Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.Gunpowder Treason.One result of my boating excursion was that Crofter ceased to frequent his fellow-seniors’ studies. There was no declaration of war, or, indeed, any formal breaking off of relations. But Crofter had sense enough of his own dignity to feel that he had been slighted by Tempest: and Tempest and his friends had no inclination to heal the trouble, or assume an attitude of friendliness they did not feel.As for me, I found it very hard to steer an even course between the competing parties. Crofter nodded and spoke to me just as usual, and was evidently amused by my panic lest these pacific overtures should be observed or misconstrued by Tempest. Tempest, on the other hand, did not refer again to the subject, but took a little more pains than before to look after me and help me in my work. And an evening or two later, much to my surprise, when I went as usual to “tidy up” in Pridgin’s room while Tempest was there too, my lord and master said abruptly,—“Let my things alone, kid. Tempest appreciates a mess in his place more than I do, so I’ve swopped you for Trimble.”“What?” said I, in tones of mingled amazement and pleasure. “Am I—”“You’re to go and fetch my blazer,” said Tempest, “that I left on the parallel bars in the gymnasium this afternoon. Look alive, or I shall stick to Trimble.”I really began to think there must be something unusually desirable about me, that fellows should be so anxious to possess me. The Philosophers had with one accord sought me for president. Pridgin had wanted me. Crofter had wanted me. Even Redwood had wanted me. And now here was old Tempest putting in his claim! He should have me—I would not be so selfish as to deprive him of the coveted privilege.In a somewhat “tilted” condition I went off on my errand, not even delaying to announce the great news to my fellow-Philosophers. It was a dark evening, and the gymnasium was some way off. But I knew the way by this time. I had daily walked past the area door and glanced down at the dangerous guy where it lay with its lolling tongue under the grating, to assure myself of its welfare. It was all right up till now, and in two days it would be off my hands.The square was empty as I crossed it, and, to my satisfaction, I found the gymnasium door unlocked. I groped my way to the corner where the parallel bars stood, and there found the blazer, which I carried off in triumph.As I emerged from the door and came down the steps, I became aware of two points of light in front of me, and a voice out of the darkness, which caused me to jump almost out of my skin,—“Who is that?”It was Mr Jarman’s voice—and I could just discern his shadowy form accompanied by that of Mr Selkirk standing before me. The two masters were evidently taking an after-dinner turn with their cigars, and had heard my footsteps.“Jones iv., sir; I came to fetch Tempest’s blazer.”“Who gave you leave?”“Tempest, sir.”“Take the blazer back where you found it, and tell Tempest if he leaves his things in the gymnasium he must fetch them at proper hours. This is the third time I have had to speak to you, Jones iv. You must attend an extra drill to-morrow, and learn fifty lines by heart. This constant irregularity must be stopped.”So saying, he took his companion’s arm and strolled off.I returned dismally into the dark gymnasium and flung the blazer on to the nearest seat; and then hurried back to report the result of my mission to Tempest.As I guessed, our poor guy downstairs was likely to be nowhere in the explosion which this last insult called forth.With clenched teeth Tempest sprang from his seat and snatched his cap.“It’s awfully dark,” said I; “if you’re going, you’d better take some matches.”“Fetch me some,” said he, with a harsh, dry voice. I fled off, and returned with a box of fusees, which the Philosophers had laid in for the approaching celebration of Guy Fawkes’ Day.Tempest snatched them from my hand and strode off. I wished he had let me go with him. I heard his footsteps swing heavily across the quadrangle, as if challenging the notice of the enemy. Whether the enemy heard or answered the challenge I could not say. The steps died away into silence, and I listened in vain for further sign.Presently I returned to the faggery, where the Philosophers were just preparing to obey the summons to bed.Hurriedly I recited the event of the evening, and for once was honoured with their rapt and excited attention.“My eye, what a shame we can’t go out and see the fun!” cried Langrish.“I hope he makes jelly of him,” said Trimble. “I’m jolly glad I’m his fag.”This brought on a crisis I had rather feared.“You’re not,” said I. “Pridgin has swopped me for you.”“What!” screamed Trimble, taking a running kick at my shins.“I didn’t do it. Shut up. Trim! that’s my leg you’re kicking. It was Pridgin. Go and kick him,” said I.But Trim was in no mood to listen to reason.“I always said you were a sneak,” snarled he; “now I know it. Come and kick the beast, you fellows. It’s all a low dodge. Kick him, I say.”The company showed every disposition to respond to the appeal.“Look here,” said I, “it’s not my fault—but if you kick me, I’ll tell him about your precious guy, and you can look after him yourself; I shan’t. There!”This rather fetched them. As custodian of that illicit effigy I had my uses, and they hardly cared to dispense with me. So Trimble was ordered not to make an ass of himself, and the discussion went back to Tempest and his blazer.“I tell you what,” said Warminster. “I vote we hang about a bit and cheer him when he comes in. There’s no one to lag us for not going to bed, and we may as well stay and back him up.”With which patriotic resolve we resumed our seats and occupied the interval with auditing the accounts of the club—a painful and tedious operation which gave rise to much dispute and recrimination, particularly when it was discovered that on paper we were 25 shillings to the good, whereas in the treasurer’s pocket we were 6 shillings to the bad.The treasurer had a bad quarter of an hour of it, till it was discovered that the auditors had accidentally forgotten to carry the total of one column to the top of the next, an oversight which nearly brought about the dissolution of the club, so fierce was the storm which raged over it.More than half an hour was spent over these proceedings, and we began to wonder why Tempest had not come back. It was certain he must have been stopped by somebody, or he would have been back in ten minutes. Had he and Jarman had an encounter? Was Mr Jarman at that moment begging for quarter? or was our man answering for his riot to the head master?Half an hour passed, three-quarters, an hour. Then, just as we were giving him up, hurried footsteps came across the quadrangle, and Tempest, with pale face and disordered guise, carrying his blazer on his arm, entered and passed rapidly to his room. His countenance was too forbidding for us to venture on our promised cheer. Something unusual had happened. How we longed to know what it was!I was thrust forward to follow him to his study, on the chance of ascertaining, and was on the point of obeying, when a terrific sound broke the silence of the night, and sent us back with white, rigid faces in a heap into the faggery.The sound proceeded from the direction of the gymnasium—first of all, a dull, spasmodic thunder; then a fierce burst, followed almost immediately by two tremendous reports which shook us to the soles of our boots.It reminded me of that fearful night at Dangerfield, when Tempest—I clung on to Langrish, who was next to me, in mute despair, and Langrish in turn embraced Trimble.“Those,” gasped the voice of Coxhead, “were the—ginger—beer—bottles. What—shall—we—do?”“Cut to bed sharp!” said the resolute though quavering voice of Warminster, “and lie low.”“There won’t be much of him left,” whispered Trimble, “that’s one good thing,” as we huddled off our clothes in the dark in the dormitory.It was a gleam of comfort, certainly. Effigies of that kind, when they do go off, leave few marks of identity behind them.“Who let it off?” I ventured to ask. “No one knew about it except us.”“Look out! There’s somebody coming!”It was Mr Sharpe, who looked in, candle in hand, to see if any one had been disturbed by the noise. But every one was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unconscious that anything had happened.“Narrow shave that,” said Langrish, when the master had retired.“I say,” said Trimble. “I wonder if Tempest—”Here he pulled up, but a muffled whistle of dismay took up his meaning.“If he did, he must have found it out by himself. I never said a word to him,” said I.“You were bound to make a mess of it,” said Coxhead. “Why ever couldn’t you stick the thing where nobody could find it?”“So I did; it was leaning up against the cellar wall; no one could possibly get at it.”“Why not? the area door’s open.”“No, it ain’t. I locked it, and hid the key,” said I, triumphantly, “for fear of accident, under the scraper.”“Good old Sarah—that’s lucky. But what about the grating in the gymnasium floor? Couldn’t you twig it through that?”“Not unless you were looking for it. And if you could, you couldn’t get at it.”“Well,” said Trimble, rather brutally, “I hope it’s all right, for your sake. Fellows who keep guys must take the consequences. It would have been much safer if you’d kept it under your bed.”“You may keep the next,” growled I. “I’ve done with it.”Considering the probable condition of the luckless effigy at that moment, nobody was inclined to contradict me; and the Philosophers relapsed into gloomy silence, and eventually fell asleep.I was probably the last to reach that blissful stage. For hours I lay awake, a prey to the most dismal reflections. To do myself justice, my own peril afflicted me at the time—perhaps because I did not realise it—less than Tempest’s. Whether he had blown up the guy or not, things would be sure to look black against him, and my recollection of the episode of Hector’s death told me he would come out of it badly. How, if he had done it, he had contrived to get at the explosives, I could not fathom. I was sure, even with his grudge against Jarman, he was not the sort of fellow to take a revenge that was either mean or dastardly; and yet—and yet—and yet—When with one accord we woke next morning it needed no special intimation to be aware that something had happened at Low Heath. Masters and school attendants were talking in groups in the quadrangle. Boys were flitting across in the direction of the gymnasium; and seniors in twos and threes were deferring their morning dip and hovering about in serious confabulation.“Something up?” said Trimble, with ill-concealed artlessness. “I wonder what it is?”“Looks like a row of some sort,” said Langrish. “What are all the chaps going across to the gym. for, I wonder?”“Let’s go and see,” said Coxhead.“We needn’t all go together,” said Warminster, significantly. So one by one, casually, and at studied distances from our comrades, the Philosophers dropped into the crowd and made for the scene of last night’s accident.I felt terribly nervous. Suppose some one had been killed, or suppose the gymnasium had been burnt, and suspicion fell on any one, what a fix it would be!In my distress I met Dicky Brown, full of news.“Hullo, Jones, I say, have you heard? Some chap’s been trying to blow up the gym. in the night, and there’s a row and a half on. The front door is smashed, and the floor all knocked to bits. Come and have a look.”“Any one killed or hurt?”“I’ve not heard. Didn’t you hear the noise?”“Yes. Our chaps heard a row in the night.”“We could hear it at our place,” said Brown. “They say the chap’s known who did it, too.”“Who?”“How do I know? Some chap who’s been extra drilled, most likely.”“There’s plenty of them,” suggested I.“Well, yes. They say a lot of gunpowder had been stowed in the lumber room just under the door. There, do you see?”We had reached the scene of the tragedy, and I was able to judge of the mischief which had been done. The door was broken, but whether by the explosion or ordinary violence it was hard to say. The floor and grating over the lumber room were broken away, and one or two windows were smashed. That was all. My first feeling was one of relief that the damage was so slight. I had pictured the whole building a wreck, and a row of mangled remains on stretchers all round. Compared with that, our poor guy had really made a very slight disturbance. Of him I was thankful to be able to observe no trace, except one tan boot and a fragment of a ginger-beer bottle in the area. That indeed was bad enough, but, I argued, the lumber room was full of old cast-off shoes and bottles, and these would probably be set down as fragments of the rubbish displaced by the explosion.Brown, however, and others to whom I spoke, failed to share my view of the slightness of the damage.“If the fellow’s found, it will be a case of the police court for him.”The blood left my face as I heard the awful words. It had never occurred to me yet that the matter was one of more than school concern. Visions of penal servitude and a broken-hearted mother swam before my eyes. Oh, why had I ever left the tranquil seclusion of Fallowfield for this awful place?As soon as possible I edged quietly out of the crowd, and made my way dismally back to Sharpe’s, where I met not a few of our fellows, all eager for news.I was too sick to give them much information, and sent them to inspect for themselves while I made my way dismally to Tempest’s room.He was up, reading.“Hullo, youngster,” said he, “what’s all the row about? What was that noise in the quad, last night? were some of your lot fooling about with fireworks?”“Don’t you know?” gasped I, fairly taken aback with the question. “Why, some one’s been trying to blow up the gymnasium!”“What!” he exclaimed. “Why,Iwas there, not long before the noise. Who’s done it?”“That’s what nobody knows. I’m afraid there’ll be a row about it.”“Any fool could tell that,” said Tempest, with troubled face.“I wish you hadn’t been there,” said I; “they may think it was you.”“Let them,” said he, with a laugh which was anything but merry. I was longing to hear what had happened to him last night, but he did not volunteer any information, and I did not care to question him.Horribly uneasy, I was about to seek the questionable consolations of my comrades, when the school messenger entered with a long face.“Master Tempest, the head master wants to see you at once.”“All right,” said Tempest.“He said I was to bring you.”“If you want to carry me, you may,” said Tempest, with a short laugh; “if not, wait a moment and I’ll come. Jones, tell Pridgin I want to speak to him—wait, I’ll go to him.”The school messenger looked as if he felt it his duty to take the senior at his word. Had Tempest been a smaller boy, he might have done so. As it was, he repeated,—“At once, please, sir.”Tempest took no notice, but went across the passage to his friend’s room.When he reappeared in a minute or two, Pridgin was with him, and without taking further notice of the messenger’s presence the two walked arm-in-arm out of the house and across the quadrangle.The news of the summons spread like wildfire. The Philosophers, when in due time they mustered in the faggery after their inspection of the scene of the outrage, were not slow in taking in the seriousness of the situation.“Of course he’s suspected. It’s all your fault, you ass, for being such a muff and letting Jarman catch you. You can’t do a thing without making a mess of it.”“How could I help it?” I pleaded.“Couldn’t you have fetched his blazer for him without running into that cad’s way?”“What I can’t make out,” said Langrish, “is how Tempest knew about the guy and was able to let it off.”“I don’t believe he did,” said I. “I’m sure he didn’t.”“You’d believe anything. Things like that don’t go off by themselves, do they?”I was bound to admit they did not, but persisted in my belief that Tempest had nothing to do with it.But the logic of the Philosophers was irresistible.“Didn’t we see him go over and come back? and didn’t it blow up the moment he got into the house?” said Trimble.“And didn’t he go over on purpose to have it out with Jarman?” said Coxhead.“And hadn’t he got his blazer with him when he came back?—so he must have been in the gym.,” said Warminster.“Who else was likely to do it?” said Langrish. “I suppose you’ll try to make out Jarman tried to blow himself up?”“I never said so. All I said was that I’m positive Tempest never did it.”“And all we say is that you’re about as big an ass as you look, and that’s saving a good deal,” chimed in the Philosophers.How long the wrangle might have gone on I cannot say. For just then the school messenger appeared on the scene once more—this time in quest of me.“Young Master Jones iv., you’re to go to the head master at once.”“What for?” said I, feeling a cold shudder go down my spine.“Ask a policeman,” replied the ribald official. “You’ve had a short time and a merry one, my young gentleman; but it’s over at last.”“But I never—”“Sharp’s the word!” interrupted he.“You’d better cut,” said the Philosophers. “We’ll give you a lift if we can.”It was poor consolation, but such as it was I valued it. Never a criminal walked to the gallows with as heavy a heart as I followed the school messenger across the quadrangle and past the fated gymnasium to the head master’s study.There I found four people waiting to see me. Tempest looking very sullen, the head master looking very grave, Mr Jarman looking very vicious, and a policeman looking very cheerful.

One result of my boating excursion was that Crofter ceased to frequent his fellow-seniors’ studies. There was no declaration of war, or, indeed, any formal breaking off of relations. But Crofter had sense enough of his own dignity to feel that he had been slighted by Tempest: and Tempest and his friends had no inclination to heal the trouble, or assume an attitude of friendliness they did not feel.

As for me, I found it very hard to steer an even course between the competing parties. Crofter nodded and spoke to me just as usual, and was evidently amused by my panic lest these pacific overtures should be observed or misconstrued by Tempest. Tempest, on the other hand, did not refer again to the subject, but took a little more pains than before to look after me and help me in my work. And an evening or two later, much to my surprise, when I went as usual to “tidy up” in Pridgin’s room while Tempest was there too, my lord and master said abruptly,—

“Let my things alone, kid. Tempest appreciates a mess in his place more than I do, so I’ve swopped you for Trimble.”

“What?” said I, in tones of mingled amazement and pleasure. “Am I—”

“You’re to go and fetch my blazer,” said Tempest, “that I left on the parallel bars in the gymnasium this afternoon. Look alive, or I shall stick to Trimble.”

I really began to think there must be something unusually desirable about me, that fellows should be so anxious to possess me. The Philosophers had with one accord sought me for president. Pridgin had wanted me. Crofter had wanted me. Even Redwood had wanted me. And now here was old Tempest putting in his claim! He should have me—I would not be so selfish as to deprive him of the coveted privilege.

In a somewhat “tilted” condition I went off on my errand, not even delaying to announce the great news to my fellow-Philosophers. It was a dark evening, and the gymnasium was some way off. But I knew the way by this time. I had daily walked past the area door and glanced down at the dangerous guy where it lay with its lolling tongue under the grating, to assure myself of its welfare. It was all right up till now, and in two days it would be off my hands.

The square was empty as I crossed it, and, to my satisfaction, I found the gymnasium door unlocked. I groped my way to the corner where the parallel bars stood, and there found the blazer, which I carried off in triumph.

As I emerged from the door and came down the steps, I became aware of two points of light in front of me, and a voice out of the darkness, which caused me to jump almost out of my skin,—

“Who is that?”

It was Mr Jarman’s voice—and I could just discern his shadowy form accompanied by that of Mr Selkirk standing before me. The two masters were evidently taking an after-dinner turn with their cigars, and had heard my footsteps.

“Jones iv., sir; I came to fetch Tempest’s blazer.”

“Who gave you leave?”

“Tempest, sir.”

“Take the blazer back where you found it, and tell Tempest if he leaves his things in the gymnasium he must fetch them at proper hours. This is the third time I have had to speak to you, Jones iv. You must attend an extra drill to-morrow, and learn fifty lines by heart. This constant irregularity must be stopped.”

So saying, he took his companion’s arm and strolled off.

I returned dismally into the dark gymnasium and flung the blazer on to the nearest seat; and then hurried back to report the result of my mission to Tempest.

As I guessed, our poor guy downstairs was likely to be nowhere in the explosion which this last insult called forth.

With clenched teeth Tempest sprang from his seat and snatched his cap.

“It’s awfully dark,” said I; “if you’re going, you’d better take some matches.”

“Fetch me some,” said he, with a harsh, dry voice. I fled off, and returned with a box of fusees, which the Philosophers had laid in for the approaching celebration of Guy Fawkes’ Day.

Tempest snatched them from my hand and strode off. I wished he had let me go with him. I heard his footsteps swing heavily across the quadrangle, as if challenging the notice of the enemy. Whether the enemy heard or answered the challenge I could not say. The steps died away into silence, and I listened in vain for further sign.

Presently I returned to the faggery, where the Philosophers were just preparing to obey the summons to bed.

Hurriedly I recited the event of the evening, and for once was honoured with their rapt and excited attention.

“My eye, what a shame we can’t go out and see the fun!” cried Langrish.

“I hope he makes jelly of him,” said Trimble. “I’m jolly glad I’m his fag.”

This brought on a crisis I had rather feared.

“You’re not,” said I. “Pridgin has swopped me for you.”

“What!” screamed Trimble, taking a running kick at my shins.

“I didn’t do it. Shut up. Trim! that’s my leg you’re kicking. It was Pridgin. Go and kick him,” said I.

But Trim was in no mood to listen to reason.

“I always said you were a sneak,” snarled he; “now I know it. Come and kick the beast, you fellows. It’s all a low dodge. Kick him, I say.”

The company showed every disposition to respond to the appeal.

“Look here,” said I, “it’s not my fault—but if you kick me, I’ll tell him about your precious guy, and you can look after him yourself; I shan’t. There!”

This rather fetched them. As custodian of that illicit effigy I had my uses, and they hardly cared to dispense with me. So Trimble was ordered not to make an ass of himself, and the discussion went back to Tempest and his blazer.

“I tell you what,” said Warminster. “I vote we hang about a bit and cheer him when he comes in. There’s no one to lag us for not going to bed, and we may as well stay and back him up.”

With which patriotic resolve we resumed our seats and occupied the interval with auditing the accounts of the club—a painful and tedious operation which gave rise to much dispute and recrimination, particularly when it was discovered that on paper we were 25 shillings to the good, whereas in the treasurer’s pocket we were 6 shillings to the bad.

The treasurer had a bad quarter of an hour of it, till it was discovered that the auditors had accidentally forgotten to carry the total of one column to the top of the next, an oversight which nearly brought about the dissolution of the club, so fierce was the storm which raged over it.

More than half an hour was spent over these proceedings, and we began to wonder why Tempest had not come back. It was certain he must have been stopped by somebody, or he would have been back in ten minutes. Had he and Jarman had an encounter? Was Mr Jarman at that moment begging for quarter? or was our man answering for his riot to the head master?

Half an hour passed, three-quarters, an hour. Then, just as we were giving him up, hurried footsteps came across the quadrangle, and Tempest, with pale face and disordered guise, carrying his blazer on his arm, entered and passed rapidly to his room. His countenance was too forbidding for us to venture on our promised cheer. Something unusual had happened. How we longed to know what it was!

I was thrust forward to follow him to his study, on the chance of ascertaining, and was on the point of obeying, when a terrific sound broke the silence of the night, and sent us back with white, rigid faces in a heap into the faggery.

The sound proceeded from the direction of the gymnasium—first of all, a dull, spasmodic thunder; then a fierce burst, followed almost immediately by two tremendous reports which shook us to the soles of our boots.

It reminded me of that fearful night at Dangerfield, when Tempest—

I clung on to Langrish, who was next to me, in mute despair, and Langrish in turn embraced Trimble.

“Those,” gasped the voice of Coxhead, “were the—ginger—beer—bottles. What—shall—we—do?”

“Cut to bed sharp!” said the resolute though quavering voice of Warminster, “and lie low.”

“There won’t be much of him left,” whispered Trimble, “that’s one good thing,” as we huddled off our clothes in the dark in the dormitory.

It was a gleam of comfort, certainly. Effigies of that kind, when they do go off, leave few marks of identity behind them.

“Who let it off?” I ventured to ask. “No one knew about it except us.”

“Look out! There’s somebody coming!”

It was Mr Sharpe, who looked in, candle in hand, to see if any one had been disturbed by the noise. But every one was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unconscious that anything had happened.

“Narrow shave that,” said Langrish, when the master had retired.

“I say,” said Trimble. “I wonder if Tempest—”

Here he pulled up, but a muffled whistle of dismay took up his meaning.

“If he did, he must have found it out by himself. I never said a word to him,” said I.

“You were bound to make a mess of it,” said Coxhead. “Why ever couldn’t you stick the thing where nobody could find it?”

“So I did; it was leaning up against the cellar wall; no one could possibly get at it.”

“Why not? the area door’s open.”

“No, it ain’t. I locked it, and hid the key,” said I, triumphantly, “for fear of accident, under the scraper.”

“Good old Sarah—that’s lucky. But what about the grating in the gymnasium floor? Couldn’t you twig it through that?”

“Not unless you were looking for it. And if you could, you couldn’t get at it.”

“Well,” said Trimble, rather brutally, “I hope it’s all right, for your sake. Fellows who keep guys must take the consequences. It would have been much safer if you’d kept it under your bed.”

“You may keep the next,” growled I. “I’ve done with it.”

Considering the probable condition of the luckless effigy at that moment, nobody was inclined to contradict me; and the Philosophers relapsed into gloomy silence, and eventually fell asleep.

I was probably the last to reach that blissful stage. For hours I lay awake, a prey to the most dismal reflections. To do myself justice, my own peril afflicted me at the time—perhaps because I did not realise it—less than Tempest’s. Whether he had blown up the guy or not, things would be sure to look black against him, and my recollection of the episode of Hector’s death told me he would come out of it badly. How, if he had done it, he had contrived to get at the explosives, I could not fathom. I was sure, even with his grudge against Jarman, he was not the sort of fellow to take a revenge that was either mean or dastardly; and yet—and yet—and yet—

When with one accord we woke next morning it needed no special intimation to be aware that something had happened at Low Heath. Masters and school attendants were talking in groups in the quadrangle. Boys were flitting across in the direction of the gymnasium; and seniors in twos and threes were deferring their morning dip and hovering about in serious confabulation.

“Something up?” said Trimble, with ill-concealed artlessness. “I wonder what it is?”

“Looks like a row of some sort,” said Langrish. “What are all the chaps going across to the gym. for, I wonder?”

“Let’s go and see,” said Coxhead.

“We needn’t all go together,” said Warminster, significantly. So one by one, casually, and at studied distances from our comrades, the Philosophers dropped into the crowd and made for the scene of last night’s accident.

I felt terribly nervous. Suppose some one had been killed, or suppose the gymnasium had been burnt, and suspicion fell on any one, what a fix it would be!

In my distress I met Dicky Brown, full of news.

“Hullo, Jones, I say, have you heard? Some chap’s been trying to blow up the gym. in the night, and there’s a row and a half on. The front door is smashed, and the floor all knocked to bits. Come and have a look.”

“Any one killed or hurt?”

“I’ve not heard. Didn’t you hear the noise?”

“Yes. Our chaps heard a row in the night.”

“We could hear it at our place,” said Brown. “They say the chap’s known who did it, too.”

“Who?”

“How do I know? Some chap who’s been extra drilled, most likely.”

“There’s plenty of them,” suggested I.

“Well, yes. They say a lot of gunpowder had been stowed in the lumber room just under the door. There, do you see?”

We had reached the scene of the tragedy, and I was able to judge of the mischief which had been done. The door was broken, but whether by the explosion or ordinary violence it was hard to say. The floor and grating over the lumber room were broken away, and one or two windows were smashed. That was all. My first feeling was one of relief that the damage was so slight. I had pictured the whole building a wreck, and a row of mangled remains on stretchers all round. Compared with that, our poor guy had really made a very slight disturbance. Of him I was thankful to be able to observe no trace, except one tan boot and a fragment of a ginger-beer bottle in the area. That indeed was bad enough, but, I argued, the lumber room was full of old cast-off shoes and bottles, and these would probably be set down as fragments of the rubbish displaced by the explosion.

Brown, however, and others to whom I spoke, failed to share my view of the slightness of the damage.

“If the fellow’s found, it will be a case of the police court for him.”

The blood left my face as I heard the awful words. It had never occurred to me yet that the matter was one of more than school concern. Visions of penal servitude and a broken-hearted mother swam before my eyes. Oh, why had I ever left the tranquil seclusion of Fallowfield for this awful place?

As soon as possible I edged quietly out of the crowd, and made my way dismally back to Sharpe’s, where I met not a few of our fellows, all eager for news.

I was too sick to give them much information, and sent them to inspect for themselves while I made my way dismally to Tempest’s room.

He was up, reading.

“Hullo, youngster,” said he, “what’s all the row about? What was that noise in the quad, last night? were some of your lot fooling about with fireworks?”

“Don’t you know?” gasped I, fairly taken aback with the question. “Why, some one’s been trying to blow up the gymnasium!”

“What!” he exclaimed. “Why,Iwas there, not long before the noise. Who’s done it?”

“That’s what nobody knows. I’m afraid there’ll be a row about it.”

“Any fool could tell that,” said Tempest, with troubled face.

“I wish you hadn’t been there,” said I; “they may think it was you.”

“Let them,” said he, with a laugh which was anything but merry. I was longing to hear what had happened to him last night, but he did not volunteer any information, and I did not care to question him.

Horribly uneasy, I was about to seek the questionable consolations of my comrades, when the school messenger entered with a long face.

“Master Tempest, the head master wants to see you at once.”

“All right,” said Tempest.

“He said I was to bring you.”

“If you want to carry me, you may,” said Tempest, with a short laugh; “if not, wait a moment and I’ll come. Jones, tell Pridgin I want to speak to him—wait, I’ll go to him.”

The school messenger looked as if he felt it his duty to take the senior at his word. Had Tempest been a smaller boy, he might have done so. As it was, he repeated,—

“At once, please, sir.”

Tempest took no notice, but went across the passage to his friend’s room.

When he reappeared in a minute or two, Pridgin was with him, and without taking further notice of the messenger’s presence the two walked arm-in-arm out of the house and across the quadrangle.

The news of the summons spread like wildfire. The Philosophers, when in due time they mustered in the faggery after their inspection of the scene of the outrage, were not slow in taking in the seriousness of the situation.

“Of course he’s suspected. It’s all your fault, you ass, for being such a muff and letting Jarman catch you. You can’t do a thing without making a mess of it.”

“How could I help it?” I pleaded.

“Couldn’t you have fetched his blazer for him without running into that cad’s way?”

“What I can’t make out,” said Langrish, “is how Tempest knew about the guy and was able to let it off.”

“I don’t believe he did,” said I. “I’m sure he didn’t.”

“You’d believe anything. Things like that don’t go off by themselves, do they?”

I was bound to admit they did not, but persisted in my belief that Tempest had nothing to do with it.

But the logic of the Philosophers was irresistible.

“Didn’t we see him go over and come back? and didn’t it blow up the moment he got into the house?” said Trimble.

“And didn’t he go over on purpose to have it out with Jarman?” said Coxhead.

“And hadn’t he got his blazer with him when he came back?—so he must have been in the gym.,” said Warminster.

“Who else was likely to do it?” said Langrish. “I suppose you’ll try to make out Jarman tried to blow himself up?”

“I never said so. All I said was that I’m positive Tempest never did it.”

“And all we say is that you’re about as big an ass as you look, and that’s saving a good deal,” chimed in the Philosophers.

How long the wrangle might have gone on I cannot say. For just then the school messenger appeared on the scene once more—this time in quest of me.

“Young Master Jones iv., you’re to go to the head master at once.”

“What for?” said I, feeling a cold shudder go down my spine.

“Ask a policeman,” replied the ribald official. “You’ve had a short time and a merry one, my young gentleman; but it’s over at last.”

“But I never—”

“Sharp’s the word!” interrupted he.

“You’d better cut,” said the Philosophers. “We’ll give you a lift if we can.”

It was poor consolation, but such as it was I valued it. Never a criminal walked to the gallows with as heavy a heart as I followed the school messenger across the quadrangle and past the fated gymnasium to the head master’s study.

There I found four people waiting to see me. Tempest looking very sullen, the head master looking very grave, Mr Jarman looking very vicious, and a policeman looking very cheerful.

Chapter Seventeen.Before the “Beak.”At the sight of the policeman I gave myself up for lost. The sins and errors of my youth all rose in a hideous procession before me. I recalled vividly the occasion when, years ago, I had borrowed Dicky Brown’s “nicker” without acknowledgment, and lost it. I recalled a dismal series of assaults and libels in my guardian’s office. I recollected with horror once travelling on a half-ticket two days after my twelfth birthday. Above all, the vision of that ill-favoured effigy under the grating rose gibbering and mocking me to my face, and claiming me for penal servitude, if not for the gallows itself.How well I remember every detail of that scene as I entered the doctor’s study! The bust of Minerva looking askance at me from above the book-case; the quill in the doctor’s hand with its fringe all on end; Tempest’s necktie crooked and showing the collar stud above; Mr Jarman’s eye coldly fixed on me; and the policeman, helmet in hand, standing with his large boots on the hearthrug, the picture of content and prosperity.“Jones,” said the doctor, “we have sent for you to tell us what you did at the gymnasium last night. You were there, I understand, after dark?”I looked first at the doctor, then at Tempest. I would have given worlds to be able to have two minutes’ conversation with him, and ascertain what he wished me to say, if indeed he wished me to say anything at all. The memory of a similar dilemma at Dangerfield only served to confuse me more, and make it impossible to decide how I should act now; while the presence of the policeman drove from my head any ideas that were ever there. Would Tempest like me to say that I went there at his bidding, and if not, how could I explain the matter? I wished I only knew what had been said already, so that at least I might put my evidence on the right side.“Yes, sir,” said I, “I saw Mr Jarman there.”“What were you doing there, eh, young master?” said the policeman.This was an unexpected attack from the flank of the battle for which I was wholly unprepared. I could have told the doctor, or even Mr Jarman. But to be questioned thus by a representative of the law was too much for my delicate nerves.“Really, it wasn’t me,” said I. “I didn’t do it, and don’t know who did. I only went to get a blazer, and left it there directly Mr Jarman told me to do so.”“A blazer?” said the policeman, with the air of a man who has made a discovery. “What sort of a thing is that? A blazer? Was it alight?”Here Tempest laughed irreverently, much to the displeasure of the policeman. I was, however, thankful for the cue.“What,” said I, “don’t you know what a blazer is? Anybody knows that. It’s what you have in the fields.”“Come, young gentleman,” said the officer, whom Tempest’s laugh had put on his dignity, “no prevaricating. What were you doing with that there blazer?”“What was I doing with it? Fetching it.”The policeman was evidently puzzled. He wished he knew what a blazer was, but in the present distinguished company did not like to show his ignorance.“That blazer must be produced,” said he; “it’ll be evidence.”I looked at Tempest, as the person best able to deal with the matter, and said,—“I left it in the gym. Mr Jarman made me.”“How long was that before the explosion? Was it alight when you left it?”“The blazer? Oh no.”“A blazer,” explained the head master blandly, “is a flannel jacket. I don’t see what use it can be as evidence.”“I suppose,” said Tempest jauntily, who was evidently recovering his presence of mind, “he thought it was a lucifer match.”“You’ll laugh on the wrong side of your face, young gentleman,” said the policeman wrathfully; “this here matter will have to be gone into. There’s been a party injured, and it’ll be a matter for the magistrate. You’ll have to come along with me.”“I tell you,” said Tempest, becoming grave once more, “I’ve had no more to do with it than you have.”“And yet,” said Mr Jarman, speaking for the first time, “the explosion took place immediately after you were there, and when it was impossible for any one else to be there.”“I say I know nothing at all about it,” said Tempest shortly, “and I don’t care what you think.”“Come, Tempest,” said Dr England, “no good will be gained by losing temper. It is very necessary to get to the bottom of this business, especially as some one has been injured. It seems almost impossible the explosion could have happened by accident; at the same time, knowing what I do of you, I do not myself believe that you are the boy who would commit an outrage of this sort. As the policeman intends to report the affair to the magistrate, you had better go with him and let him investigate the matter. Don’t do yourself injustice by losing your temper. Mr Jarman, your attendance will probably be necessary; and Jones had better go too, although so far he has not thrown very much light on the matter. Constable, if you will take my compliments to Captain Rymer and ask him when he can see us—”“Beg pardon, sir,” said the constable, evidently sore about the blazer, “the young gent must come along with me now. That’s my duty, and I can’t take no instructions contrary.”“Very well,” said the doctor stiffly; “we will go to Captain Rymer at once.”“Hadn’t you better handcuff me?” said Tempest, who appeared to be seized with a wild desire to exasperate the man of the law.The policeman glared as if he was disposed to take him at his word.“None of your imperence, I can tell you, my beauty!” said he. “I ain’t a-going to stand it—straight. Come, stir yourself.”“It is not necessary,” said the head master, “for you to come with us. I give my word that we shall be at the police court immediately. But I wish to avoid the public scandal of one of my boys going through the streets in charge.”“I ain’t a-going to let him out of my sight,” said the ruffled constable. “I know his style.”Tempest smiled provokingly.“I’d sooner walk, sir,” said he. “If the policeman holds me on one side and Mr Jarman on the other—”“Silence, sir,” said the doctor sternly, while Mr Jarman raised his brows deprecatingly.“Am I to come too?” said I.“Yes.”“I should like Pridgin and some of the fellows to be there too, sir,” said Tempest. “They saw me just before and just after the explosion.”“It does not seem necessary to have more boys,” said Mr Jarman.“Not to you!” said Tempest hotly; “the feweryouhave the better. But if you choose to accuse me, I sha’n’t ask you whom to have to speak for me.”“Tempest,” said the head master, “you are only doing yourself harm by this. Jones, go and fetch Pridgin, and any of the others he speaks of, to the police court; and kindly do not say a word of what has passed here. Now, constable, are you ready?”The school was fortunately all within doors at the time, so that, except to the few who chanced to be gazing from the windows, the little procession, headed by the doctor and Mr Jarman, with the policeman and Tempest bringing up the rear, passed unobserved.I was full of apprehensions. Whatever the result, I knew Tempest well enough to be sure that the effect on him would be bad, and would call out in him all that spirit of insubordination and defiance which had before now threatened to wreck his career. A strong sense of responsibility was all that had hitherto held it in check. If that were now shattered—and how could it help being upset by this charge?—it would break out badly and dangerously. I was not long in speeding over to Sharpe’s, where I found Pridgin just going over to class.He heard the doctor’s message with a groan of weariness.“What’s the use of my going?—Ican’t tell them anything,” said he.“You can tell them Tempest never did it,” said I.“If they don’t believe him, they won’t me. Anyhow, I am coming.” Thereupon I was inspired to tell him the secret history of the effigy of Mr Jarman, and my theory as to the cause of the explosion; namely, that Tempest might have dropped a match through the grating, not knowing on what it would fall, and that in the natural perversity of things it had lit on the projecting tongue of the guy.“You’d better make a clean breast of that guy,” said Pridgin, “if you want to get Tempest out of this mess. You’ll probably get expelled or flogged, but Low Heath can spare you better than it can Tempest. It strikes me you’d better fetch down one or two of your lot to corroborate you. It sounds too neat a story as it is.”Whereupon I sought out Langrish and Trimble, and had the satisfaction of making their hair stand on end for once. At first they flatly refused to come, and reminded me that, as President of the Conversation Club, the entire responsibility for the guy rested on me.“All serene,” said I, “only come and let them know how Jarman brought it all on. The more we go for him, the better for our man.”They failed to see the force of my logic, but curiosity and love of adventure induced them to venture into the lion’s den. On our way, moreover, we captured Dicky Brown, who, to do him credit, was only too eager to come with us and stand by his old Dux.Contrary to our expectations, when we arrived, instead of finding a crowded court, we were ushered into the magistrate’s parlour, where, to judge by appearances, a comfortable little party was going on.The captain, a cheery old boy, familiar to all Low Heathens for his presence on speech day, sat at a table with his clerk beside him. The doctor and Mr Jarman were also sitting down, and Tempest was standing restlessly near the window. The lodge-keeper’s son, with his head bound up (for he was the victim of the explosion, and I suppose, the prosecutor), was standing beside the policeman, cap in hand, on the mat.At the sight of the three juniors the doctor frowned a little, and Mr Jarman scowled.“What are these boys doing here?” said the former.“Please, sir, we thought you wanted to hear how it went off,” said Langrish.“So we do,” said the magistrate; “sit down, my lads. We'll hear what you have to say in time.”“Please, sir,” said Tempest, “may I speak to Pridgin?”“Certainly, my lad,” said the captain again.So the two friends hastily conferred together in the window, while we stared round with an awestruck, and apparently disconcerting, gaze at the gentlemen on the doormat, who severally represented the majesty of the law and injured innocence.“Now, then,” said the magistrate presently, “let us hear what this is all about. One of your boys, doctor, I see, is charged with attempting to blow up part of the school gymnasium last night, and injuring this poor fellow here. Who makes the charge, by the way? Do you?”“No,” said the doctor, “I understand Mr Jarman does.”“Which is Mr Jarman?” said the captain, looking blandly round. “Ah, you. Well, sir, this is a serious charge to make;letus hear what you have to say. This is not a sworn examination, but what you say will be taken down, and the boy you accuse will have a right to ask any question. Now, sir.”Mr Jarman, thereupon, with very bad grace, for he felt that the magistrate’s tone was not cordial, related how he was walking in the court at such and such an hour, when he saw a boy attempting to enter the gymnasium. That he stopped him and demanded his name. That the boy pushed past him and entered the gymnasium. Upon which Mr Jarman turned the key on the outside in order to detain him there, by way of punishment. That the boy began to kick at the door, and after half an hour broke it open and made his escape. That the boy was Tempest, and that scarcely two minutes after he had left, and just after Mr Jarman, having stayed to examine the damage to the door, had turned to go away, the explosion occurred; that he heard a cry from young Sugden, the lodge-keeper’s son, who was passing at the time, and was thrown violently forward against the railings, cutting his head badly.“How do you know the boy was Tempest?” asked the magistrate.“I recognised him in the dark,” said Mr Jarman. “In fact, I expected him.”“Expected him?”“Yes, he had sent his fag for a jacket just previously, and I had sent the fag back.”“Why?”“Boys are not allowed to enter the gymnasium after dark.”“Is that a rule of the school?”“It is my rule.”“Does it apply to senior boys as well as juniors?” asked Tempest.“I am responsible for the gymnasium, and—”“That is not the question,” said the magistrate. “Have you ever allowed senior boys in the gymnasium after dark?”“I may have; but I forbade Tempest to enter last night.”“What harm was there in his fetching his coat, if it was not against rules?”“It was against rules to go in when I told him not.”“Well, well,” said Captain Rymer, “that is a matter that need not detain us. Have you any more questions, Mr Tempest?”“Yes, please, sir. You said you were expecting me, Mr Jarman. What made you do that?”“I expected, from my knowledge of your conduct, that you would come and try and get the blazer.”“When have I disobeyed you before?”“You know as well as I do, Tempest.”“Yes, but I don’t,” said the magistrate. “Answer the question.”Mr Jarman thereupon gave his version of the affair at Camp Hill Bottom.“The offence being,” said the magistrate, “that the boys, Tempest among them, were out, on the afternoon of a holiday, half an hour from the school, with only a one quarter of an hour to get back. You punished the boys, I understand.”“Yes.”“And Tempest took his punishment with the rest.”“Yes.”“I suppose it is a special indignity to a senior boy, captain of his house, to be paraded for extra drill with a lot of small boys, eh, Dr England?”“I should consider it so,” said the doctor.“I did not feel myself called upon to make any difference,” said Mr Jarman.“Apparently not. And on account of this affair, you say you expected Tempest would attempt to defy you last night?”Mr Jarman bit his lips and did not reply.Tempest resumed his questions with a coolness that surprised us.“You were smoking, I think, Mr Jarman?”“What if I was?”“Nothing, only I wanted the magistrate to know it. And you locked me into the gymnasium for half an hour till I kicked myself out. I say you had no right to do that. What did you do while I was inside?”“I walked up and down.”“Did you try to stop me when I got out?”“No.”“Why?” asked Tempest, with a sneer that made us all contrast his broad shoulders with the master’s slouch.“I decided to deal with the matter to-day.”“How did you see what I had done to the door in the dark?”“I saw by the light of a match.”“You say it was two minutes after I left that the explosion took place, and immediately after you left?”“That’s what I said.”“And you were striking matches during the interval?”“Yes.”“And yet you suggest that it was I who blew the place up?”“I say it was suspicious, knowing your frame of mind and the passion you were in at the time.”“How could I blow up the place without explosives?”“There must have been some there already.”“He didn’t know anything about that! That was our affair, wasn’t it, you chaps?” blurted out Trimble.“Rather,” chimed in all of us.The sensation in the court at this announcement may be better imagined than described.The magistrate put on his glasses and stared at us. Mr Jarman looked startled. The doctor looked bewildered.“You see, it was this way,” said Trimble, who had been working himself up to the point all through the previous cross-examination. “We had—”“Wait a moment, my boy,” said the magistrate. But the witness was too eager to listen to the remark.“It was this way. We had a guy belonging to the Ph.C.C, you know, and he was chock-full of fireworks. We were keeping him for Guy Fawkes’ Day, you know. You wouldn’t have known he was Jarman (Mr Jarman, I mean), to look at him, but he was, and Sarah, being president, offered to look after him. It was too big to stick under the bed, so—”“So,” continued I, “I thought the safest place to stick him would be in the lumber room under the gym.; and I never thought any one would be dropping matches through the grating on his touch-paper tongue. Tempest didn’t know anything about it, and—”“You see,” said Langrish, taking up the parable, “we meant to keep it dark, and only the Philosophers were in it; he had on Sarah’s hat and boots, and a top-coat we found somewhere about. He’d have never gone off of himself, and he wouldn’t have done any harm on the Fifth, when we should have hung and blown him up in the open. Tempest—”“Tempest,” broke in Dicky Brown, putting in his oar, “isn’t the kind of chap to do a thing like that on purpose; and it must have been Mr Jarman blew him up by mistake, with one of his matches or the end of a cigar or something—”“It was a mulish thing of Sarah to stick him there,” said Trimble, “but he knows no better, and thought it was all right. So did we, and Pridgin says it was quite an accident, sir, and—”“And if any one’s to get in a row,” said I, “we’d better, because he was our guy, and the mistake we made was letting his touch-paper tongue hang out so far. He’d have never blown up if it hadn’t been for that.”Here there was a general pause for breath, and the magistrate, who evidently had a sense of humour, said,—“And pray who is Sarah, my man?”“That’s what they call me when they’re fooling; it’s not my real name, really, sir. Jones iv. is my real name.”“That’s right,” said Trimble; “he’s only called Sarah because he looks like it. He’s not more in it than the rest of us, because he only had to take care of the guy because he was president. We’re all sorry the tongue was made so long.”The magistrate did his best to look grave as he turned to Mr Jarman.“Does this explanation help to clear up the mystery?”Mr Jarman bit his lips and said,—“If it is as they say, it may account for the explosion. I certainly dropped several matches through the grating.”“It is as we say, isn’t it, you chaps?” said Langrish. “We wouldn’t tell a cram about it.”“Rather not!” chimed we.“Very well. Then I don’t see that I can do much good,” said the magistrate. “Dr England will know better how to deal with the matter. An accident is an accident after all; and if I may give an opinion, these boys have done quite properly in coming here and telling all about it. Little boys should not be allowed to play with explosives. At the same time, you must allow me to say, Mr Jarman, that it is unfortunate for a master to put himself in the position of being made the subject of an effigy. As for Tempest, there is absolutely nothing against him, unless according to the rules of the school it is an offence for a boy who is locked up in a dark room at night to do his best to get out. It is a great pity the matter was brought to me at all; but as it has been, my advice is to let it rest where it is. Meanwhile, this poor fellow who has been injured has some claim, and I dare say this sovereign will help get him the necessary bandages and plaster for his forehead. Good morning, Dr England; good morning, Mr Jarman. Good day, my lads. Let this be a lesson against touch-paper tongues.” So ended the famous affair of Mr Jarman’s guy.

At the sight of the policeman I gave myself up for lost. The sins and errors of my youth all rose in a hideous procession before me. I recalled vividly the occasion when, years ago, I had borrowed Dicky Brown’s “nicker” without acknowledgment, and lost it. I recalled a dismal series of assaults and libels in my guardian’s office. I recollected with horror once travelling on a half-ticket two days after my twelfth birthday. Above all, the vision of that ill-favoured effigy under the grating rose gibbering and mocking me to my face, and claiming me for penal servitude, if not for the gallows itself.

How well I remember every detail of that scene as I entered the doctor’s study! The bust of Minerva looking askance at me from above the book-case; the quill in the doctor’s hand with its fringe all on end; Tempest’s necktie crooked and showing the collar stud above; Mr Jarman’s eye coldly fixed on me; and the policeman, helmet in hand, standing with his large boots on the hearthrug, the picture of content and prosperity.

“Jones,” said the doctor, “we have sent for you to tell us what you did at the gymnasium last night. You were there, I understand, after dark?”

I looked first at the doctor, then at Tempest. I would have given worlds to be able to have two minutes’ conversation with him, and ascertain what he wished me to say, if indeed he wished me to say anything at all. The memory of a similar dilemma at Dangerfield only served to confuse me more, and make it impossible to decide how I should act now; while the presence of the policeman drove from my head any ideas that were ever there. Would Tempest like me to say that I went there at his bidding, and if not, how could I explain the matter? I wished I only knew what had been said already, so that at least I might put my evidence on the right side.

“Yes, sir,” said I, “I saw Mr Jarman there.”

“What were you doing there, eh, young master?” said the policeman.

This was an unexpected attack from the flank of the battle for which I was wholly unprepared. I could have told the doctor, or even Mr Jarman. But to be questioned thus by a representative of the law was too much for my delicate nerves.

“Really, it wasn’t me,” said I. “I didn’t do it, and don’t know who did. I only went to get a blazer, and left it there directly Mr Jarman told me to do so.”

“A blazer?” said the policeman, with the air of a man who has made a discovery. “What sort of a thing is that? A blazer? Was it alight?”

Here Tempest laughed irreverently, much to the displeasure of the policeman. I was, however, thankful for the cue.

“What,” said I, “don’t you know what a blazer is? Anybody knows that. It’s what you have in the fields.”

“Come, young gentleman,” said the officer, whom Tempest’s laugh had put on his dignity, “no prevaricating. What were you doing with that there blazer?”

“What was I doing with it? Fetching it.”

The policeman was evidently puzzled. He wished he knew what a blazer was, but in the present distinguished company did not like to show his ignorance.

“That blazer must be produced,” said he; “it’ll be evidence.”

I looked at Tempest, as the person best able to deal with the matter, and said,—

“I left it in the gym. Mr Jarman made me.”

“How long was that before the explosion? Was it alight when you left it?”

“The blazer? Oh no.”

“A blazer,” explained the head master blandly, “is a flannel jacket. I don’t see what use it can be as evidence.”

“I suppose,” said Tempest jauntily, who was evidently recovering his presence of mind, “he thought it was a lucifer match.”

“You’ll laugh on the wrong side of your face, young gentleman,” said the policeman wrathfully; “this here matter will have to be gone into. There’s been a party injured, and it’ll be a matter for the magistrate. You’ll have to come along with me.”

“I tell you,” said Tempest, becoming grave once more, “I’ve had no more to do with it than you have.”

“And yet,” said Mr Jarman, speaking for the first time, “the explosion took place immediately after you were there, and when it was impossible for any one else to be there.”

“I say I know nothing at all about it,” said Tempest shortly, “and I don’t care what you think.”

“Come, Tempest,” said Dr England, “no good will be gained by losing temper. It is very necessary to get to the bottom of this business, especially as some one has been injured. It seems almost impossible the explosion could have happened by accident; at the same time, knowing what I do of you, I do not myself believe that you are the boy who would commit an outrage of this sort. As the policeman intends to report the affair to the magistrate, you had better go with him and let him investigate the matter. Don’t do yourself injustice by losing your temper. Mr Jarman, your attendance will probably be necessary; and Jones had better go too, although so far he has not thrown very much light on the matter. Constable, if you will take my compliments to Captain Rymer and ask him when he can see us—”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the constable, evidently sore about the blazer, “the young gent must come along with me now. That’s my duty, and I can’t take no instructions contrary.”

“Very well,” said the doctor stiffly; “we will go to Captain Rymer at once.”

“Hadn’t you better handcuff me?” said Tempest, who appeared to be seized with a wild desire to exasperate the man of the law.

The policeman glared as if he was disposed to take him at his word.

“None of your imperence, I can tell you, my beauty!” said he. “I ain’t a-going to stand it—straight. Come, stir yourself.”

“It is not necessary,” said the head master, “for you to come with us. I give my word that we shall be at the police court immediately. But I wish to avoid the public scandal of one of my boys going through the streets in charge.”

“I ain’t a-going to let him out of my sight,” said the ruffled constable. “I know his style.”

Tempest smiled provokingly.

“I’d sooner walk, sir,” said he. “If the policeman holds me on one side and Mr Jarman on the other—”

“Silence, sir,” said the doctor sternly, while Mr Jarman raised his brows deprecatingly.

“Am I to come too?” said I.

“Yes.”

“I should like Pridgin and some of the fellows to be there too, sir,” said Tempest. “They saw me just before and just after the explosion.”

“It does not seem necessary to have more boys,” said Mr Jarman.

“Not to you!” said Tempest hotly; “the feweryouhave the better. But if you choose to accuse me, I sha’n’t ask you whom to have to speak for me.”

“Tempest,” said the head master, “you are only doing yourself harm by this. Jones, go and fetch Pridgin, and any of the others he speaks of, to the police court; and kindly do not say a word of what has passed here. Now, constable, are you ready?”

The school was fortunately all within doors at the time, so that, except to the few who chanced to be gazing from the windows, the little procession, headed by the doctor and Mr Jarman, with the policeman and Tempest bringing up the rear, passed unobserved.

I was full of apprehensions. Whatever the result, I knew Tempest well enough to be sure that the effect on him would be bad, and would call out in him all that spirit of insubordination and defiance which had before now threatened to wreck his career. A strong sense of responsibility was all that had hitherto held it in check. If that were now shattered—and how could it help being upset by this charge?—it would break out badly and dangerously. I was not long in speeding over to Sharpe’s, where I found Pridgin just going over to class.

He heard the doctor’s message with a groan of weariness.

“What’s the use of my going?—Ican’t tell them anything,” said he.

“You can tell them Tempest never did it,” said I.

“If they don’t believe him, they won’t me. Anyhow, I am coming.” Thereupon I was inspired to tell him the secret history of the effigy of Mr Jarman, and my theory as to the cause of the explosion; namely, that Tempest might have dropped a match through the grating, not knowing on what it would fall, and that in the natural perversity of things it had lit on the projecting tongue of the guy.

“You’d better make a clean breast of that guy,” said Pridgin, “if you want to get Tempest out of this mess. You’ll probably get expelled or flogged, but Low Heath can spare you better than it can Tempest. It strikes me you’d better fetch down one or two of your lot to corroborate you. It sounds too neat a story as it is.”

Whereupon I sought out Langrish and Trimble, and had the satisfaction of making their hair stand on end for once. At first they flatly refused to come, and reminded me that, as President of the Conversation Club, the entire responsibility for the guy rested on me.

“All serene,” said I, “only come and let them know how Jarman brought it all on. The more we go for him, the better for our man.”

They failed to see the force of my logic, but curiosity and love of adventure induced them to venture into the lion’s den. On our way, moreover, we captured Dicky Brown, who, to do him credit, was only too eager to come with us and stand by his old Dux.

Contrary to our expectations, when we arrived, instead of finding a crowded court, we were ushered into the magistrate’s parlour, where, to judge by appearances, a comfortable little party was going on.

The captain, a cheery old boy, familiar to all Low Heathens for his presence on speech day, sat at a table with his clerk beside him. The doctor and Mr Jarman were also sitting down, and Tempest was standing restlessly near the window. The lodge-keeper’s son, with his head bound up (for he was the victim of the explosion, and I suppose, the prosecutor), was standing beside the policeman, cap in hand, on the mat.

At the sight of the three juniors the doctor frowned a little, and Mr Jarman scowled.

“What are these boys doing here?” said the former.

“Please, sir, we thought you wanted to hear how it went off,” said Langrish.

“So we do,” said the magistrate; “sit down, my lads. We'll hear what you have to say in time.”

“Please, sir,” said Tempest, “may I speak to Pridgin?”

“Certainly, my lad,” said the captain again.

So the two friends hastily conferred together in the window, while we stared round with an awestruck, and apparently disconcerting, gaze at the gentlemen on the doormat, who severally represented the majesty of the law and injured innocence.

“Now, then,” said the magistrate presently, “let us hear what this is all about. One of your boys, doctor, I see, is charged with attempting to blow up part of the school gymnasium last night, and injuring this poor fellow here. Who makes the charge, by the way? Do you?”

“No,” said the doctor, “I understand Mr Jarman does.”

“Which is Mr Jarman?” said the captain, looking blandly round. “Ah, you. Well, sir, this is a serious charge to make;letus hear what you have to say. This is not a sworn examination, but what you say will be taken down, and the boy you accuse will have a right to ask any question. Now, sir.”

Mr Jarman, thereupon, with very bad grace, for he felt that the magistrate’s tone was not cordial, related how he was walking in the court at such and such an hour, when he saw a boy attempting to enter the gymnasium. That he stopped him and demanded his name. That the boy pushed past him and entered the gymnasium. Upon which Mr Jarman turned the key on the outside in order to detain him there, by way of punishment. That the boy began to kick at the door, and after half an hour broke it open and made his escape. That the boy was Tempest, and that scarcely two minutes after he had left, and just after Mr Jarman, having stayed to examine the damage to the door, had turned to go away, the explosion occurred; that he heard a cry from young Sugden, the lodge-keeper’s son, who was passing at the time, and was thrown violently forward against the railings, cutting his head badly.

“How do you know the boy was Tempest?” asked the magistrate.

“I recognised him in the dark,” said Mr Jarman. “In fact, I expected him.”

“Expected him?”

“Yes, he had sent his fag for a jacket just previously, and I had sent the fag back.”

“Why?”

“Boys are not allowed to enter the gymnasium after dark.”

“Is that a rule of the school?”

“It is my rule.”

“Does it apply to senior boys as well as juniors?” asked Tempest.

“I am responsible for the gymnasium, and—”

“That is not the question,” said the magistrate. “Have you ever allowed senior boys in the gymnasium after dark?”

“I may have; but I forbade Tempest to enter last night.”

“What harm was there in his fetching his coat, if it was not against rules?”

“It was against rules to go in when I told him not.”

“Well, well,” said Captain Rymer, “that is a matter that need not detain us. Have you any more questions, Mr Tempest?”

“Yes, please, sir. You said you were expecting me, Mr Jarman. What made you do that?”

“I expected, from my knowledge of your conduct, that you would come and try and get the blazer.”

“When have I disobeyed you before?”

“You know as well as I do, Tempest.”

“Yes, but I don’t,” said the magistrate. “Answer the question.”

Mr Jarman thereupon gave his version of the affair at Camp Hill Bottom.

“The offence being,” said the magistrate, “that the boys, Tempest among them, were out, on the afternoon of a holiday, half an hour from the school, with only a one quarter of an hour to get back. You punished the boys, I understand.”

“Yes.”

“And Tempest took his punishment with the rest.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose it is a special indignity to a senior boy, captain of his house, to be paraded for extra drill with a lot of small boys, eh, Dr England?”

“I should consider it so,” said the doctor.

“I did not feel myself called upon to make any difference,” said Mr Jarman.

“Apparently not. And on account of this affair, you say you expected Tempest would attempt to defy you last night?”

Mr Jarman bit his lips and did not reply.

Tempest resumed his questions with a coolness that surprised us.

“You were smoking, I think, Mr Jarman?”

“What if I was?”

“Nothing, only I wanted the magistrate to know it. And you locked me into the gymnasium for half an hour till I kicked myself out. I say you had no right to do that. What did you do while I was inside?”

“I walked up and down.”

“Did you try to stop me when I got out?”

“No.”

“Why?” asked Tempest, with a sneer that made us all contrast his broad shoulders with the master’s slouch.

“I decided to deal with the matter to-day.”

“How did you see what I had done to the door in the dark?”

“I saw by the light of a match.”

“You say it was two minutes after I left that the explosion took place, and immediately after you left?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you were striking matches during the interval?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you suggest that it was I who blew the place up?”

“I say it was suspicious, knowing your frame of mind and the passion you were in at the time.”

“How could I blow up the place without explosives?”

“There must have been some there already.”

“He didn’t know anything about that! That was our affair, wasn’t it, you chaps?” blurted out Trimble.

“Rather,” chimed in all of us.

The sensation in the court at this announcement may be better imagined than described.

The magistrate put on his glasses and stared at us. Mr Jarman looked startled. The doctor looked bewildered.

“You see, it was this way,” said Trimble, who had been working himself up to the point all through the previous cross-examination. “We had—”

“Wait a moment, my boy,” said the magistrate. But the witness was too eager to listen to the remark.

“It was this way. We had a guy belonging to the Ph.C.C, you know, and he was chock-full of fireworks. We were keeping him for Guy Fawkes’ Day, you know. You wouldn’t have known he was Jarman (Mr Jarman, I mean), to look at him, but he was, and Sarah, being president, offered to look after him. It was too big to stick under the bed, so—”

“So,” continued I, “I thought the safest place to stick him would be in the lumber room under the gym.; and I never thought any one would be dropping matches through the grating on his touch-paper tongue. Tempest didn’t know anything about it, and—”

“You see,” said Langrish, taking up the parable, “we meant to keep it dark, and only the Philosophers were in it; he had on Sarah’s hat and boots, and a top-coat we found somewhere about. He’d have never gone off of himself, and he wouldn’t have done any harm on the Fifth, when we should have hung and blown him up in the open. Tempest—”

“Tempest,” broke in Dicky Brown, putting in his oar, “isn’t the kind of chap to do a thing like that on purpose; and it must have been Mr Jarman blew him up by mistake, with one of his matches or the end of a cigar or something—”

“It was a mulish thing of Sarah to stick him there,” said Trimble, “but he knows no better, and thought it was all right. So did we, and Pridgin says it was quite an accident, sir, and—”

“And if any one’s to get in a row,” said I, “we’d better, because he was our guy, and the mistake we made was letting his touch-paper tongue hang out so far. He’d have never blown up if it hadn’t been for that.”

Here there was a general pause for breath, and the magistrate, who evidently had a sense of humour, said,—

“And pray who is Sarah, my man?”

“That’s what they call me when they’re fooling; it’s not my real name, really, sir. Jones iv. is my real name.”

“That’s right,” said Trimble; “he’s only called Sarah because he looks like it. He’s not more in it than the rest of us, because he only had to take care of the guy because he was president. We’re all sorry the tongue was made so long.”

The magistrate did his best to look grave as he turned to Mr Jarman.

“Does this explanation help to clear up the mystery?”

Mr Jarman bit his lips and said,—

“If it is as they say, it may account for the explosion. I certainly dropped several matches through the grating.”

“It is as we say, isn’t it, you chaps?” said Langrish. “We wouldn’t tell a cram about it.”

“Rather not!” chimed we.

“Very well. Then I don’t see that I can do much good,” said the magistrate. “Dr England will know better how to deal with the matter. An accident is an accident after all; and if I may give an opinion, these boys have done quite properly in coming here and telling all about it. Little boys should not be allowed to play with explosives. At the same time, you must allow me to say, Mr Jarman, that it is unfortunate for a master to put himself in the position of being made the subject of an effigy. As for Tempest, there is absolutely nothing against him, unless according to the rules of the school it is an offence for a boy who is locked up in a dark room at night to do his best to get out. It is a great pity the matter was brought to me at all; but as it has been, my advice is to let it rest where it is. Meanwhile, this poor fellow who has been injured has some claim, and I dare say this sovereign will help get him the necessary bandages and plaster for his forehead. Good morning, Dr England; good morning, Mr Jarman. Good day, my lads. Let this be a lesson against touch-paper tongues.” So ended the famous affair of Mr Jarman’s guy.

Chapter Eighteen.Going Down Stream.If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman’s guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple magisterial decision.Mr Jarman, it was rumoured, had a bad quarter of an hour with the doctor that evening, and went about his ordinary work for the next few days with a scowl which boded no good to any one who chanced to cross him, least of all to those of us who had contributed to his defeat.Tempest, on the other hand, took his victory coolly. He talked it over with his chums, and came to the conclusion that they were quits with the enemy and could afford to leave him alone. But it was plain to see that he had suffered a jar, which found expression in his reckless unconcern for the duties of his position as head of his house, and an increased disinclination to make any exertion for the credit of a school which, he considered, had treated him ill. What troubled me most was to notice that his spirits had flagged, and that he was dropping slowly into the listless indifference which had made Pridgin only a term ago shirk his responsibilities to the school.Towards us juniors he was utterly easy-going, perhaps in token of his gratitude for the assistance we had rendered him at a critical time; but chiefly, I fear, because he was slack to check anything which seemed to defy constituted authority or promised to give an uneasy time to the representatives of law and order.To do us credit, we availed ourselves of his licence to the uttermost. Sharpe’s rapidly became known as the “rowdy” house at Low Heath, and we grew almost proud of the distinction. Mr Sharpe, an amiable bookworm, made periodical mild expostulations, which were always most deferentially received, and most invariably neglected.If any reader thinks (as we flattered ourselves at the time) that Mr Jarman was the cause of all this state of things, let me tell him he is as stupid as we young fools then were.It’s all very well to stand up for your rights, but the way to do it is not by letting everything go wrong. If poor old Tempest had taken a bigger view of things, he would have seen that the way to pay Jarman out was by making Sharpe’s house the crack house of Low Heath in spite of him. But how hard it is to see just what the right thing is at the time! So I do not propose to throw stones at anybody, whatever the reader may do.The Philosophers of course duly entered a record of the transactions just related in their minutes, the reading of which occupied the whole of one of the extraordinary general meetings of their club.One could never say what line Langrish would take up; and I as president always had my qualms in calling upon him to read the minutes of the previous meeting.On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a “scientific” ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to betoken that it had an owner.Being capacious, though dirty—for it was evidently in the habit of carrying coal—it struck us generally that in the interests of philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an extraordinary meeting.Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the bank—“in case some of the day louts should be fooling about,” as Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up stream or down.After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel, Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot for Jarman. (Cries of “Why don’t you?” “What’s the use of you?”) We didn’t intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn’t shut up shying bits of coal he’d get one for himself. (Derisive cheers from Coxhead, and more coal.)Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.“Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah—” Here an interruption occurred.“Look here,” said I, “you’ve got to drop that, Langrish. I’ve told you already I’m not going to stand it.”“Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?”I explained that I was particularly referring to Sarah.“Oh, all serene,” said the secretary. “We’ll start again.”“Owing to the asinine mulishness of S—H, and three between—”“No—that won’t do,” said I, fiercely.“Owing to the asinine mulishness of—” here the speaker pointed at me with his thumb—“of the asinine mule in the chair—”I was weak enough to let this pass, and the applause with which it was received quite carried the secretary off his feet. When he got on them again he resumed,—“Jarman’s guy was mulled all through. Even Trimble couldn’t have made a bigger mess of it.”Here Trimble mildly interposed, but Langrish, who had hooked one arm through a ring in the side of the vessel, and had a firm grip with his feet up against a rib in front of him, was inflexible.“A bigger mess of it,” he repeated, when at last he was free to proceed. “It was stuck just under the grating of the gym., and was neatly blown up by Jarman at 8:15 on November 2. The cost of the fireworks was four-and-six, which the asinine mule, as it was his fault, is going to hand over to the club, or know the reason why.”I said I would know the reason why. Whereupon a long Socratic argument ensued.“Do you mean to say it wasn’t your fault?” demanded Langrish.“I couldn’t tell Jarman would drop his cigar down.”“But if you’d tried you couldn’t have stuck him in a better place.”“That’s what I thought. What have you got to growl at?”“You offered to put it in a safe place.”“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to have it at all.”“But you did have it; you can’t deny that.”“No—but—”“Hold on. And you stuck it there under the grating.”“Well, and if I did—”“And that’s how Jarman’s cigar got on to it.”“Yes—but—”“And that’s how it blew up, wasn’t it? You haven’t the cheek to say that wasn’t the way it blew up?”“Of course it was; only—”“Therefore, if you hadn’t stuck it there it wouldn’t have blown up. You can’t deny that?”“I don’t say that. What I say—”“Therefore, it was you who blew it up; and it’s you’ve got to pay for the fireworks, Q.E.D.; and if you don’t shut up, young Sarah, you’ll get your face washed.”I felt I was the victim of a very one-sided argument, but the popular verdict was so manifestly in favour of the secretary, that I was constrained to allow the point to pass.”—reason why,” resumed Langrish. “There was a bit of a row, and the doctor and some of the chaps were had up before the beak. We got on all serene till a howling chimpanzee whose name is Sarah—”“There you are again,” said I. “I’ll pay you now.”“What are you talking about? I never mentioned you—did I, you chaps?”“Rather not,” chimed in the Philosophers assembled.“Of course,” said Langrish, “if whenever you hear of a howling chimpanzee you think you’re being referred to, we can’t help it, can we?”The cheers which greeted this unanswerable proposition convinced me I had given myself away for once.”—howling chimpanzee, whose name’s Sarah, put in his oar and spoilt the whole thing.”“If it hadn’t been for me,” protested I, “you’d none of you have been there at all.”“The magistrate,” proceeded Langrish, not heeding the interruption, “treated him with the contempt he deserved, and gave him a caution which he’ll remember to the end of his days.”“I don’t remember it now,” I growled.“Turn him out for interrupting,” shouted the secretary.“You’d better not try,” snarled I, preparing to contest my seat. But Langrish, eager to continue, went on,—“The rest of us pulled Tempest through easy. If Trim hadn’t dropped his ‘h’s,’ and—”Here there was a real row. Trim rose majestic and outraged, and hurled himself on the secretary; and for a quarter of an hour at least, any casual passer-by glancing at the apparently empty barge in mid-stream, would have come to the conclusion that it was swaying from side to side rather more violently than the force of the current seemed to warrant.Trimble’s “h’s” took a long time to avenge, and by the time it was done most of us were pretty much the colour of the coal-dust in which we had searched for them.Langrish was about to proceed with his luckless minutes when Warminster, who had happened to peep above board for the sake of fresh air, exclaimed,—“Hullo, we’re adrift!”Instantly all hands were on board, and we discovered that our gallant barge, probably during the last argument, had slipped her boathook at the stern, and that the rope which held our prow had evidently been slipped for us by a couple of youths wearing the town-boy ribbon, whom we could descry at that moment strolling innocently up the towing-path, apparently heedless of our existence.The great lumbering barge was going down stream side on, about half-way between either bank, at the breakneck speed of a mile an hour. We had lost our boathook, and had nothing whatever to navigate our craft with. Worst of all, at the end of the long reach, coming to meet us, we could see another barge, towed by a horse, which could certainly never pass up in safety.We were in for it, and had evidently nothing to do but peer, with our grimy faces over the gunwale, at our impending doom. About a hundred yards off the men in charge of the opposition barge became aware of our presence, and a hurried interchange of polite observations took place between the skipper at the helm and the driver on the tow-path, the result of which was that their tow-rope was cast off and hauled ashore; and man and horse, accompanied by a dangerous-looking dog, advanced at a quick pace to meet us.The rope was hurriedly gathered up in a coil and thrown across our bows, and we were invited to hitch the loop at the end over the hook on our front thwart. The horse was then put in motion, and the downward career of our ark suffered an abrupt check, as we found ourselves rudely lugged in towards the bank.The situation was an awkward one, for not only was the skipper of the opposition barge landed, and awaiting us with an uncomplimentary eagerness on the bank, but the driver, whip in hand, was standing beside him, and the dog, showing his teeth, beside him.“Kotched yer, are we?” said the former, with a deplorable profuseness of unnecessary verbiage, as he jumped on board. “We tho’t as much. Lend me that there whip, Bill.”“You tip ’em over, Tom; I’ll make ’em jump.”Escape was impossible. Our exits were in the hands of the enemy. We made one feeble attempt to temporise.“We’re sorry,” said I, in my capacity as spokesman. “We didn’t know it was your boat, really.”“You knows it now,” said the proprietor. “Over you go, or I’ll ’elp yer.”What! was it a case of being pitched overboard? We looked round desperately for hope, but there was none. We might by a concerted action have tackled one man, but the other on the bank, with the whip and the dog, was a formidable second line to carry. It needed all our philosophy to sustain us in the emergency.“Come, wake up,” shouted the man. “’Ere, Tike, come!”Whereupon, to our terror, the dog leapt up on to the barge, and jumped yapping in our midst.“T’other side, ifyouplease,” said the bargee, as I prepared dismally to take my header on the near side. “Wake ’im up, Tike!”I needed no waking up; and giving myself up for lost, bounded to the other side of the barge, and made a floundering jump overboard. Luckily for us the Low Heathens could swim to a man, and if all that we were in for was to swim round that hideous barge and get ashore, we should have been easily out of it. But we had yet to reckon with the man and the whip, who in his turn made every preparation to reckon with us.I was the first to taste his mettle. He had me twice before I could get clear, and I seem to feel it as I write. One by one the luckless and dripping Philosophers ran the gauntlet of that fatal debarkation, which was by no means alleviated by the opprobrious hilarity of our two castigators and the delighted yappings of Tike.At last it was all over, and, dripping and smarting, we collected our shattered forces a quarter of a mile down the towing-path, and hastily agreed that as a meeting-place for Philosophers a barge was not a desirable place. It was further agreed, that if we could catch the day boys who were the source of all our woes (for if our barge had not been let adrift, we could have sheered off in time), we would do to them as we had been done by.By good or ill luck, we had scarcely arrived at this important decision when a defiant shout from a little hill among the trees close by apprised us that we were not the only occupants of the river bank; and worse still, that whoever the strangers were, they must have been witnesses of our recent misfortunes—a certainty which made us feel anything but friendly.“Who are they?” said Langrish.“Suppose it’s those Urbans,” said Coxhead. “I heard they were going to excavate somewhere this way.”“I vote we go and see,” said Trimble, who was evidently smarting not a little.So we went and saw, and it was even as Coxhead had surmised; for as we approached, shouts of—“Who got licked with a whip?”“What’s the price of beauty?”“Why don’t you dry your clothes?” fell on our ears.“Yah—we dare you to come down and have your noses pulled!” shouted we.“We dare you to come up and have your hair curled!” shouted they.We accepted the invitation, and stormed the hill. The battle was short and sharp. We were fifteen to ten, and had a grievance. I found myself engaged with Dicky Brown, who, though he did himself credit, was hampered by a satchelful of stones, which he fondly hoped might turn out to be fossils, on his back. I grieve to say I made mincemeat of Dicky on this occasion. In a few minutes the hill was ours, and the enemy in full retreat.We remained a short time to celebrate our victory, and then adjourned to the school, a little solaced in our spirits.The day’s troubles, however, were not over, for at the door of Sharpe’s house, reinforced by half a dozen recruits, stalked the Urbans, thirsting for reprisals, and longing to wipe out scores.Then ensued a notable battle. We failed to dislodge the enemy by a forward attack, and for some time it seemed as if our flank movements would be equally unsuccessful. At length, by a great effort, we succeeded in cutting off a few of them from the main body, and were applying ourselves to the task of annihilating the rest when Tempest appeared on the scene.He looked fagged and harassed, and was evidently not much interested in our battle. A row was now too common a thing in Sharpe’s to be an event, and he allowed it to proceed with complete unconcern.Just, however, as he was turning to enter the house, Mr Jarman came up.It was almost the first time we had met officially since our encounter in the magistrate’s room, and as with one accord we ceased hostilities and stared at him, one or two of the more audacious of our party indulged in a low hiss.“Come in, you fellows, at once,” said Tempest, turning on his heel.“Wait, you boys,” said Mr Jarman, taking out his pencil. “Wait, Tempest.”But Tempest did not wait, nor did we, but made a deliberate rush into our house, and in less than a minute were safely stowed away in our several studies, secure from all immediate arrest.It was an act of open rebellion such as Sharpe’s had not yet ventured on. There was no excuse that any of us had not heard the order. We had, and had disobeyed it. And in the present instance Tempest had headed us. What would be the consequence?We were not destined to know till next morning, when a notice appeared on the board stating that Mr Sharpe’s house having been reported for riotous conduct and disobedience to orders, the head master would meet the boys in the hall at eleven o’clock.

If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman’s guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple magisterial decision.

Mr Jarman, it was rumoured, had a bad quarter of an hour with the doctor that evening, and went about his ordinary work for the next few days with a scowl which boded no good to any one who chanced to cross him, least of all to those of us who had contributed to his defeat.

Tempest, on the other hand, took his victory coolly. He talked it over with his chums, and came to the conclusion that they were quits with the enemy and could afford to leave him alone. But it was plain to see that he had suffered a jar, which found expression in his reckless unconcern for the duties of his position as head of his house, and an increased disinclination to make any exertion for the credit of a school which, he considered, had treated him ill. What troubled me most was to notice that his spirits had flagged, and that he was dropping slowly into the listless indifference which had made Pridgin only a term ago shirk his responsibilities to the school.

Towards us juniors he was utterly easy-going, perhaps in token of his gratitude for the assistance we had rendered him at a critical time; but chiefly, I fear, because he was slack to check anything which seemed to defy constituted authority or promised to give an uneasy time to the representatives of law and order.

To do us credit, we availed ourselves of his licence to the uttermost. Sharpe’s rapidly became known as the “rowdy” house at Low Heath, and we grew almost proud of the distinction. Mr Sharpe, an amiable bookworm, made periodical mild expostulations, which were always most deferentially received, and most invariably neglected.

If any reader thinks (as we flattered ourselves at the time) that Mr Jarman was the cause of all this state of things, let me tell him he is as stupid as we young fools then were.

It’s all very well to stand up for your rights, but the way to do it is not by letting everything go wrong. If poor old Tempest had taken a bigger view of things, he would have seen that the way to pay Jarman out was by making Sharpe’s house the crack house of Low Heath in spite of him. But how hard it is to see just what the right thing is at the time! So I do not propose to throw stones at anybody, whatever the reader may do.

The Philosophers of course duly entered a record of the transactions just related in their minutes, the reading of which occupied the whole of one of the extraordinary general meetings of their club.

One could never say what line Langrish would take up; and I as president always had my qualms in calling upon him to read the minutes of the previous meeting.

On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a “scientific” ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to betoken that it had an owner.

Being capacious, though dirty—for it was evidently in the habit of carrying coal—it struck us generally that in the interests of philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an extraordinary meeting.

Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the bank—“in case some of the day louts should be fooling about,” as Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up stream or down.

After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel, Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.

In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot for Jarman. (Cries of “Why don’t you?” “What’s the use of you?”) We didn’t intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn’t shut up shying bits of coal he’d get one for himself. (Derisive cheers from Coxhead, and more coal.)

Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.

“Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah—” Here an interruption occurred.

“Look here,” said I, “you’ve got to drop that, Langrish. I’ve told you already I’m not going to stand it.”

“Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?”

I explained that I was particularly referring to Sarah.

“Oh, all serene,” said the secretary. “We’ll start again.”

“Owing to the asinine mulishness of S—H, and three between—”

“No—that won’t do,” said I, fiercely.

“Owing to the asinine mulishness of—” here the speaker pointed at me with his thumb—“of the asinine mule in the chair—”

I was weak enough to let this pass, and the applause with which it was received quite carried the secretary off his feet. When he got on them again he resumed,—

“Jarman’s guy was mulled all through. Even Trimble couldn’t have made a bigger mess of it.”

Here Trimble mildly interposed, but Langrish, who had hooked one arm through a ring in the side of the vessel, and had a firm grip with his feet up against a rib in front of him, was inflexible.

“A bigger mess of it,” he repeated, when at last he was free to proceed. “It was stuck just under the grating of the gym., and was neatly blown up by Jarman at 8:15 on November 2. The cost of the fireworks was four-and-six, which the asinine mule, as it was his fault, is going to hand over to the club, or know the reason why.”

I said I would know the reason why. Whereupon a long Socratic argument ensued.

“Do you mean to say it wasn’t your fault?” demanded Langrish.

“I couldn’t tell Jarman would drop his cigar down.”

“But if you’d tried you couldn’t have stuck him in a better place.”

“That’s what I thought. What have you got to growl at?”

“You offered to put it in a safe place.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to have it at all.”

“But you did have it; you can’t deny that.”

“No—but—”

“Hold on. And you stuck it there under the grating.”

“Well, and if I did—”

“And that’s how Jarman’s cigar got on to it.”

“Yes—but—”

“And that’s how it blew up, wasn’t it? You haven’t the cheek to say that wasn’t the way it blew up?”

“Of course it was; only—”

“Therefore, if you hadn’t stuck it there it wouldn’t have blown up. You can’t deny that?”

“I don’t say that. What I say—”

“Therefore, it was you who blew it up; and it’s you’ve got to pay for the fireworks, Q.E.D.; and if you don’t shut up, young Sarah, you’ll get your face washed.”

I felt I was the victim of a very one-sided argument, but the popular verdict was so manifestly in favour of the secretary, that I was constrained to allow the point to pass.

”—reason why,” resumed Langrish. “There was a bit of a row, and the doctor and some of the chaps were had up before the beak. We got on all serene till a howling chimpanzee whose name is Sarah—”

“There you are again,” said I. “I’ll pay you now.”

“What are you talking about? I never mentioned you—did I, you chaps?”

“Rather not,” chimed in the Philosophers assembled.

“Of course,” said Langrish, “if whenever you hear of a howling chimpanzee you think you’re being referred to, we can’t help it, can we?”

The cheers which greeted this unanswerable proposition convinced me I had given myself away for once.

”—howling chimpanzee, whose name’s Sarah, put in his oar and spoilt the whole thing.”

“If it hadn’t been for me,” protested I, “you’d none of you have been there at all.”

“The magistrate,” proceeded Langrish, not heeding the interruption, “treated him with the contempt he deserved, and gave him a caution which he’ll remember to the end of his days.”

“I don’t remember it now,” I growled.

“Turn him out for interrupting,” shouted the secretary.

“You’d better not try,” snarled I, preparing to contest my seat. But Langrish, eager to continue, went on,—

“The rest of us pulled Tempest through easy. If Trim hadn’t dropped his ‘h’s,’ and—”

Here there was a real row. Trim rose majestic and outraged, and hurled himself on the secretary; and for a quarter of an hour at least, any casual passer-by glancing at the apparently empty barge in mid-stream, would have come to the conclusion that it was swaying from side to side rather more violently than the force of the current seemed to warrant.

Trimble’s “h’s” took a long time to avenge, and by the time it was done most of us were pretty much the colour of the coal-dust in which we had searched for them.

Langrish was about to proceed with his luckless minutes when Warminster, who had happened to peep above board for the sake of fresh air, exclaimed,—

“Hullo, we’re adrift!”

Instantly all hands were on board, and we discovered that our gallant barge, probably during the last argument, had slipped her boathook at the stern, and that the rope which held our prow had evidently been slipped for us by a couple of youths wearing the town-boy ribbon, whom we could descry at that moment strolling innocently up the towing-path, apparently heedless of our existence.

The great lumbering barge was going down stream side on, about half-way between either bank, at the breakneck speed of a mile an hour. We had lost our boathook, and had nothing whatever to navigate our craft with. Worst of all, at the end of the long reach, coming to meet us, we could see another barge, towed by a horse, which could certainly never pass up in safety.

We were in for it, and had evidently nothing to do but peer, with our grimy faces over the gunwale, at our impending doom. About a hundred yards off the men in charge of the opposition barge became aware of our presence, and a hurried interchange of polite observations took place between the skipper at the helm and the driver on the tow-path, the result of which was that their tow-rope was cast off and hauled ashore; and man and horse, accompanied by a dangerous-looking dog, advanced at a quick pace to meet us.

The rope was hurriedly gathered up in a coil and thrown across our bows, and we were invited to hitch the loop at the end over the hook on our front thwart. The horse was then put in motion, and the downward career of our ark suffered an abrupt check, as we found ourselves rudely lugged in towards the bank.

The situation was an awkward one, for not only was the skipper of the opposition barge landed, and awaiting us with an uncomplimentary eagerness on the bank, but the driver, whip in hand, was standing beside him, and the dog, showing his teeth, beside him.

“Kotched yer, are we?” said the former, with a deplorable profuseness of unnecessary verbiage, as he jumped on board. “We tho’t as much. Lend me that there whip, Bill.”

“You tip ’em over, Tom; I’ll make ’em jump.”

Escape was impossible. Our exits were in the hands of the enemy. We made one feeble attempt to temporise.

“We’re sorry,” said I, in my capacity as spokesman. “We didn’t know it was your boat, really.”

“You knows it now,” said the proprietor. “Over you go, or I’ll ’elp yer.”

What! was it a case of being pitched overboard? We looked round desperately for hope, but there was none. We might by a concerted action have tackled one man, but the other on the bank, with the whip and the dog, was a formidable second line to carry. It needed all our philosophy to sustain us in the emergency.

“Come, wake up,” shouted the man. “’Ere, Tike, come!”

Whereupon, to our terror, the dog leapt up on to the barge, and jumped yapping in our midst.

“T’other side, ifyouplease,” said the bargee, as I prepared dismally to take my header on the near side. “Wake ’im up, Tike!”

I needed no waking up; and giving myself up for lost, bounded to the other side of the barge, and made a floundering jump overboard. Luckily for us the Low Heathens could swim to a man, and if all that we were in for was to swim round that hideous barge and get ashore, we should have been easily out of it. But we had yet to reckon with the man and the whip, who in his turn made every preparation to reckon with us.

I was the first to taste his mettle. He had me twice before I could get clear, and I seem to feel it as I write. One by one the luckless and dripping Philosophers ran the gauntlet of that fatal debarkation, which was by no means alleviated by the opprobrious hilarity of our two castigators and the delighted yappings of Tike.

At last it was all over, and, dripping and smarting, we collected our shattered forces a quarter of a mile down the towing-path, and hastily agreed that as a meeting-place for Philosophers a barge was not a desirable place. It was further agreed, that if we could catch the day boys who were the source of all our woes (for if our barge had not been let adrift, we could have sheered off in time), we would do to them as we had been done by.

By good or ill luck, we had scarcely arrived at this important decision when a defiant shout from a little hill among the trees close by apprised us that we were not the only occupants of the river bank; and worse still, that whoever the strangers were, they must have been witnesses of our recent misfortunes—a certainty which made us feel anything but friendly.

“Who are they?” said Langrish.

“Suppose it’s those Urbans,” said Coxhead. “I heard they were going to excavate somewhere this way.”

“I vote we go and see,” said Trimble, who was evidently smarting not a little.

So we went and saw, and it was even as Coxhead had surmised; for as we approached, shouts of—

“Who got licked with a whip?”

“What’s the price of beauty?”

“Why don’t you dry your clothes?” fell on our ears.

“Yah—we dare you to come down and have your noses pulled!” shouted we.

“We dare you to come up and have your hair curled!” shouted they.

We accepted the invitation, and stormed the hill. The battle was short and sharp. We were fifteen to ten, and had a grievance. I found myself engaged with Dicky Brown, who, though he did himself credit, was hampered by a satchelful of stones, which he fondly hoped might turn out to be fossils, on his back. I grieve to say I made mincemeat of Dicky on this occasion. In a few minutes the hill was ours, and the enemy in full retreat.

We remained a short time to celebrate our victory, and then adjourned to the school, a little solaced in our spirits.

The day’s troubles, however, were not over, for at the door of Sharpe’s house, reinforced by half a dozen recruits, stalked the Urbans, thirsting for reprisals, and longing to wipe out scores.

Then ensued a notable battle. We failed to dislodge the enemy by a forward attack, and for some time it seemed as if our flank movements would be equally unsuccessful. At length, by a great effort, we succeeded in cutting off a few of them from the main body, and were applying ourselves to the task of annihilating the rest when Tempest appeared on the scene.

He looked fagged and harassed, and was evidently not much interested in our battle. A row was now too common a thing in Sharpe’s to be an event, and he allowed it to proceed with complete unconcern.

Just, however, as he was turning to enter the house, Mr Jarman came up.

It was almost the first time we had met officially since our encounter in the magistrate’s room, and as with one accord we ceased hostilities and stared at him, one or two of the more audacious of our party indulged in a low hiss.

“Come in, you fellows, at once,” said Tempest, turning on his heel.

“Wait, you boys,” said Mr Jarman, taking out his pencil. “Wait, Tempest.”

But Tempest did not wait, nor did we, but made a deliberate rush into our house, and in less than a minute were safely stowed away in our several studies, secure from all immediate arrest.

It was an act of open rebellion such as Sharpe’s had not yet ventured on. There was no excuse that any of us had not heard the order. We had, and had disobeyed it. And in the present instance Tempest had headed us. What would be the consequence?

We were not destined to know till next morning, when a notice appeared on the board stating that Mr Sharpe’s house having been reported for riotous conduct and disobedience to orders, the head master would meet the boys in the hall at eleven o’clock.

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