields. You, Tempest, will have a day to think over your determination. Come to me in my house this time to-morrow.”
“I’d sooner it were settled now,” said Tempest respectfully and dismally. “I cannot apologise.”
“Come to me this time to-morrow,” repeated the doctor. “As to the other boys of the house, I want you to understand that you are all concerned in the wellbeing of your house. If, as I fear, a spirit of insubordination is on foot, and your own proper spirit and loyalty to the school is not enough to stamp it out, I must use methods which I have never had to use yet in Low Heath. It may need courage and self-sacrifice in a boy to stand up against the prevailing tone, but I trust there is some of that left even in this misguided house. Now dismiss.”
It had been a memorable interview. The doctor might have stormed and raged, and done nothing. As it was, he had talked like a quiet gentleman, and made us all thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.
And yet, as we all of us felt, everything now depended on Tempest. If he surrendered he might count on us to fall in line and make up to him for all he had sacrificed on our behalf. If he held out, and refused his chance, wetoorefused ours and went out with him! If only any one could have brought home to him how much depended on him!
Yet who could blame him for finding it impossible to apologise to Jarman, who had persecuted him all the term with a petty rancour which, so far from deserving apology, had to thank Tempest’s moderation that it did not receive much rougher treatment than it had? He might go through the words of apology, but it would be a farce, and Tempest was too honest to be a hypocrite.
There was unwonted quiet in Sharpe’s house that afternoon. Fellows were too eagerly speculating as to the fate in store for them to venture on a riot. The Philosophers, of course, stoutly advocated a policy of “no surrender”; but one or two of us, I happened to know, would have been unfeignedly glad to hear that Tempest had squared matters with his pride, and left himself free to take our reform in hand.
Tempest himself preserved a glum silence until after afternoon chapel, when he said to me,—
“Isn’t this one of Redwood’s evenings, youngster? I’ll go with you if you’re going.”
The Redwoods had given me an open invitation to drop in any Thursday evening to tea and bring a friend. I had been several times with Dicky, and once, in great triumph, had taken Tempest as my guest. It had been a most successful experiment. Not only had Tempest taken the two little girls (and therefore their mother) by storm, but between him and Redwood had sprung up an unexpected friendship, born of mutual admiration and confidence. Since then he had once repeated the visit, and to-night, to my great satisfaction, proposed to go again.
To me it was a miniature triumph to carry off the hero of Sharpe’s from under the eyes of his house, and on an occasion like the present, to a destination of which he and I alone knew the secret.
I flattered myself that, in spite of their mocking comments, the Philosophers were bursting with envy. It is always a rare luxury to be envied by a Philosopher; and I think I duly appreciated my blessings, and showed it in the swagger with which I marched my man under the faggery window.
Tempest was depressingly gloomy as we walked along, and my gentle reminder that we could not take the short cut across the playing fields, after the doctor’s prohibition, but should have to walk round, did not tend to cheer him up. I half feared he would propose to walk over, in defiance of all consequences. Possibly, if he had been alone, he would have done so, but on my account he made a grudging concession to law and order.
At the Redwoods’, however, he cheered up at once. He received a royal welcome from the little girls—in marked contrast to Miss Mamie’s sulky reception of me as the destroyer of her nice sash. Redwood himself was delighted to see him, and the family tea was quite a merry one.
When we adjourned to the captain’s “den” afterwards I was decidedly out of it. Indeed, it was broadly hinted to me that the little girls downstairs were anxious for some one to teach them “consequences”; would I mind?
Considering there was no game I detested more than “consequences,” and no young ladies less open to instruction than the Misses Redwood, I did not jump at the offer. It was evident, however, Tempest and Redwood wanted to talk, and with a vague sense that by leaving them to do so I was somehow acting for the benefit of Low Heath, I sacrificed myself, and sat down to assist in the usual composite stories; how, for instance, the square Dr England met the mealy-faced Sarah (the little girls knew my nickname as well as the Philosophers) up a tree. He said to her, “We must part for ever;” she (that is I) said to him, “My ma shall know of this;” the consequence was that there was a row, and the world said, “It’s all up.”
In present circumstances these occult narratives were full of serious meaning for me, and my thoughts were far more with the two seniors above than with the two exacting female juniors below. However, the time passed, and presently Tempest’s “Come along, youngster,” apprised me that the hour of release had come.
Redwood walked back with us, and from certain fragments of conversation which fell on my ears I was able to gather something of the result of the conference.
“If it were only yourself, you know,” said Redwood, “I’d say stick out.”
“But,” said Tempest, “he knows I’m not sorry, even if I say so.”
“It’s a choice between humble pie and Low Heath losing you,” said the captain.
“Not much loss.”
“That’s all you know. There’s not a fellow we could spare less.”
They walked on in silence; then Redwood said,—
“England ought to see that Jarman rots everything the way he goes on. We’ll be in a better position to get it altered if you cave in this once.”
“I vowed I wouldn’t do it. He’ll only chuckle,” said Tempest, with a groan.
“Let him! Who cares whether Jarman chuckles or not?” retorted the captain. “Look here, old chap, don’t you think he’d chuckle more if you got expelled? That would be the biggest score you could give him. Take my advice, and only give him the smallest.”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” said Tempest.
“Of course you will, for the sake of Low Heath. Next term we’ll go ahead, and the fellows will owe you more than they think.”
Here, by an odd chance, just as we came to the school gate, we met Mr Jarman and Crofter walking out in deep confabulation.
I do not know if they saw us. If they did, they pretended not to have done so, and walked on, leaving us to proceed.
“Do you see that?” said Tempest.
“Rather. I know what it means too. It’s an extra reason why you should swallow your pride for once, in order to sell them. I tell you they are probably counting on your sticking out, and nothing would disappoint them more.”
“Well, old chap,” said Tempest, as we came to our door, “it’s not your fault if I don’t do it. I know you’re right, but—”
“But it’s a jolly bitter pill, and I wish I could swallow it for you. Good night.”
I had the sense for once to keep what I had heard to myself, and retired to bed more hopeful that all would turn out right than I had been for a day or two.
The next morning I was wandering about, aloof from my comrades, in the quadrangle, waiting for the bell to ring for first school, when Marple, the town bookseller, a tradesman familiar to most Low Heathens, accosted me. He was evidently not at home in the school precincts, and, with my usual modesty, I felt he had come to the right source for information.
“Do you belong to Mr Sharpe’s house, young gentleman?” said he, with a respectful nod which quite captivated me.
“Yes. Who do you want?”
“I want to see Mr Tempest very particular.”
“Oh, he’s up in his room. Wait a bit till the bell rings, and he’ll come out.”
So Mr Marple and I stopped and chatted about the holidays, which were to begin in a day or two, and the football matches and the river.
“You know Mr Tempest pretty well?” said he.
“Rather; I’m his fag, you know.”
“A nice gentleman, I fancy. Pretty well off, eh?”
“Oh no. He’s a swell, but his people are poor, I know.”
“Oh, indeed. Not likely to buy much in my way, eh?”
“Rather not. He’s hard up as it is. It’s not much good your trying to sell him anything,” said I, remembering the rumour about my friend’s indebtedness, and anxious to screen him from further debt.
“Ah, indeed—he’s in debt, is he—all round?”
“How do you know that?” said I, bristling up. “I don’t expect he owes you anything.”
Mr Marple laughed.
“That’s just what he does; that’s why I’ve stepped over. I don’t like showing young gents up, but—”
“Look here,” cried I aghast, “for mercy’s sake, don’t show him up, Marple! It’s as likely as not he’s to be expelled as it is; this would finish him up.”
“If he’s likely to be expelled, all the more reason I should get my money before he goes.”
“How much is it?” I gasped.
“A matter of two pounds,” said the tradesman.
“Look here,” said I, “I’ll promise you shall be paid. Wait till the last day of the term, do, Marple.”
Mr Marple stared at me. The security I fear was not good enough for him. On the other hand, he probably knew that it would not be good for trade if he were to show up a “Low Heathen.”
He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. It contained Tempest’s bill for sundry stationery, magazines, books, postage stamps, and so on; headed “Fourth and final application.” The envelope itself was addressed, “Dr England, with W. Marple’s respectful compliments.”
The bell rang just then, and I was so anxious to get Marple off the scene that I wildly promised anything to be rid of him, and was finally left, just in time, to meet Tempest unconsciously strolling across the quadrangle on his way to keep his appointment with the doctor.
Chapter Twenty.Deepest Depths.We did not see Tempest again till the afternoon. As we most of us surmised, he was relieving his feelings after his interview with the doctor by a spin on the river.How, I wondered, had the interview gone? Had he agreed to the humiliating condition of apologising to Mr Jarman, or had his pride been too much for him after all? If so, this was probably his last spin on the river.Had our house been Selkirk’s, there would, no doubt, have been wagers on the event. As it was, the Philosophers contented themselves with bickering. The general impression seemed to be that he had refused to surrender. That being so, the game was up—there was no object in keeping up appearances.A spirit of defiance seemed to get hold of us. We deliberately sat on the fence of the prohibited playing fields, in the hope that Mr Jarman or some one would see us. Trimble even went to the length of crossing it at one corner.What made it more trying was the conduct of the day boys, who, with an acuteness which did them credit, seemed to have discovered our delicate situation, and resolved to make the most of it.They paraded the field about twenty yards from our fence, jeering at us openly, and daring us to set foot on the turf.“Look at them,” said one, “hung up like a lot of washing on the palings. We’ll make them cut. Let’s have a scientific meeting. That’ll clear them out.”Whereupon the Urbans ranged themselves on the grass under our noses, and called upon Mr Flitwick to address them on the “Treatment of Lunatics.”This was too much. We were few in number, and the palings were hard and uncomfortable. But if they thought they were going to frighten us away by this demonstration, they were mistaken.Langrish, in a loud voice, called out “Chair,” whereupon I, taking the cue, and assuming that the Philosophers were in congress, called upon Mr Trimble to favour us with his oration on “Mud.”“Oh, all serene,” said Trimble, who till that moment had had as little notion of his subject as I had had. “Mud is dirty lumps of stuff lying about on the grass, like what you see in front of you. It has neither brains nor sense. It’s a vile thing to look at, and worse to touch. If you—””—If you,” here broke in Mr Flitwick, “want to see what lunatics really are, you should look on the palings of some of our school playing fields. If you happen to see a row of squinney-eyed, ill-dressed mules, with large boots and turn-up noses, and afraid of their lives to move off where they are, those are the prize lunatics. I have pleasure in exhibiting a few choice specimens collected from various sources. The one thing—””—The one thing about mud is, it daren’t come within reach of you,” continued Trimble, getting a little random in his statements, “for fear of getting one in the eye. If you want a sample—””—There’s one,” shouted Flitwick, interrupting our orator with a fragment of mother earth in his face.Of course it was all up after that. Doctor or no doctor, we couldn’t sit by and see our treasurer assaulted. So we hurled ourselves on the foe, regardless of consequences, and a deadly fight ensued. Some of the more cautious of our number were lucky enough to be able to drag their men off the prohibited field and engage them on the right side of the fence.I was not so lucky—indeed, I was doubly unlucky. For not only was my adversary my dear friend Dicky Brown, whom I loved as a brother, but he edged further and further afield as the combat went on, so that at the last we were cut off from the main body and left to fight our duel conspicuously in the open.Dicky was not a scientific pugilist, but he had an awkward way of closing in with you and getting you round the middle just at the moment that his left foot got round behind your right calf. And it grieves me to say that, although I boasted of far more talent in the exercise of the fistic art than he did, he had me on my back on the grass just as Mr Sharpe of all persons walked by.“What are you two doing?” demanded the master, stopping short.“Fighting, sir,” said the stalwart Dicky, “and I licked him.”“Why are you fighting?”“Because Flitwick shied mud at Trimble,” said I.The reason did not seem to appeal to Mr Sharpe, who replied,—“You heard the doctor’s orders yesterday, Jones iv., about keeping off the playing field?”“Yes, sir,” said I, realising for the first time that I was well out in the middle of the field, and that the rest of my comrades were looking on from a safe distance.“Come to me after school for exemplary punishment. You are the most disorderly boy in the house, and it is evident a lenient punishment is no good in your case.”“Please, sir,” said the loyal Dicky, “I lugged him on a good part of the way.”“No, you didn’t,” snarled I—taking this as a taunt, whereas it was intended as a “leg-up”—“I came of my own accord.”“Very well,” said Mr Sharpe. “You will come to me, Jones iv., of my accord”—and he walked away.I was reckless and defiant, and deaf to Dicky’s sympathy.“I don’t care,” said I. “It was a good job for you he came up. I should have licked you hollow.”“No, you wouldn’t, old chap; I had you over twice,” said Dicky.“Come outside and finish it out.”So we adjourned to the other side of the palings and finished it out in the presence of the assembled Urbans and Philosophers. And I grieve to say once more Dicky had me on my back.The wrath of my comrades was even more grievous to bear than the rejoicings of the enemy. I was promptly withdrawn from the fray as a bad lot, and had it not been for the opportune bell, should probably have been kicked all round.At any rate, I went in disgusted with myself, with Low Heath, with everybody. What was the use of keeping it up? Tempest, ten to one, was expelled. Dicky Brown, once my inferior, could put me on my back. The Philosophers hated me. Mr Sharpe had marked me down for exemplary punishment, and publicly denounced me as the worst boy in the house. And all this in a single term. What, I wondered, would it be like, if I remained, at the end of a second term?I looked dismally into Tempest’s study—he was not back. Pridgin was in, but did not want me. The faggery just now was impossible. I never felt more lonely and miserable in my life.I was wandering down the passage, with my jacket flung over my shoulder and my shirt sleeves still tucked up, when the voice of Crofter stopped me.“Look here,” said he, “the contents of your pocket may be interesting to you, but we don’t want them littered about the passage. Here, catch hold,” and he held out a handful of loose letters. “Why, what’s the matter? How blue you look! Has any one been hurting you?”“Rather not. I’ve been licking a young cad, that’s all.”“Well, you don’t look as if you enjoyed it, anyhow. Has Tempest come back?”“No—probably he’s expelled,” said I, determined to have things as miserable as possible.“I sincerely hope not,” said Crofter, in a tone which quite softened me to him. “He doesn’t like me, but I’d be sorry if he left, all the same.”“He thinks you and Jarman would like to see him kicked out. That’s the one reason why he might stay on.”Crofter laughed sweetly.“What a notion! Why, I’ve had a good mind to go to England myself and stick up for him.”“It’s a good job you haven’t,” said I.“What I’m afraid is, that he is worried about other things. I hope, by the way, you never said anything about what I told you the other day.”“No,” said I, not quite candidly. For I had tried to tell Tempest, but he would not let me.“That’s right. I hope he’s cleared his debts off by now.”“I—I don’t think he has,” stammered I.“Really! It’s a pity. The doctor would be much more likely to be down on him for being in debt than—”He pulled up suddenly, as Tempest at that moment walked up. He must have heard the last few words; and if it required looks of guilt and confusion on my part to convince him we had been speaking of him, I think I gave him proof positive.He had apparently intended to summon me to his study. But, as he saw with whom I was conferring, and overheard the subject of our conversation, he thought better of it, and with lowering face stalked away.I wished I was dead then! Something told me I had lost my friend, and that no amount of explanation could do away with the barrier which had suddenly been erected between us.“Awkward,” said Crofter. “It’s a good job we were talking no harm of him.”“He won’t fancy our talking about him at all,” said I.“I suppose we’ve as much right to talk about him as any one else.”“He’ll be awfully down on me, I know,” said I miserably.“All I can say is, if he is, you’re a young fool if you care two straws. Tempest’s a good fellow; but he’s rather a way of not allowing a fellow to have a soul of his own.”This failed to console me. I made one effort to see Tempest and explain, but he was occupied with his books, and did not even deign to notice my presence in his study.Later on in the evening all speculation as to the result of the morning’s interview was set at rest. An unusual summons came to Sharpe’s to meet the doctor in our hall.We assembled uncomfortably and with sore spirits. The worry of the whole business was telling on us, and we heartily hoped, while we clamoured for no surrender in words, that Tempest would disappoint us for once.The doctor came presently, looking very grave, and accompanied by Mr Jarman. From the head master’s face we concluded at once that all was up. But to our surprise he said,—“I am glad to say, in reference to the matter I met you boys about yesterday, that Tempest has taken a proper sense of his duty, and has undertaken to apologise for his conduct to Mr Jarman. That being so, Tempest, you will please take this opportunity of expressing your regret.”Tempest flushed as he rose in obedience to the doctor’s summons. It was evidently, as Redwood had said, “a bitter pill,” and had he been a less brave fellow, he could hardly have swallowed it. As it was, even the knowledge that the welfare of the entire house was somehow dependent on his submission was scarcely able to break down his pride.He advanced to Mr Jarman more like one who comes to administer a thrashing than ask for pardon, and after eyeing him almost fiercely for a moment, summoned his self-control sufficiently to say hoarsely,—“I apologise, sir.”Mr Jarman bit his lips. It was not the triumph he had expected. Indeed the whole manner of it was such as to hurt instead of soothe his feelings.“This is hardly an apology,” said he to the doctor.“I trust, Tempest, it means that you regret your action?”It was an awkward question. Tempest had gone further than any one expected, and his silence now reminded the doctor what the cost had been.“I think,” said he, not waiting for a reply to his own question, “Tempest has fulfilled his pledged—not cordially, I am sorry to say, but sufficiently.”“Very well, sir,” said Mr Jarman, “I accept his apology for what it is worth, which seems very little.”“Now, I regret to say,” continued the head master, producing a letter which made my heart jump to my mouth, “I have a more serious matter to speak about. I wish heartily what we have just heard had been the end of this painful interview. But it is necessary to refer to something different—a very serious offence against rules. It concerns you, Tempest. Is it a fact that you are in debt to some of the tradesmen?”Tempest changed colour again and replied,—“Yes, sir, I am sorry to say I am.”I held on tight to my desk. This was a finishing touch surely, and I, if any one, felt myself the criminal.“This letter, addressed to me, but containing a bill for more than two pounds owing by you, part of it since last term, has been left at my house—I presume by the tradesman to whom it is due. Come here and look at it, Tempest.”Tempest obeyed.“Is it a fact that you are in debt to this extent?”“Yes, sir—more.”“You are aware—”Here I could stand it no longer, but sprang to my feet and shouted,—“Please, sir, it’s my fault!”Everybody turned to me in amazement, as well they might.“Your fault, Jones iv.?—come forward and explain.”“I mean,” said or rather shouted I, speaking while I walked up the room, “it’s my fault you got that bill, sir. I don’t know how you got it, but it wasn’t meant to get to you, really. I must have dropped it. I—I—was going—to try—to get it paid for him, sir. Really—”Tempest gave me a glare that knocked all the spirit out of me. What business had I, it seemed to demand, to meddle in his private affairs?I felt I had done him a real bad turn by my clumsiness, but had not the wit to avoid making bad worse.“Yes, sir, I told Marple—”“I purposely refrained from mentioning names, Jones iv.; why can you not do so too?”“I told him to keep it dark, and got him to give it to me. I—I knew Tempest hadn’t enough money to pay it—and—and—”An exclamation of anger from Tempest cut me short, and I was sent ignominiously back to my place.“Tempest,” said the head master very sternly, “send me in a list of all you owe before you go to bed to-night, and understand that, unless all is paid by Friday when we break up, you will not be allowed to return to Low Heath after the holidays. You must cease in any case to retain the headship of the house, even for the few days of the term that remain. You, I understand. Crofter, come next in form order; you will act as head boy in the meantime.”In the midst of my anguish I could see the look of meek resignation on Crofter’s face, and that of quiet satisfaction on Mr Jarman’s. At Tempest I dared not look, or at my fellow-Philosophers.What had I done? What was to become of me? How could I get out of it? These were the three questions which set my poor brain spinning as I wandered off alone to the remotest corner of the quadrangle, and as, later on, I lay miserably awake in my bed.I had done my friend about as much harm as I possibly could. I may not have meant it. But who cares what a fellow means, so long as he acts like a cad? As to what was to become of me, I had had a taste of that already. The faggery door had been locked against me, and a missive shoved under the bottom had apprised me of my fate in that quarter.“To Beast Sarah.“Take notice that you are kicked out of the Philosophers, and if you dare show your abominable face within a mile of them you’ll get it all over with rulers. It has been resolved by Mr Langrish and seconded by Mr Trimble, and passed by all the lot, that you be and are hereby kicked whenever any one sees you. Any one not kicking you will be lammed. It is also resolved that the faggery be fumigated and disinfected during the holidays, and that any chap seen talking to you be refused to be let in till he has been vaccinated. You are about the lowest, meanest, vilest, abominablest, unmitigatedest sneak going. Three cheers for poor old Tempest, and down with girls’ schools and washerwomen!”This fiery document was formally signed by every Philosopher in the house, together with a particular word of opprobrium addressed to me by each of my former colleagues.I was not long in realising that I was an outcast in Sharpe’s. No one would look at me, still less speak to me. Pridgin ordered me off like a dog. Wales slammed his door in my face. When I appeared in the preparation hall, a long hiss saluted me, even though Mr Sharpe was present. Even outside fellows seemed to have heard of my crime, and looked askance or gave me a wide berth. I can truly say that I found myself the most miserable boy in Low Heath, and only longed for the end of the term to come, that I might shake the dust of the hateful place from my feet, and drop out of the sight of a school full of enemies.Indeed, as I lay awake that night I had serious thoughts of making off there and then. If I had only had my boots, I think I might have done so; but they were in the blacking-room; and my desperation drew the line at walking off in my bare feet.I was sitting up in bed, half whimpering with headache and misery, when a light appeared at the end of the dormitory. It was Crofter, in his new capacity of head of the house, taking his rounds before turning in. The sight of him brought home to me the injury I had done, not only to Tempest, but the whole house. For it was my fault, and mine only, that Crofter was at this moment captain of Sharpe’s.To my surprise and alarm, when he came up to my bed he stopped short, and drawing a letter from his pocket, put it into my hand, saying—“Put that under your pillow till the morning.”It was more than nature could do to sleep with a mystery like this on the top of my misery. I listened to the clock as it struck the hours through the night, and thought the day would never come. Indeed, the getting-up bell had sounded before the winter sun struggled in through the dormitory window.Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow and tore it open.A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter.“You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy. The least you can do is to try to make things right for Tempest. Call round on the following six tradesmen (giving the six names, one of which was Marple) early to-morrow, and pay Tempest’s bill at each, and bring home the receipts. You needn’t mention who sent you. Send the receipts to me, and if Tempest asks any questions, tell him you paid the money by request of a friend.“W. Crofter.”
We did not see Tempest again till the afternoon. As we most of us surmised, he was relieving his feelings after his interview with the doctor by a spin on the river.
How, I wondered, had the interview gone? Had he agreed to the humiliating condition of apologising to Mr Jarman, or had his pride been too much for him after all? If so, this was probably his last spin on the river.
Had our house been Selkirk’s, there would, no doubt, have been wagers on the event. As it was, the Philosophers contented themselves with bickering. The general impression seemed to be that he had refused to surrender. That being so, the game was up—there was no object in keeping up appearances.
A spirit of defiance seemed to get hold of us. We deliberately sat on the fence of the prohibited playing fields, in the hope that Mr Jarman or some one would see us. Trimble even went to the length of crossing it at one corner.
What made it more trying was the conduct of the day boys, who, with an acuteness which did them credit, seemed to have discovered our delicate situation, and resolved to make the most of it.
They paraded the field about twenty yards from our fence, jeering at us openly, and daring us to set foot on the turf.
“Look at them,” said one, “hung up like a lot of washing on the palings. We’ll make them cut. Let’s have a scientific meeting. That’ll clear them out.”
Whereupon the Urbans ranged themselves on the grass under our noses, and called upon Mr Flitwick to address them on the “Treatment of Lunatics.”
This was too much. We were few in number, and the palings were hard and uncomfortable. But if they thought they were going to frighten us away by this demonstration, they were mistaken.
Langrish, in a loud voice, called out “Chair,” whereupon I, taking the cue, and assuming that the Philosophers were in congress, called upon Mr Trimble to favour us with his oration on “Mud.”
“Oh, all serene,” said Trimble, who till that moment had had as little notion of his subject as I had had. “Mud is dirty lumps of stuff lying about on the grass, like what you see in front of you. It has neither brains nor sense. It’s a vile thing to look at, and worse to touch. If you—”
”—If you,” here broke in Mr Flitwick, “want to see what lunatics really are, you should look on the palings of some of our school playing fields. If you happen to see a row of squinney-eyed, ill-dressed mules, with large boots and turn-up noses, and afraid of their lives to move off where they are, those are the prize lunatics. I have pleasure in exhibiting a few choice specimens collected from various sources. The one thing—”
”—The one thing about mud is, it daren’t come within reach of you,” continued Trimble, getting a little random in his statements, “for fear of getting one in the eye. If you want a sample—”
”—There’s one,” shouted Flitwick, interrupting our orator with a fragment of mother earth in his face.
Of course it was all up after that. Doctor or no doctor, we couldn’t sit by and see our treasurer assaulted. So we hurled ourselves on the foe, regardless of consequences, and a deadly fight ensued. Some of the more cautious of our number were lucky enough to be able to drag their men off the prohibited field and engage them on the right side of the fence.
I was not so lucky—indeed, I was doubly unlucky. For not only was my adversary my dear friend Dicky Brown, whom I loved as a brother, but he edged further and further afield as the combat went on, so that at the last we were cut off from the main body and left to fight our duel conspicuously in the open.
Dicky was not a scientific pugilist, but he had an awkward way of closing in with you and getting you round the middle just at the moment that his left foot got round behind your right calf. And it grieves me to say that, although I boasted of far more talent in the exercise of the fistic art than he did, he had me on my back on the grass just as Mr Sharpe of all persons walked by.
“What are you two doing?” demanded the master, stopping short.
“Fighting, sir,” said the stalwart Dicky, “and I licked him.”
“Why are you fighting?”
“Because Flitwick shied mud at Trimble,” said I.
The reason did not seem to appeal to Mr Sharpe, who replied,—
“You heard the doctor’s orders yesterday, Jones iv., about keeping off the playing field?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, realising for the first time that I was well out in the middle of the field, and that the rest of my comrades were looking on from a safe distance.
“Come to me after school for exemplary punishment. You are the most disorderly boy in the house, and it is evident a lenient punishment is no good in your case.”
“Please, sir,” said the loyal Dicky, “I lugged him on a good part of the way.”
“No, you didn’t,” snarled I—taking this as a taunt, whereas it was intended as a “leg-up”—“I came of my own accord.”
“Very well,” said Mr Sharpe. “You will come to me, Jones iv., of my accord”—and he walked away.
I was reckless and defiant, and deaf to Dicky’s sympathy.
“I don’t care,” said I. “It was a good job for you he came up. I should have licked you hollow.”
“No, you wouldn’t, old chap; I had you over twice,” said Dicky.
“Come outside and finish it out.”
So we adjourned to the other side of the palings and finished it out in the presence of the assembled Urbans and Philosophers. And I grieve to say once more Dicky had me on my back.
The wrath of my comrades was even more grievous to bear than the rejoicings of the enemy. I was promptly withdrawn from the fray as a bad lot, and had it not been for the opportune bell, should probably have been kicked all round.
At any rate, I went in disgusted with myself, with Low Heath, with everybody. What was the use of keeping it up? Tempest, ten to one, was expelled. Dicky Brown, once my inferior, could put me on my back. The Philosophers hated me. Mr Sharpe had marked me down for exemplary punishment, and publicly denounced me as the worst boy in the house. And all this in a single term. What, I wondered, would it be like, if I remained, at the end of a second term?
I looked dismally into Tempest’s study—he was not back. Pridgin was in, but did not want me. The faggery just now was impossible. I never felt more lonely and miserable in my life.
I was wandering down the passage, with my jacket flung over my shoulder and my shirt sleeves still tucked up, when the voice of Crofter stopped me.
“Look here,” said he, “the contents of your pocket may be interesting to you, but we don’t want them littered about the passage. Here, catch hold,” and he held out a handful of loose letters. “Why, what’s the matter? How blue you look! Has any one been hurting you?”
“Rather not. I’ve been licking a young cad, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t look as if you enjoyed it, anyhow. Has Tempest come back?”
“No—probably he’s expelled,” said I, determined to have things as miserable as possible.
“I sincerely hope not,” said Crofter, in a tone which quite softened me to him. “He doesn’t like me, but I’d be sorry if he left, all the same.”
“He thinks you and Jarman would like to see him kicked out. That’s the one reason why he might stay on.”
Crofter laughed sweetly.
“What a notion! Why, I’ve had a good mind to go to England myself and stick up for him.”
“It’s a good job you haven’t,” said I.
“What I’m afraid is, that he is worried about other things. I hope, by the way, you never said anything about what I told you the other day.”
“No,” said I, not quite candidly. For I had tried to tell Tempest, but he would not let me.
“That’s right. I hope he’s cleared his debts off by now.”
“I—I don’t think he has,” stammered I.
“Really! It’s a pity. The doctor would be much more likely to be down on him for being in debt than—”
He pulled up suddenly, as Tempest at that moment walked up. He must have heard the last few words; and if it required looks of guilt and confusion on my part to convince him we had been speaking of him, I think I gave him proof positive.
He had apparently intended to summon me to his study. But, as he saw with whom I was conferring, and overheard the subject of our conversation, he thought better of it, and with lowering face stalked away.
I wished I was dead then! Something told me I had lost my friend, and that no amount of explanation could do away with the barrier which had suddenly been erected between us.
“Awkward,” said Crofter. “It’s a good job we were talking no harm of him.”
“He won’t fancy our talking about him at all,” said I.
“I suppose we’ve as much right to talk about him as any one else.”
“He’ll be awfully down on me, I know,” said I miserably.
“All I can say is, if he is, you’re a young fool if you care two straws. Tempest’s a good fellow; but he’s rather a way of not allowing a fellow to have a soul of his own.”
This failed to console me. I made one effort to see Tempest and explain, but he was occupied with his books, and did not even deign to notice my presence in his study.
Later on in the evening all speculation as to the result of the morning’s interview was set at rest. An unusual summons came to Sharpe’s to meet the doctor in our hall.
We assembled uncomfortably and with sore spirits. The worry of the whole business was telling on us, and we heartily hoped, while we clamoured for no surrender in words, that Tempest would disappoint us for once.
The doctor came presently, looking very grave, and accompanied by Mr Jarman. From the head master’s face we concluded at once that all was up. But to our surprise he said,—
“I am glad to say, in reference to the matter I met you boys about yesterday, that Tempest has taken a proper sense of his duty, and has undertaken to apologise for his conduct to Mr Jarman. That being so, Tempest, you will please take this opportunity of expressing your regret.”
Tempest flushed as he rose in obedience to the doctor’s summons. It was evidently, as Redwood had said, “a bitter pill,” and had he been a less brave fellow, he could hardly have swallowed it. As it was, even the knowledge that the welfare of the entire house was somehow dependent on his submission was scarcely able to break down his pride.
He advanced to Mr Jarman more like one who comes to administer a thrashing than ask for pardon, and after eyeing him almost fiercely for a moment, summoned his self-control sufficiently to say hoarsely,—
“I apologise, sir.”
Mr Jarman bit his lips. It was not the triumph he had expected. Indeed the whole manner of it was such as to hurt instead of soothe his feelings.
“This is hardly an apology,” said he to the doctor.
“I trust, Tempest, it means that you regret your action?”
It was an awkward question. Tempest had gone further than any one expected, and his silence now reminded the doctor what the cost had been.
“I think,” said he, not waiting for a reply to his own question, “Tempest has fulfilled his pledged—not cordially, I am sorry to say, but sufficiently.”
“Very well, sir,” said Mr Jarman, “I accept his apology for what it is worth, which seems very little.”
“Now, I regret to say,” continued the head master, producing a letter which made my heart jump to my mouth, “I have a more serious matter to speak about. I wish heartily what we have just heard had been the end of this painful interview. But it is necessary to refer to something different—a very serious offence against rules. It concerns you, Tempest. Is it a fact that you are in debt to some of the tradesmen?”
Tempest changed colour again and replied,—
“Yes, sir, I am sorry to say I am.”
I held on tight to my desk. This was a finishing touch surely, and I, if any one, felt myself the criminal.
“This letter, addressed to me, but containing a bill for more than two pounds owing by you, part of it since last term, has been left at my house—I presume by the tradesman to whom it is due. Come here and look at it, Tempest.”
Tempest obeyed.
“Is it a fact that you are in debt to this extent?”
“Yes, sir—more.”
“You are aware—”
Here I could stand it no longer, but sprang to my feet and shouted,—
“Please, sir, it’s my fault!”
Everybody turned to me in amazement, as well they might.
“Your fault, Jones iv.?—come forward and explain.”
“I mean,” said or rather shouted I, speaking while I walked up the room, “it’s my fault you got that bill, sir. I don’t know how you got it, but it wasn’t meant to get to you, really. I must have dropped it. I—I—was going—to try—to get it paid for him, sir. Really—”
Tempest gave me a glare that knocked all the spirit out of me. What business had I, it seemed to demand, to meddle in his private affairs?
I felt I had done him a real bad turn by my clumsiness, but had not the wit to avoid making bad worse.
“Yes, sir, I told Marple—”
“I purposely refrained from mentioning names, Jones iv.; why can you not do so too?”
“I told him to keep it dark, and got him to give it to me. I—I knew Tempest hadn’t enough money to pay it—and—and—”
An exclamation of anger from Tempest cut me short, and I was sent ignominiously back to my place.
“Tempest,” said the head master very sternly, “send me in a list of all you owe before you go to bed to-night, and understand that, unless all is paid by Friday when we break up, you will not be allowed to return to Low Heath after the holidays. You must cease in any case to retain the headship of the house, even for the few days of the term that remain. You, I understand. Crofter, come next in form order; you will act as head boy in the meantime.”
In the midst of my anguish I could see the look of meek resignation on Crofter’s face, and that of quiet satisfaction on Mr Jarman’s. At Tempest I dared not look, or at my fellow-Philosophers.
What had I done? What was to become of me? How could I get out of it? These were the three questions which set my poor brain spinning as I wandered off alone to the remotest corner of the quadrangle, and as, later on, I lay miserably awake in my bed.
I had done my friend about as much harm as I possibly could. I may not have meant it. But who cares what a fellow means, so long as he acts like a cad? As to what was to become of me, I had had a taste of that already. The faggery door had been locked against me, and a missive shoved under the bottom had apprised me of my fate in that quarter.
“To Beast Sarah.
“Take notice that you are kicked out of the Philosophers, and if you dare show your abominable face within a mile of them you’ll get it all over with rulers. It has been resolved by Mr Langrish and seconded by Mr Trimble, and passed by all the lot, that you be and are hereby kicked whenever any one sees you. Any one not kicking you will be lammed. It is also resolved that the faggery be fumigated and disinfected during the holidays, and that any chap seen talking to you be refused to be let in till he has been vaccinated. You are about the lowest, meanest, vilest, abominablest, unmitigatedest sneak going. Three cheers for poor old Tempest, and down with girls’ schools and washerwomen!”
This fiery document was formally signed by every Philosopher in the house, together with a particular word of opprobrium addressed to me by each of my former colleagues.
I was not long in realising that I was an outcast in Sharpe’s. No one would look at me, still less speak to me. Pridgin ordered me off like a dog. Wales slammed his door in my face. When I appeared in the preparation hall, a long hiss saluted me, even though Mr Sharpe was present. Even outside fellows seemed to have heard of my crime, and looked askance or gave me a wide berth. I can truly say that I found myself the most miserable boy in Low Heath, and only longed for the end of the term to come, that I might shake the dust of the hateful place from my feet, and drop out of the sight of a school full of enemies.
Indeed, as I lay awake that night I had serious thoughts of making off there and then. If I had only had my boots, I think I might have done so; but they were in the blacking-room; and my desperation drew the line at walking off in my bare feet.
I was sitting up in bed, half whimpering with headache and misery, when a light appeared at the end of the dormitory. It was Crofter, in his new capacity of head of the house, taking his rounds before turning in. The sight of him brought home to me the injury I had done, not only to Tempest, but the whole house. For it was my fault, and mine only, that Crofter was at this moment captain of Sharpe’s.
To my surprise and alarm, when he came up to my bed he stopped short, and drawing a letter from his pocket, put it into my hand, saying—
“Put that under your pillow till the morning.”
It was more than nature could do to sleep with a mystery like this on the top of my misery. I listened to the clock as it struck the hours through the night, and thought the day would never come. Indeed, the getting-up bell had sounded before the winter sun struggled in through the dormitory window.
Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow and tore it open.
A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter.
“You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy. The least you can do is to try to make things right for Tempest. Call round on the following six tradesmen (giving the six names, one of which was Marple) early to-morrow, and pay Tempest’s bill at each, and bring home the receipts. You needn’t mention who sent you. Send the receipts to me, and if Tempest asks any questions, tell him you paid the money by request of a friend.
“W. Crofter.”
Chapter Twenty One.I am advised to lie low.My first impulse on reading Crofter’s letter was to jump for joy. It meant that Tempest would stay at Low Heath, and that I was to be allowed to assist in keeping him there.But my second thoughts were more of a surprise than pleasure. Crofter was a mystery to me. His fellow-seniors disliked him, and warned me against him. But, as far as I could see, he was not as bad as they made him out, and certainly never said anything as bad about them as they said about him.What could be his object now if it was not a disinterested one? He would be permanent captain of the house if Tempest left, and yet he was doing the very thing that would keep Tempest at school. Tempest had openly insulted him during the term, and yet here he was helping his enemy out of a very tight place. I knew he was well off, so probably he could afford the £5; but at the end of the term pocket-money was not a plentiful commodity. He said nothing about being paid back, too; surely he did not mean to make Tempest a free gift of this magnificent amount! The more I thought it over the more I felt Crofter was a brick, and had been scandalously misunderstood. He seemed to me a true type of the virtuous man, who, when struck on one cheek, turns the other, and when robbed of his coat offers his cloak too. I only hoped Tempest might know what he owed him. In short, in the brief time it took me to dress, I had worked myself up into a state of enthusiasm on the subject of Crofter.As to the mystery of Mr Marple’s letter having got into the doctor’s hands, no doubt I had been careless and dropped the compromising envelope, which some foolish but honest person (it did not occur to me at the time it might have been Crofter himself) had picked up and dropped in the head master’s letter-box, supposing he was doing a very clever thing. Tempest would not be likely to allow me to explain, which was hard on me, and made it all the more virtuous on my part to assist now in putting things right for him. Luckily for him, he had friends at Low Heath in spite of himself.When I encountered Crofter in the morning, I requested him, with a knowing look of intelligence, to give me anexeatinto the town to do some shopping. It was probably the first recognition he had received of his temporary authority as head of the house, and he made no difficulty in granting my request.I made my way first of all to Marple’s.“Oh, about that bill you gave me. How much was it?”“Two pounds and sixpence, young gentleman.”“I said I’d see it paid for you, didn’t I?”“You did. I don’t want to show up—”“All right, you needn’t. Here’s the money; give me the change, please, and a receipt.”Mr Marple opened his eyes very wide at the sight of a five-pound note within three days of the end of term. “I—I hope it’s all right,” said he, hesitatingly. “You needn’t have it if you don’t want,” said I, mounting my high horse.“I’m sure I’m much obliged to you, young gentleman,” said the tradesman, giving the note a professional twitch, and proceeding to count out the change from his till. “I shall always be pleased to attend to any little orders from Mr Tempest or you.”“You can make out the receipt to Tempest,” said I; “I expect he won’t get much more here.”“Don’t say that. I’m sure no offence was meant.”It was a delicious sensation to feel myself master of the situation like this. I could have bullied Marple if I had liked, but I resolved not to be too hard on him.“I’m sure I’m much obliged,” said he, “for all your trouble. Have you seen these pretty little pencil-sharpers? They are quite new. I shall be pleased if you will accept one, young gentleman.”A pencil-sharpener was the very thing I wanted. All the term I had been wrestling with a blunt penknife, which no sooner uncovered the lead at the end of a pencil than it broke it off. So in a weak moment I accepted the gift, and forfeited my advantage.From Marple’s I proceeded to the confectioner’s, where a score of nearly a pound stood against Tempest. Here, again, I experienced the sweets of being treated with distinguished consideration, and being asked to partake of a strawberry ice (how Rammage, by the way, continued to have strawberry ices in the middle of December I have never yet clearly understood) while the receipt was being made out.Mr Winget, the hatter, rather disappointed me by offering me nothing more than his sincere thanks for the settlement of his little bill. He might at least, I thought, have offered me a mourning hatband or a new school ribbon. His bill, however, was only five shillings, so probably the profit did not permit of any gratuitous allowance in recognition of my distinguished services.I was consoled, however, by Mr Ringstead, the games man, who presented me with a net-bag for holding tennis balls, and urged me, whenever I wanted any little thing in the way of repairs to bats, or fresh spikes to my running shoes, to let him know.It was all very pleasant, and I grieve to say that the shady side of all this petty bribery and corruption never once occurred to my simple mind.I returned to school covered with self-satisfaction, and virtuously clutching in my hand half-a-crown, the final change out of the “fiver.” This in due course I put in an envelope, together with the batch of receipts, and laid on Crofter’s table after morning school, with the laconic message under the flap, “All right, T.J. iv.”I was far too knowing to let out my secret to the Philosophers, whose agitation and indignation at Tempest’s probable expulsion knew no bounds and somewhat amused me.“Look here, Sarah,” said Langrish, as I entered for the first time after my disgrace of the previous day—I knew my comrades well enough to be sure they would like to see me—“we all know you’re about the beastliest, howlingest cad in Low Heath; so that’s all right.”“I’m glad you think so.”“Yes, and you’ve been told to clear out, as it’s your fault Tempest’s expelled.”“Is it? That’s all you know,” said I.“Yes, and you’re kicked out of the Philosophers, and we’re going to invite Dicky Brown to join us.He’sa decent chap.”This was rather a blow.“I thought no town-boys were eligible.”“No cads are; that’s why you’re out of it.”“Look here—” said I.“We’re not going to look here. You can cut and go, and sit on the stairs. We don’t want you in here, do we, you chaps?”“Rather not, unless we’ve got our kicking boots on.”“All right,” said I, feeling I must play one or two of my trumps. “I sha’n’t tell you what I was going to.”“Pooh, we know all about it,” said Coxhead. But it was plain by the way they had all pricked their ears they did not.“Oh, if you know, it’s all right. But you don’t know the latest.”“We don’t want to, unless it’s that old Tempest has got off.”“That’s just what it is,” said I triumphantly.“Good old Sarah! how do you know?”“Never mind, it’s a secret; but it’s a fact, honour bright.”“What, has he paid all his bills?”“They’re all paid, I know that.”“I suppose,” said Langrish, “as that motion about Sarah being kicked out wasn’t properly seconded, it’s off, isn’t it?”“Does any gentleman second the motion?” said Coxhead, glancing round the assembled Philosophers.No one seconded it.“Jolly lucky shave for you, young Sarah,” said Coxhead.“Thanks awfully,” said I.“We may as well divide up the pool now?” suggested Warminster.With a generosity which was really touching, the Philosophers had clubbed together the shattered fragments of their term’s pocket-money to assist Tempest in his financial troubles. They had done it ungrudgingly, nay enthusiastically, and it was not against them that the enthusiasm remained now as each one unexpectedly received back his Philosopher’s mite from the depths of the kindly “pool.”It is all very well keeping a secret like mine for twenty-four hours. It was an effort, but I did it, and prevailed on my comrades to keep it too. It was even harder work to prevail upon them as a matter of policy to accept the temporary supremacy of Crofter in the house. Nothing would induce them to refrain from cheering Tempest (much to his displeasure) on every possible occasion. It made it awkward for me sometimes when this happened in Crofter’s presence; for as things now were in Sharpe’s, a cheer for the old captain meant a hoot at the new; and I felt that Crofter, did the fellows only know all, did not deserve their resentment.After forty-eight hours I could not restrain myself any longer. It was not fair to myself, or Crofter, or Low Heath, that every one should suppose Tempest was to be expelled when he really was not. So, with some misgivings, I decided to put myself in his way and break the agreeable news to him, and so have everything cleared up before the end of term.It was not difficult to find an excuse. I had not been to Tempest’s rooms since our unlucky quarrel, and had been suffering inconvenience ever since by the fact that my Latin Gradus was there. On the last day but one of the term, therefore, I developed a burning desire to consult my missing handbook, and must needs go in search of it.Tempest was sitting, miserably enough, before the fire, with his feet on the fender and his hands up to the back of his head as I entered. It was not till I was well in the room and had closed the door that he turned round and saw me.I thought at first he meant to fly at me, his face clouded so angrily. But it changed to a look of contempt as he said,—“Well?”“Tempest, I’m awfully sorry, really I am, but—”“Don’t let us have any of that. If I thought you’d meant it, I should precious soon know what to do. You’ve done me about the worst turn a fellow could, and if you weren’t a conceited young ass it would be some use thrashing you. As it is, somebody else may do that when I’m gone.”The wretchedness of his tone quite touched me. I forgot my anger and sense of resentment, and all the old affection and loyalty came back with a rush. How could I ever have imagined a fellow like Crofter was worthy to hold a candle to my old Dux?“Really, Tempest,” began I, losing my head and blundering I scarcely knew whither, “when you saw me talking to Crofter—” He uttered an angry exclamation.“There, now, shut up about your friend Crofter. I don’t want to hear about him.”“He’s not my friend, Tempest; he’s—he’s yours.”He wheeled round in his chair and laughed bitterly.“It’s a queer time to joke,” said he, with a laugh that cut me through.“It’s no joke, Tempest. You don’t know what he’s done for you.”“Don’t I? I fancy I do.”“About the bills,” said I, faltering, “you know.”“Ah! don’t come here to tell me about that.”“It was all of his own accord he paid them.”“He what?” shouted Tempest, springing from his chair and facing round.“Paid them, you know; at least, I paid them for him.”“You? Paid?” and he caught me by the collar and shook me like a puppy.“You said you knew,” gasped I.“Paid my bills! You say that blackguard had the cheek to—”“He got me to do it; it was his money, though.”He groaned as if some one had wounded him. A crimson flush of shame and mortification overspread his face, and for a moment he stared at me speechless.Then he pulled himself together and strode out of the room. Utterly bewildered and half terrified, I followed him. What had I done to offend him? Had all the trouble of the term turned his head?To my alarm he made straight for Crofter’s study. No one was there. He turned and saw me.“Tell Crofter I want him at once.”I departed with my heart in my mouth. At the foot of the staircase I met Crofter.“Tempest wants to see you,” said I; “he sent me to—to ask you to come.”“He doesn’t know?” inquired Crofter.“Yes—I told him—I—I thought I ought to let him know.” Crofter laughed his sweet laugh.“If I had wanted it known all over Low Heath,” said he, “I could hardly have done better than tell you to keep it a secret. I’d much sooner he had not known. However—where is he?”“In your study, I think.”I felt constrained to follow. Crofter evidently was expecting to be the recipient of an outburst of effusive gratitude. I had not the courage to disabuse him.He walked pleasantly and graciously into his study, where Tempest stood, flushing and biting his lips, awaiting him. “Is this true what that youngster says, that you’ve had the—that you’ve paid bills of mine?”“I’m sorry he told you, Tempest. I thought it might get you out of a difficulty, and I—”“And you expect me to thank you! Take that, for daring to meddle in my affairs!”And he struck Crofter on the cheek—not a hard blow, but one which sent the recipient reeling across the room with astonishment.For a moment I expected a fight. Crofter, however, pale, but smiling still, declined the challenge.“You’ll be sorry, I’m sure,” said he, as coolly as he could. “I only wanted to do you a good turn, and—”“I’m sorry already,” said Tempest, who had already gathered himself together. “I hoped you’d fight like a man. As you’re afraid to, I’m sorry I touched you.”“I see nothing to fight about,” said Crofter. “I don’t see what there is to be angry about.”Tempest waited motionless for a few uncomfortable moments, in the hope that Crofter would pluck up spirit to accept the challenge. But, as Crofter only smiled, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. As he passed me, he beckoned me imperiously to follow him. I did so in terror.He put a piece of paper and a pen before me.“Write down there an account of every bill you paid, and the amount.”I obeyed—my memory fortunately served me for the task.“Now go. You’ve had the satisfaction of seeing me make an ass of myself in striking that cad—he’s not worth it. You may go and tell him I’m sorry if you like. As for you, I don’t want to see any more of you. Go to your captain, and leave me alone.”And he flung himself miserably into his chair, leaning forward with his head on his hands, and apparently indifferent whether I stayed or went.I went, leaving him thus. And the memory of him sitting there haunted me all that night and for weeks to come.When, next day, the news went round that Tempest had escaped expulsion, the general delight was tempered with amazement at the rumour which accompanied it, that he owed his escape to Crofter. No one but Crofter himself could have put the latter story into circulation, and to any one knowing the two seniors as well as I did, it was obvious that what had completed the humiliation of one had been the crowning triumph of the other.Crofter could not have avenged himself for the insults of the term more effectively; and Tempest’s proud nature could not have suffered a bitterer wound than to know that he had been put under an obligation in spite of himself, and without the possibility of preventing it, by his worst enemy.The ordinary “Sharper” could hardly be expected to trouble himself about questions of motive. It was sufficient for him that his hero was saved, and that the credit of the popular act which saved him belonged to Crofter.Consequently both were cheered equally when they appeared in public, and of the two Crofter accepted his popularity with a far better grace than his mortified adversary.But it was all very miserable to me as I slunk home that afternoon in the train. All the hopes of the wonderful term had been disappointed. I was a recognised dunce and idler at Low Heath. I had lost my best friend and sold myself to his enemy. My self-respect was at a low ebb. I knew that in a post or two would come a report which would bring tears to my mother’s eyes, and cause my guardian to grunt and say, “I expected as much.” The worst of it was, I could not get it out of my head yet that I was rather a fine young fellow if only people knew it, and that my misfortunes were more to blame for the failure of the term than my faults.To my relief a letter came early in the holidays from Dicky Brown’s people, asking me to spend the last two weeks with them, I jumped at it, for in my present miserable frame of mind even home was dismal.But when I found myself back at Low Heath, installed in Dicky’s quiet little family circle, I was almost sorry I had come. For Dicky was all high spirits and jubilation. He had won a form prize; everything had gone swimmingly for him. The Urbans looked up to him; the head master had patted him on the back; the Redwoods had taken a fancy to him. No one thought of calling him by a feminine nickname.“I think Low Heath’s a ripping place,” said he, as we strolled past the gate of the empty quadrangle in one of our holiday rambles. “I’m jolly glad we got kicked out of Dangerfield, ain’t you?”“Middling,” said I; “the fact is, Dicky, you may as well know it, but I’m rather sick of this place.”“Hullo!” said he, looking at me, “why, I thought you were having such a high old time.”“I—I’ve come a bit of a howler, Dicky;” here I gulped ominously, much to Dicky’s concern. “I’ve fooled things rather, you know.” I was in for my confession now, and gave the penitent horse his head. “I’m jolly miserable, Dicky, that’s all about it, and wish I was dead, don’t you know, and that sort of thing.”“What’s up, old chappie?” said Dicky, taking my arm, and evidently in a fright lest I should compromise myself by breaking down on the spot. “Come down by the willows; it’s rather muddy, but it’s quieter.”So we ploughed through the mud under the willows, and I let out on Dicky all that was in my heart. I’m sure he thought it a lot of bosh, but he was too kind to say so, and hung on to my arm, and never once contradicted me when I called myself a fool.“You have rotted it a bit,” remarked he, when the story was complete. “Never mind, old chap, it can’t be helped. You’ll worry through all right.”This was true comfort. If Dicky had been a prig like me, he would have tried to talk to me like a father, and driven me crazy. It made all the difference that he understood me, and yet believed in me a little.“It strikes me,” said he, with refreshing candour, “you fancy yourself a bit too much, Tommy. I’d advise you to lie low a bit, and it will all come round.”“That’s just exactly what Tempest said to me the first day of term,” said I, with a groan.“There you are,” said he; “bless you, you’re not going to get done over one wretched term, are you? I wouldn’t if I were you.”“But all the chaps are down on me.”“What do you care?” said he, with a snort. “Who cares twopence about the lot of them—chaps like them too? You’re a cut better than that lot, I fancy—ought to be, anyhow.”What balm it all was to my wounds! What miles of mud we ploughed through that afternoon! and how, as the water gradually leaked into my boots, my heart rose out of them, and got back somehow to its proper place, and enabled me to look at things in their proper light. I think Dicky, little as he knew it, was sent by God to help me pull myself together, and I shall always think better of him for his blunt, genuine encouragement that day.On our way back he pulled up at Redwood’s door.“Let’s see if he’s in,” said he; “he won’t mind.”“All right,” said I, beginning to quail again a little, and yet determined to go through with the whole business.Redwood was in, mending a pair of skates, in anticipation of a day or two’s frost before the holidays were over.“Look here, Redwood,” said Dicky, determined to make things easy for me. “Old Jones minimus is in the blues. He’s been fooling it rather this term, you know, but he’s a bit sick of it, and we thought you’d like to know, didn’t we, young Jones minimus?”“Yes, if you don’t mind, Redwood,” said I.“Wait a bit—tea’s just ready. We’ll have ours up here,” said the captain.Over tea Dicky trotted out my troubles second-hand to our host, appealing to me every now and then to confirm his statement that I’d rather “mucked” it over this and that, and so on.Redwood nibbled away at his tea, looking up now and then with a friendly nod to show he agreed with all that was said about me.When all was said, he remarked—“I wouldn’t worry, youngster, if I were you. It’s been a poor show last term, but you’ll pull yourself together right enough. Take my advice, and lie low a bit, that’s the best thing for your complaint.”“Why,” said I, “that’s just exactly what Tempest said to me.”“There you are again,” broke in Dicky, cutting himself a hunch of cake.Presently Redwood began to “draw” me on the subject of Tempest, and looked rather blank when I told him of the dismal circumstances in which the term had closed at Sharpe’s. However, he did not favour Dicky and me with much comment on the matter, and finally got us to help him sharpen his skates and talk about other things.I went to bed that night at Dicky’s more easy and hopeful than I had been for weeks, and felt half-impatient for term to begin again, so that I might put into practice the new and trebly-patent specific of lying low.
My first impulse on reading Crofter’s letter was to jump for joy. It meant that Tempest would stay at Low Heath, and that I was to be allowed to assist in keeping him there.
But my second thoughts were more of a surprise than pleasure. Crofter was a mystery to me. His fellow-seniors disliked him, and warned me against him. But, as far as I could see, he was not as bad as they made him out, and certainly never said anything as bad about them as they said about him.
What could be his object now if it was not a disinterested one? He would be permanent captain of the house if Tempest left, and yet he was doing the very thing that would keep Tempest at school. Tempest had openly insulted him during the term, and yet here he was helping his enemy out of a very tight place. I knew he was well off, so probably he could afford the £5; but at the end of the term pocket-money was not a plentiful commodity. He said nothing about being paid back, too; surely he did not mean to make Tempest a free gift of this magnificent amount! The more I thought it over the more I felt Crofter was a brick, and had been scandalously misunderstood. He seemed to me a true type of the virtuous man, who, when struck on one cheek, turns the other, and when robbed of his coat offers his cloak too. I only hoped Tempest might know what he owed him. In short, in the brief time it took me to dress, I had worked myself up into a state of enthusiasm on the subject of Crofter.
As to the mystery of Mr Marple’s letter having got into the doctor’s hands, no doubt I had been careless and dropped the compromising envelope, which some foolish but honest person (it did not occur to me at the time it might have been Crofter himself) had picked up and dropped in the head master’s letter-box, supposing he was doing a very clever thing. Tempest would not be likely to allow me to explain, which was hard on me, and made it all the more virtuous on my part to assist now in putting things right for him. Luckily for him, he had friends at Low Heath in spite of himself.
When I encountered Crofter in the morning, I requested him, with a knowing look of intelligence, to give me anexeatinto the town to do some shopping. It was probably the first recognition he had received of his temporary authority as head of the house, and he made no difficulty in granting my request.
I made my way first of all to Marple’s.
“Oh, about that bill you gave me. How much was it?”
“Two pounds and sixpence, young gentleman.”
“I said I’d see it paid for you, didn’t I?”
“You did. I don’t want to show up—”
“All right, you needn’t. Here’s the money; give me the change, please, and a receipt.”
Mr Marple opened his eyes very wide at the sight of a five-pound note within three days of the end of term. “I—I hope it’s all right,” said he, hesitatingly. “You needn’t have it if you don’t want,” said I, mounting my high horse.
“I’m sure I’m much obliged to you, young gentleman,” said the tradesman, giving the note a professional twitch, and proceeding to count out the change from his till. “I shall always be pleased to attend to any little orders from Mr Tempest or you.”
“You can make out the receipt to Tempest,” said I; “I expect he won’t get much more here.”
“Don’t say that. I’m sure no offence was meant.”
It was a delicious sensation to feel myself master of the situation like this. I could have bullied Marple if I had liked, but I resolved not to be too hard on him.
“I’m sure I’m much obliged,” said he, “for all your trouble. Have you seen these pretty little pencil-sharpers? They are quite new. I shall be pleased if you will accept one, young gentleman.”
A pencil-sharpener was the very thing I wanted. All the term I had been wrestling with a blunt penknife, which no sooner uncovered the lead at the end of a pencil than it broke it off. So in a weak moment I accepted the gift, and forfeited my advantage.
From Marple’s I proceeded to the confectioner’s, where a score of nearly a pound stood against Tempest. Here, again, I experienced the sweets of being treated with distinguished consideration, and being asked to partake of a strawberry ice (how Rammage, by the way, continued to have strawberry ices in the middle of December I have never yet clearly understood) while the receipt was being made out.
Mr Winget, the hatter, rather disappointed me by offering me nothing more than his sincere thanks for the settlement of his little bill. He might at least, I thought, have offered me a mourning hatband or a new school ribbon. His bill, however, was only five shillings, so probably the profit did not permit of any gratuitous allowance in recognition of my distinguished services.
I was consoled, however, by Mr Ringstead, the games man, who presented me with a net-bag for holding tennis balls, and urged me, whenever I wanted any little thing in the way of repairs to bats, or fresh spikes to my running shoes, to let him know.
It was all very pleasant, and I grieve to say that the shady side of all this petty bribery and corruption never once occurred to my simple mind.
I returned to school covered with self-satisfaction, and virtuously clutching in my hand half-a-crown, the final change out of the “fiver.” This in due course I put in an envelope, together with the batch of receipts, and laid on Crofter’s table after morning school, with the laconic message under the flap, “All right, T.J. iv.”
I was far too knowing to let out my secret to the Philosophers, whose agitation and indignation at Tempest’s probable expulsion knew no bounds and somewhat amused me.
“Look here, Sarah,” said Langrish, as I entered for the first time after my disgrace of the previous day—I knew my comrades well enough to be sure they would like to see me—“we all know you’re about the beastliest, howlingest cad in Low Heath; so that’s all right.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Yes, and you’ve been told to clear out, as it’s your fault Tempest’s expelled.”
“Is it? That’s all you know,” said I.
“Yes, and you’re kicked out of the Philosophers, and we’re going to invite Dicky Brown to join us.He’sa decent chap.”
This was rather a blow.
“I thought no town-boys were eligible.”
“No cads are; that’s why you’re out of it.”
“Look here—” said I.
“We’re not going to look here. You can cut and go, and sit on the stairs. We don’t want you in here, do we, you chaps?”
“Rather not, unless we’ve got our kicking boots on.”
“All right,” said I, feeling I must play one or two of my trumps. “I sha’n’t tell you what I was going to.”
“Pooh, we know all about it,” said Coxhead. But it was plain by the way they had all pricked their ears they did not.
“Oh, if you know, it’s all right. But you don’t know the latest.”
“We don’t want to, unless it’s that old Tempest has got off.”
“That’s just what it is,” said I triumphantly.
“Good old Sarah! how do you know?”
“Never mind, it’s a secret; but it’s a fact, honour bright.”
“What, has he paid all his bills?”
“They’re all paid, I know that.”
“I suppose,” said Langrish, “as that motion about Sarah being kicked out wasn’t properly seconded, it’s off, isn’t it?”
“Does any gentleman second the motion?” said Coxhead, glancing round the assembled Philosophers.
No one seconded it.
“Jolly lucky shave for you, young Sarah,” said Coxhead.
“Thanks awfully,” said I.
“We may as well divide up the pool now?” suggested Warminster.
With a generosity which was really touching, the Philosophers had clubbed together the shattered fragments of their term’s pocket-money to assist Tempest in his financial troubles. They had done it ungrudgingly, nay enthusiastically, and it was not against them that the enthusiasm remained now as each one unexpectedly received back his Philosopher’s mite from the depths of the kindly “pool.”
It is all very well keeping a secret like mine for twenty-four hours. It was an effort, but I did it, and prevailed on my comrades to keep it too. It was even harder work to prevail upon them as a matter of policy to accept the temporary supremacy of Crofter in the house. Nothing would induce them to refrain from cheering Tempest (much to his displeasure) on every possible occasion. It made it awkward for me sometimes when this happened in Crofter’s presence; for as things now were in Sharpe’s, a cheer for the old captain meant a hoot at the new; and I felt that Crofter, did the fellows only know all, did not deserve their resentment.
After forty-eight hours I could not restrain myself any longer. It was not fair to myself, or Crofter, or Low Heath, that every one should suppose Tempest was to be expelled when he really was not. So, with some misgivings, I decided to put myself in his way and break the agreeable news to him, and so have everything cleared up before the end of term.
It was not difficult to find an excuse. I had not been to Tempest’s rooms since our unlucky quarrel, and had been suffering inconvenience ever since by the fact that my Latin Gradus was there. On the last day but one of the term, therefore, I developed a burning desire to consult my missing handbook, and must needs go in search of it.
Tempest was sitting, miserably enough, before the fire, with his feet on the fender and his hands up to the back of his head as I entered. It was not till I was well in the room and had closed the door that he turned round and saw me.
I thought at first he meant to fly at me, his face clouded so angrily. But it changed to a look of contempt as he said,—
“Well?”
“Tempest, I’m awfully sorry, really I am, but—”
“Don’t let us have any of that. If I thought you’d meant it, I should precious soon know what to do. You’ve done me about the worst turn a fellow could, and if you weren’t a conceited young ass it would be some use thrashing you. As it is, somebody else may do that when I’m gone.”
The wretchedness of his tone quite touched me. I forgot my anger and sense of resentment, and all the old affection and loyalty came back with a rush. How could I ever have imagined a fellow like Crofter was worthy to hold a candle to my old Dux?
“Really, Tempest,” began I, losing my head and blundering I scarcely knew whither, “when you saw me talking to Crofter—” He uttered an angry exclamation.
“There, now, shut up about your friend Crofter. I don’t want to hear about him.”
“He’s not my friend, Tempest; he’s—he’s yours.”
He wheeled round in his chair and laughed bitterly.
“It’s a queer time to joke,” said he, with a laugh that cut me through.
“It’s no joke, Tempest. You don’t know what he’s done for you.”
“Don’t I? I fancy I do.”
“About the bills,” said I, faltering, “you know.”
“Ah! don’t come here to tell me about that.”
“It was all of his own accord he paid them.”
“He what?” shouted Tempest, springing from his chair and facing round.
“Paid them, you know; at least, I paid them for him.”
“You? Paid?” and he caught me by the collar and shook me like a puppy.
“You said you knew,” gasped I.
“Paid my bills! You say that blackguard had the cheek to—”
“He got me to do it; it was his money, though.”
He groaned as if some one had wounded him. A crimson flush of shame and mortification overspread his face, and for a moment he stared at me speechless.
Then he pulled himself together and strode out of the room. Utterly bewildered and half terrified, I followed him. What had I done to offend him? Had all the trouble of the term turned his head?
To my alarm he made straight for Crofter’s study. No one was there. He turned and saw me.
“Tell Crofter I want him at once.”
I departed with my heart in my mouth. At the foot of the staircase I met Crofter.
“Tempest wants to see you,” said I; “he sent me to—to ask you to come.”
“He doesn’t know?” inquired Crofter.
“Yes—I told him—I—I thought I ought to let him know.” Crofter laughed his sweet laugh.
“If I had wanted it known all over Low Heath,” said he, “I could hardly have done better than tell you to keep it a secret. I’d much sooner he had not known. However—where is he?”
“In your study, I think.”
I felt constrained to follow. Crofter evidently was expecting to be the recipient of an outburst of effusive gratitude. I had not the courage to disabuse him.
He walked pleasantly and graciously into his study, where Tempest stood, flushing and biting his lips, awaiting him. “Is this true what that youngster says, that you’ve had the—that you’ve paid bills of mine?”
“I’m sorry he told you, Tempest. I thought it might get you out of a difficulty, and I—”
“And you expect me to thank you! Take that, for daring to meddle in my affairs!”
And he struck Crofter on the cheek—not a hard blow, but one which sent the recipient reeling across the room with astonishment.
For a moment I expected a fight. Crofter, however, pale, but smiling still, declined the challenge.
“You’ll be sorry, I’m sure,” said he, as coolly as he could. “I only wanted to do you a good turn, and—”
“I’m sorry already,” said Tempest, who had already gathered himself together. “I hoped you’d fight like a man. As you’re afraid to, I’m sorry I touched you.”
“I see nothing to fight about,” said Crofter. “I don’t see what there is to be angry about.”
Tempest waited motionless for a few uncomfortable moments, in the hope that Crofter would pluck up spirit to accept the challenge. But, as Crofter only smiled, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. As he passed me, he beckoned me imperiously to follow him. I did so in terror.
He put a piece of paper and a pen before me.
“Write down there an account of every bill you paid, and the amount.”
I obeyed—my memory fortunately served me for the task.
“Now go. You’ve had the satisfaction of seeing me make an ass of myself in striking that cad—he’s not worth it. You may go and tell him I’m sorry if you like. As for you, I don’t want to see any more of you. Go to your captain, and leave me alone.”
And he flung himself miserably into his chair, leaning forward with his head on his hands, and apparently indifferent whether I stayed or went.
I went, leaving him thus. And the memory of him sitting there haunted me all that night and for weeks to come.
When, next day, the news went round that Tempest had escaped expulsion, the general delight was tempered with amazement at the rumour which accompanied it, that he owed his escape to Crofter. No one but Crofter himself could have put the latter story into circulation, and to any one knowing the two seniors as well as I did, it was obvious that what had completed the humiliation of one had been the crowning triumph of the other.
Crofter could not have avenged himself for the insults of the term more effectively; and Tempest’s proud nature could not have suffered a bitterer wound than to know that he had been put under an obligation in spite of himself, and without the possibility of preventing it, by his worst enemy.
The ordinary “Sharper” could hardly be expected to trouble himself about questions of motive. It was sufficient for him that his hero was saved, and that the credit of the popular act which saved him belonged to Crofter.
Consequently both were cheered equally when they appeared in public, and of the two Crofter accepted his popularity with a far better grace than his mortified adversary.
But it was all very miserable to me as I slunk home that afternoon in the train. All the hopes of the wonderful term had been disappointed. I was a recognised dunce and idler at Low Heath. I had lost my best friend and sold myself to his enemy. My self-respect was at a low ebb. I knew that in a post or two would come a report which would bring tears to my mother’s eyes, and cause my guardian to grunt and say, “I expected as much.” The worst of it was, I could not get it out of my head yet that I was rather a fine young fellow if only people knew it, and that my misfortunes were more to blame for the failure of the term than my faults.
To my relief a letter came early in the holidays from Dicky Brown’s people, asking me to spend the last two weeks with them, I jumped at it, for in my present miserable frame of mind even home was dismal.
But when I found myself back at Low Heath, installed in Dicky’s quiet little family circle, I was almost sorry I had come. For Dicky was all high spirits and jubilation. He had won a form prize; everything had gone swimmingly for him. The Urbans looked up to him; the head master had patted him on the back; the Redwoods had taken a fancy to him. No one thought of calling him by a feminine nickname.
“I think Low Heath’s a ripping place,” said he, as we strolled past the gate of the empty quadrangle in one of our holiday rambles. “I’m jolly glad we got kicked out of Dangerfield, ain’t you?”
“Middling,” said I; “the fact is, Dicky, you may as well know it, but I’m rather sick of this place.”
“Hullo!” said he, looking at me, “why, I thought you were having such a high old time.”
“I—I’ve come a bit of a howler, Dicky;” here I gulped ominously, much to Dicky’s concern. “I’ve fooled things rather, you know.” I was in for my confession now, and gave the penitent horse his head. “I’m jolly miserable, Dicky, that’s all about it, and wish I was dead, don’t you know, and that sort of thing.”
“What’s up, old chappie?” said Dicky, taking my arm, and evidently in a fright lest I should compromise myself by breaking down on the spot. “Come down by the willows; it’s rather muddy, but it’s quieter.”
So we ploughed through the mud under the willows, and I let out on Dicky all that was in my heart. I’m sure he thought it a lot of bosh, but he was too kind to say so, and hung on to my arm, and never once contradicted me when I called myself a fool.
“You have rotted it a bit,” remarked he, when the story was complete. “Never mind, old chap, it can’t be helped. You’ll worry through all right.”
This was true comfort. If Dicky had been a prig like me, he would have tried to talk to me like a father, and driven me crazy. It made all the difference that he understood me, and yet believed in me a little.
“It strikes me,” said he, with refreshing candour, “you fancy yourself a bit too much, Tommy. I’d advise you to lie low a bit, and it will all come round.”
“That’s just exactly what Tempest said to me the first day of term,” said I, with a groan.
“There you are,” said he; “bless you, you’re not going to get done over one wretched term, are you? I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“But all the chaps are down on me.”
“What do you care?” said he, with a snort. “Who cares twopence about the lot of them—chaps like them too? You’re a cut better than that lot, I fancy—ought to be, anyhow.”
What balm it all was to my wounds! What miles of mud we ploughed through that afternoon! and how, as the water gradually leaked into my boots, my heart rose out of them, and got back somehow to its proper place, and enabled me to look at things in their proper light. I think Dicky, little as he knew it, was sent by God to help me pull myself together, and I shall always think better of him for his blunt, genuine encouragement that day.
On our way back he pulled up at Redwood’s door.
“Let’s see if he’s in,” said he; “he won’t mind.”
“All right,” said I, beginning to quail again a little, and yet determined to go through with the whole business.
Redwood was in, mending a pair of skates, in anticipation of a day or two’s frost before the holidays were over.
“Look here, Redwood,” said Dicky, determined to make things easy for me. “Old Jones minimus is in the blues. He’s been fooling it rather this term, you know, but he’s a bit sick of it, and we thought you’d like to know, didn’t we, young Jones minimus?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind, Redwood,” said I.
“Wait a bit—tea’s just ready. We’ll have ours up here,” said the captain.
Over tea Dicky trotted out my troubles second-hand to our host, appealing to me every now and then to confirm his statement that I’d rather “mucked” it over this and that, and so on.
Redwood nibbled away at his tea, looking up now and then with a friendly nod to show he agreed with all that was said about me.
When all was said, he remarked—
“I wouldn’t worry, youngster, if I were you. It’s been a poor show last term, but you’ll pull yourself together right enough. Take my advice, and lie low a bit, that’s the best thing for your complaint.”
“Why,” said I, “that’s just exactly what Tempest said to me.”
“There you are again,” broke in Dicky, cutting himself a hunch of cake.
Presently Redwood began to “draw” me on the subject of Tempest, and looked rather blank when I told him of the dismal circumstances in which the term had closed at Sharpe’s. However, he did not favour Dicky and me with much comment on the matter, and finally got us to help him sharpen his skates and talk about other things.
I went to bed that night at Dicky’s more easy and hopeful than I had been for weeks, and felt half-impatient for term to begin again, so that I might put into practice the new and trebly-patent specific of lying low.