Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Thirteen.The Picnic at Camp Hill Bottom.Jorrocks, the school boatman, was a careful person, and suited his accommodation to his company. He knew something about the expeditions of “learned societies” to Camp Hill Bottom and elsewhere, and the conclusion he had evidently come to, was that the boats best suited for their purpose were craft broad in the beam and deep in draught, in which it would be possible to argue out any subject without danger to life or limb.By a coincidence which afforded more pleasure to my fellow-voyagers than to me, one of the two boats reserved for the use of the Conversation Club was named theSarah, the other rejoicing in the inappropriate name ofFirefly. I was, of course, voted to a place of honour in the former, along with Langrish, Trimble, and seven other Philosophers of the same kidney; while Coxhead, Warminster, and Purkis took official charge of theFirefly, with an equal number of passengers.It was noticeable, by the way, that at starting it was impossible for any two boys to sit close together, by reason of the stoutness of their pockets, which stood out on either side like rope buoys on the side of a penny steamer. Indeed, some of the party seemed to me to be exceeding the limits laid down by the committee; as, not only were they prominent on either side, but unusually stout in front, which led one to suspect that they had converted their entire waistcoats into pockets for the time being, and stowed them with provisions. But as the chief delinquents in this respect were the members of the executive committee, it was hardly for us to take official notice of it.A hitch occurred at starting, owing to the uneven distribution of the “paupers” in the two boats. TheSarahboasted of six of these, whereas theFireflyonly possessed one, who, when called upon to fulfil his part of the bargain and row the whole company up stream single-handed, showed an inclination to “rat.” The crew of theFireflyalso began to be concerned as to the length of the voyage under such conditions, and clamoured for at least two of our “paupers”; a claim which Trimble and Langrish indignantly repudiated. At length, however, after a little judicious splashing and a threat to go off on a picnic of their own, the point was yielded, and two of our “paupers” were ignominiously ejected to make room for an equal number of passengers.This being done, the question arose as to whether we should row up stream or tow. It was decided to proceed by the latter method, at least until the towing-path became impracticable. Whereupon both bands of “paupers” were turned ashore and harnessed to the end of their respective rope, and the rest of us settled down to enjoy our well-earned leisure, and stimulate the exertions of our tugs with friendly exhortations.I regret to say that the philosophy of our galley-slaves failed to sustain them in their arduous efforts. They began well. TheSarahled the way, theFireflyfollowing close in our wake. As long as the friendly emulation between the two teams endured, we made fair progress. But when it was discovered that theFireflyhad meanly hitched itself on to the stern of theSarah, and was permitting our four “paupers” to pull the whole cavalcade, a difference of opinion arose. TheFireflytugs, having nothing to do, amused themselves by peppering the inoffensive crew of theSarahwith pebbles from the bank; while the outraged pullers of theSarah, finding themselves tricked, struck work altogether, and alter pulling our head round into a bed of tall bulrushes, cast off the yoke and went for their fellow-“paupers.” To add to the general confusion, a real barge, towed by a real horse, came down to meet us, threatening with its rope to decapitate the whole of our party, and, whether we liked it or not, to drag us back to Low Heath.In the midst of all this trouble, I, as president, was loudly and angrily appealed to to “look out” and “make them shut up,” and “port the helm, you lout,” as if it was all my fault! I tried to explain that it wasn’t, but nobody would trouble to listen to me. How we avoided the peril of the barge I really cannot tell. It lumbered past us in a very bad temper, deluging us as it did so with the splashing from its suddenly slackened rope, and indulging in remarks on things in general, and schoolboys in particular, which were not pleasant to listen to, and quite impossible to repeat.However, as has been truly said, a common danger is often a common blessing. And it turned out so in the present case. The mutinous “paupers” brought their arguments on the bank to a close; and it was decided for the rest of the way to attach theFireflyofficially to theSarah, and allow the seven tugs to pull the lot. They were quite sufficiently alive to their own interests to see each pulled his fair share; and the progress we made, although not racing speed, was, compared at any rate with our bad quarter of an hour in the bulrushes, satisfactory.No further adventure happened till Langrish pointed to a wooded hill a quarter of a mile further up stream, and said—“That’s Camp Hill. Jump in, you chaps, and row.”Whereupon the tugs, glad to be relieved, came on board, the two boats cast loose, and the oars were put out.“Botheration,” said Trimble; “there’s a boat ahead of us.”“Only some fisherman—he won’t hurt,” said Langrish.But as we approached the spot we perceived, not one boat only, but two, drawn up under the trees, and both empty. What was worse, they were Low Heath boats, and bore the name of Jorrocks on their sterns.The committee looked glum as our party stepped ashore and proceeded to make fast our boats to the trees.“Why can’t Jorrocks send his excursionists somewhere else?” growled Langrish; “I shouldn’t wonder if they’ve bagged the Bottom.”The Camp Hill Bottom was a curious dell among the trees, almost in the shape of a basin, with heather and gorse all round the top, and beautiful velvety grass in the hollow. For a picnic it was an ideal place: close to the water, sheltered from the wind, with plenty of room to sit round, and an expanse of delightful heath and wood behind and on either side.It was on this heath, the legend went, that one of the most furious battles in the Wars of the Roses was fought, and the Camp Hill marked the place where Earl Warwick’s standard waved during the engagement. The Bottom was popularly supposed to have been hollowed out by some monks, as a burial place for the slain; but their benevolent intention had been thwarted by the swoop of a band of marauders, who preferred robbing the slain to burying them, and left most of the monks dead in their own grave.There is little sign now of this tragic story about the quiet grass-grown hollow, with its fringe of overhanging bushes and carpet of mossy velvet.Just at present, however, as we made our way to the spot, we had something more important on our minds than Earl Warwick and the unlucky monks. What if the Bottom was already bagged by a crowd of common holidaymakers, and all our carefully planned picnic was to be spoiled by their unwelcome intrusion?It was too true. As we advanced we could hear sounds of revelry and laughter, interspersed with singing and cheers. Who could it be? The voices sounded suspiciously youthful. Suppose—just suppose that the—Yes! It was too true! As we reached the edge and looked down on the coveted dell the first sight which greeted our eyes was a party of Low Heathens, sporting the day boys’ colours spread out luxuriously on one of the sloping banks, solacing themselves with provender and songs and leap-frog!I never saw twenty Philosophers look more blank than we did when slowly we realised the horror of the situation. We were done! There could be no doubt that the enemy had got wind of our purpose and had deliberately forestalled us; and was now only waiting to enjoy our discomfiture, and make merry over our disappointment.As to the possibility of their being as sick at the sight of us as we were at the sight of them, it never even occurred to one of us.Our first impulse was to eject them by force. Our next was to expostulate. Our third was to ignore them.“Come on, you chaps,” said Langrish, leading the way to the bank facing that in the occupation of the enemy, “here’s our place. Squat down and make yourselves comfortable.”The Philosophers followed the cue, and, apparently unaware of the presence of any strangers, took possession of their slope, and tried to be as jolly as possible.“I wonder where the day-boy cads go for their tucks,” said Trimble in an audible voice, evidently intended for the opposition. “Some one was saying they were trying to get up a kids’ club; ha, ha! I’d like to see it.”“Such a joke, Quin,” said a voice over the way, evidently pitched to carry across to us. “You know those kids in Sharpe’s? they’ve started a society. What do you think their motto is? Oh my, it’s a screamer!”“What is it?” asked the voice of Quin.“Keep it dark. I wouldn’t like it to get out I told you. It’sMens sani in corpore sanorum, or something like that. You should have seen Redwood yell over it.”“Now, you fellows, let’s have our grub,” said Langrish encouragingly. “Chaps must eat, you know.Corpore sanumis our motto, you know. Ha, ha! What do you think I heard one of the day louts call it?Corpore sanorum!”“Ha! ha! ha!” shrieked we.“Ho! ho! ho!” shrieked the Urbans.In the midst of which hilarities we produced our provender (greatly to the relief of our pockets), and fell to. The operation evidently did not pass unheeded by the other side.“I say, Flitwick,” cried some one, “do you know what Philosophers eat?”“No; what?”“I never knew till just now. Inky bread and cold bacon-fat sandwiches, or else sherbet, if their tongues are long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottles.”“Have some of this fizzing pork pie, Jones?” asked Coxhead ostentatiously.“Thanks. You have some of my sardines,” replied I.“Rummy name for a chap, Sarah, isn’t it?” said the voice of the captain’s fag opposite. “There’s a new chap in Sharpe’s house this term, one of the biggest mules you ever saw—his name’s Sarah.”“What,” replied his friend—“is he an ugly little cad with a turn-up nose, and yellow kid gloves, that gets lines every day from the doctor, and can’t kick a football as high as his own head? Rather! I know him.”It was impossible to go on much longer at this rate. The atmosphere was getting warm all round, and the storm evidently might break at any moment.Fortunately for them, the Urbans, of their own accord, averted the peril.“If you’ve done lunch,” said Quin, “we’d better get to business. Our fellows go in for something besides tuck, don’t they, Flitwick?”“Rather,” said Flitwick; “we haven’t got a Latin motto that won’t parse, but we meet to improve our minds, not stuff our bodies. I vote Mr Quin takes the chair.”“All serene,” said Quin, perching himself on a hamper. “I now call upon Mr Brown iii. to read us his paper on ‘Remains.’”This was the first mention of my old comrade. During the interchange of courtesies during lunch he had kept steadily silent, anxious, no doubt, to spare my feelings. But now his chance was come. It was reserved to him to show off the Urbans on their intellectual side.But before he could come to the front and clear his throat for action, Langrish had loudly called the Philosophers to order.“Now, you fellows,” said he, “we have our programme to get through, and we are not going to give it up, even if our place of meeting was swarming with day idiots. Mr President, you had better lead off.”Thus called upon, I loudly summoned Mr Philosopher Trimble to open the debate on the subject of “Beauty,” venturing to add,—“Some fellows, I’ve been told, discuss subjects they know nothing about, such as ‘Remains,’ and that sort of thing; but the Conversation Club makes a point of sticking to what they are familiar with, and that is why we speak to-day of Beauty.”It would not be easy to give a verbatim report of the proceedings which followed, for each party was evidently more attentive to what fell from the other side than to what fell from its own. And each speaker was evidently less concerned to impress his friends than his enemies.But any one who had chanced to stand on the ridge above, half-way between the two parties, would have heard a medley somewhat of the following kind,—“Gentlemen, in addressing you on the subject of remains—””—I need hardly explain what we mean when we speak of beauty—””—Remains are things dug up out of the earth where they—””—make a great mistake in calling things people eat, beautiful. In fact—”“very few of them are to be found unless you know where they are, but—”“When we talk of a beautiful face we mean a face that is—””—plastered over with mud and grime, and hardly recognisable till it is scraped clean, or—”“people differ very much about it—what one person thinks beautiful, another—”“generally digs for with spades and shovels, and may spend days—””—trying to look less ugly than they really are—””—some people find this quite impossible and have to employ persons to—”“make personal remarks about their neighbours—”“gentlemen,—”“I need not remind you that among the Urbans—”“are to be found some of the most hideous types of ugliness imaginable—what we need is—””—a little common sense to enable us to tell the difference between shams—””—like ourselves and the baboons, which is not always easy. In conclusion, gentlemen, I beg to point to our—””—dirty hands and faces, which no one who is really interested in hunting for remains of his native—””—ugliness ought to be ashamed of.”And so on.We were too busy cheering our own orator and listening to the enemy’s to take in the full humour of the medley at the time. The opening speeches were evidently prepared beforehand (a good part of them possibly copied bodily out of some book). But, as soon as the chairman on either side declared the subject open for discussion, the interest thickened.Flitwick led off on “Remains,” whereas it fell to my lot to reply on “Beauty.” By a little sharp practice, I got the lead, which, as it happened, turned out more to the enemy’s profit than my own.“Gentlemen,” shouted I, for the breeze made it necessary to speak out, “I beg to disagree with all that the last speaker has said.”“Gentlemen,” came the answering voice of Flitwick, “in consequence of a donkey braying somewhere near, I fear I shall find it difficult to make myself heard.”“When people have nothing to say,” continued I, “the less they try to say the better.”“I will not imitate the idiots who call themselves Philosophers, and yet don’t know what gender a simple Latin word likecorporeis.”“It is sad to think how many afflicted ones there are, close to us, who cannot possibly be as big fools as they look, or look as big fools as they are.”“The one kind of remains you can’t find are the remains of a Philosopher’s lunch. ‘Greedy’ is a mild word to use for their sickening gluttony.”“If you want to look for beauty, gentlemen, you should look anywhere but straight in front of you.” (Cheers.)“Gentlemen, as I hear some geese quacking, as well as the donkey braying, I find it difficult to say what I want.” (Laughter.)“I deny that there is any beauty in the laugh of a pack of hyenas.”“If there was anybody here called Sarah,” continued Flitwick, wandering farther and farther from his point, “who has been brought up in a girls’ school, and wears tan boots and lavender gloves in school (loud and derisive shouts), and is well-known as the dunce of his house (hear, hear), I should advise him never to look in the looking-glass if he is afraid of chimpanzees.”This was too much for the pent-up feelings of the Philosophers—not that they particularly resented Flitwick’s facetious allusions to myself—but in my capacity as President of the Club they felt called upon to support me.“Shut up, cheap-jack!” cried Trimble defiantly. We had given ourselves away at last!“Hullo,” cried Flitwick, “there’s somebody here! I wonder if those little cads of Sharpe’s have found out our place?”“Yourplace!” thundered Warminster. “You knew it was ours. And we mean to kick you out.”“Ho! ho! when are you going to begin?” shouted the twenty Urbans.“Now,” yelled the twenty Philosophers.A battle now seemed imminent, as fierce and disastrous as that fought four centuries before on the adjoining heath. The blood of both parties was up, and I might even have found myself engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with my old chum Dicky, had not Tempest unexpectedly appeared on the scene, like a bolt out of the blue.He was pushing along his bicycle, and had evidently been attracted to the Bottom by the noise.“What’s up?” he inquired, taking advantage of the temporary silence.“Those day-boy cads have come and bagged our places and spoiled our fun,” said we.“No, it’s your kids who have come and stopped ours,” protested the enemy.“And you’re all going down into the middle to have a mill,” said Tempest. “Just as you like. But why don’t you try a tug of war across instead? You’re pretty evenly matched, and I’ll umpire!”It was not a bad idea, and took beautifully. The only drawback was, that Tempest being a Sharper, was presumably prejudiced in favour of the Philosophers. However, he had the reputation of being addicted to fair play.“The side that’s pulled down,” said he, “clears out, and goes somewhere else; and the side that wins I’ll photograph in a group.”It was a tremendous prize to offer, and served to stimulate both teams to the uttermost. We had a rope with us which easily stretched across the dell, and admitted the twenty pairs of hands on either side to grasp it. Tempest carefully saw that neither side started with the least advantage, and waited till we were all ready before giving the signal.A tug of war in which each side is ranged up the steep slope of a hollow is very different work from a tug on the level, as we soon found out. Indeed, as soon as the rope was stretched, those lowest down were hanging on to it by their finger tips, while those higher up were obliged to sit down to get within anything like reach. Under these circumstances the contest was short and sharp, and ended in a draw. For each side lost its footing the moment the strain was applied, and almost before Tempest had given the signal, the whole forty of us were sprawling in a confused heap on the grassy floor of the Bottom.This abortive contest had the effect (which probably Tempest intended) of smoothing over, to some extent, the angry dispute which was on foot, and which was still further allayed by his undertaking to take a monster joint photograph of the two clubs, provided we stood or sat still for the process.After that, he good-naturedly remained at our invitation, to officiate as judge in some impromptu sports, in which, once again, the rival parties proved most evenly matched. Finally, as evening was drawing on, he consented just to witness a hurried display of our joint fireworks, after which, he told us, we must at once take to our boats and repair home.It was an imposing display. Twelve Roman candles were set up at regular distances round the hollow, with a fellow in charge of each. Two rockets were set in position, one on either side, and green and red lights alternately were planted on the banks above. At a given signal from Tempest, all were simultaneously lit, and in a perfect blaze of glory, accompanied by a babel of cheers, we concluded our programme.At least, not quite. One unrehearsed incident was yet to come. For, as the smoke cleared off and the noise ceased, and our eyes once more grew accustomed to the twilight, we became aware of the presence of Mr Jarman, standing in our midst!

Jorrocks, the school boatman, was a careful person, and suited his accommodation to his company. He knew something about the expeditions of “learned societies” to Camp Hill Bottom and elsewhere, and the conclusion he had evidently come to, was that the boats best suited for their purpose were craft broad in the beam and deep in draught, in which it would be possible to argue out any subject without danger to life or limb.

By a coincidence which afforded more pleasure to my fellow-voyagers than to me, one of the two boats reserved for the use of the Conversation Club was named theSarah, the other rejoicing in the inappropriate name ofFirefly. I was, of course, voted to a place of honour in the former, along with Langrish, Trimble, and seven other Philosophers of the same kidney; while Coxhead, Warminster, and Purkis took official charge of theFirefly, with an equal number of passengers.

It was noticeable, by the way, that at starting it was impossible for any two boys to sit close together, by reason of the stoutness of their pockets, which stood out on either side like rope buoys on the side of a penny steamer. Indeed, some of the party seemed to me to be exceeding the limits laid down by the committee; as, not only were they prominent on either side, but unusually stout in front, which led one to suspect that they had converted their entire waistcoats into pockets for the time being, and stowed them with provisions. But as the chief delinquents in this respect were the members of the executive committee, it was hardly for us to take official notice of it.

A hitch occurred at starting, owing to the uneven distribution of the “paupers” in the two boats. TheSarahboasted of six of these, whereas theFireflyonly possessed one, who, when called upon to fulfil his part of the bargain and row the whole company up stream single-handed, showed an inclination to “rat.” The crew of theFireflyalso began to be concerned as to the length of the voyage under such conditions, and clamoured for at least two of our “paupers”; a claim which Trimble and Langrish indignantly repudiated. At length, however, after a little judicious splashing and a threat to go off on a picnic of their own, the point was yielded, and two of our “paupers” were ignominiously ejected to make room for an equal number of passengers.

This being done, the question arose as to whether we should row up stream or tow. It was decided to proceed by the latter method, at least until the towing-path became impracticable. Whereupon both bands of “paupers” were turned ashore and harnessed to the end of their respective rope, and the rest of us settled down to enjoy our well-earned leisure, and stimulate the exertions of our tugs with friendly exhortations.

I regret to say that the philosophy of our galley-slaves failed to sustain them in their arduous efforts. They began well. TheSarahled the way, theFireflyfollowing close in our wake. As long as the friendly emulation between the two teams endured, we made fair progress. But when it was discovered that theFireflyhad meanly hitched itself on to the stern of theSarah, and was permitting our four “paupers” to pull the whole cavalcade, a difference of opinion arose. TheFireflytugs, having nothing to do, amused themselves by peppering the inoffensive crew of theSarahwith pebbles from the bank; while the outraged pullers of theSarah, finding themselves tricked, struck work altogether, and alter pulling our head round into a bed of tall bulrushes, cast off the yoke and went for their fellow-“paupers.” To add to the general confusion, a real barge, towed by a real horse, came down to meet us, threatening with its rope to decapitate the whole of our party, and, whether we liked it or not, to drag us back to Low Heath.

In the midst of all this trouble, I, as president, was loudly and angrily appealed to to “look out” and “make them shut up,” and “port the helm, you lout,” as if it was all my fault! I tried to explain that it wasn’t, but nobody would trouble to listen to me. How we avoided the peril of the barge I really cannot tell. It lumbered past us in a very bad temper, deluging us as it did so with the splashing from its suddenly slackened rope, and indulging in remarks on things in general, and schoolboys in particular, which were not pleasant to listen to, and quite impossible to repeat.

However, as has been truly said, a common danger is often a common blessing. And it turned out so in the present case. The mutinous “paupers” brought their arguments on the bank to a close; and it was decided for the rest of the way to attach theFireflyofficially to theSarah, and allow the seven tugs to pull the lot. They were quite sufficiently alive to their own interests to see each pulled his fair share; and the progress we made, although not racing speed, was, compared at any rate with our bad quarter of an hour in the bulrushes, satisfactory.

No further adventure happened till Langrish pointed to a wooded hill a quarter of a mile further up stream, and said—

“That’s Camp Hill. Jump in, you chaps, and row.”

Whereupon the tugs, glad to be relieved, came on board, the two boats cast loose, and the oars were put out.

“Botheration,” said Trimble; “there’s a boat ahead of us.”

“Only some fisherman—he won’t hurt,” said Langrish.

But as we approached the spot we perceived, not one boat only, but two, drawn up under the trees, and both empty. What was worse, they were Low Heath boats, and bore the name of Jorrocks on their sterns.

The committee looked glum as our party stepped ashore and proceeded to make fast our boats to the trees.

“Why can’t Jorrocks send his excursionists somewhere else?” growled Langrish; “I shouldn’t wonder if they’ve bagged the Bottom.”

The Camp Hill Bottom was a curious dell among the trees, almost in the shape of a basin, with heather and gorse all round the top, and beautiful velvety grass in the hollow. For a picnic it was an ideal place: close to the water, sheltered from the wind, with plenty of room to sit round, and an expanse of delightful heath and wood behind and on either side.

It was on this heath, the legend went, that one of the most furious battles in the Wars of the Roses was fought, and the Camp Hill marked the place where Earl Warwick’s standard waved during the engagement. The Bottom was popularly supposed to have been hollowed out by some monks, as a burial place for the slain; but their benevolent intention had been thwarted by the swoop of a band of marauders, who preferred robbing the slain to burying them, and left most of the monks dead in their own grave.

There is little sign now of this tragic story about the quiet grass-grown hollow, with its fringe of overhanging bushes and carpet of mossy velvet.

Just at present, however, as we made our way to the spot, we had something more important on our minds than Earl Warwick and the unlucky monks. What if the Bottom was already bagged by a crowd of common holidaymakers, and all our carefully planned picnic was to be spoiled by their unwelcome intrusion?

It was too true. As we advanced we could hear sounds of revelry and laughter, interspersed with singing and cheers. Who could it be? The voices sounded suspiciously youthful. Suppose—just suppose that the—

Yes! It was too true! As we reached the edge and looked down on the coveted dell the first sight which greeted our eyes was a party of Low Heathens, sporting the day boys’ colours spread out luxuriously on one of the sloping banks, solacing themselves with provender and songs and leap-frog!

I never saw twenty Philosophers look more blank than we did when slowly we realised the horror of the situation. We were done! There could be no doubt that the enemy had got wind of our purpose and had deliberately forestalled us; and was now only waiting to enjoy our discomfiture, and make merry over our disappointment.

As to the possibility of their being as sick at the sight of us as we were at the sight of them, it never even occurred to one of us.

Our first impulse was to eject them by force. Our next was to expostulate. Our third was to ignore them.

“Come on, you chaps,” said Langrish, leading the way to the bank facing that in the occupation of the enemy, “here’s our place. Squat down and make yourselves comfortable.”

The Philosophers followed the cue, and, apparently unaware of the presence of any strangers, took possession of their slope, and tried to be as jolly as possible.

“I wonder where the day-boy cads go for their tucks,” said Trimble in an audible voice, evidently intended for the opposition. “Some one was saying they were trying to get up a kids’ club; ha, ha! I’d like to see it.”

“Such a joke, Quin,” said a voice over the way, evidently pitched to carry across to us. “You know those kids in Sharpe’s? they’ve started a society. What do you think their motto is? Oh my, it’s a screamer!”

“What is it?” asked the voice of Quin.

“Keep it dark. I wouldn’t like it to get out I told you. It’sMens sani in corpore sanorum, or something like that. You should have seen Redwood yell over it.”

“Now, you fellows, let’s have our grub,” said Langrish encouragingly. “Chaps must eat, you know.Corpore sanumis our motto, you know. Ha, ha! What do you think I heard one of the day louts call it?Corpore sanorum!”

“Ha! ha! ha!” shrieked we.

“Ho! ho! ho!” shrieked the Urbans.

In the midst of which hilarities we produced our provender (greatly to the relief of our pockets), and fell to. The operation evidently did not pass unheeded by the other side.

“I say, Flitwick,” cried some one, “do you know what Philosophers eat?”

“No; what?”

“I never knew till just now. Inky bread and cold bacon-fat sandwiches, or else sherbet, if their tongues are long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottles.”

“Have some of this fizzing pork pie, Jones?” asked Coxhead ostentatiously.

“Thanks. You have some of my sardines,” replied I.

“Rummy name for a chap, Sarah, isn’t it?” said the voice of the captain’s fag opposite. “There’s a new chap in Sharpe’s house this term, one of the biggest mules you ever saw—his name’s Sarah.”

“What,” replied his friend—“is he an ugly little cad with a turn-up nose, and yellow kid gloves, that gets lines every day from the doctor, and can’t kick a football as high as his own head? Rather! I know him.”

It was impossible to go on much longer at this rate. The atmosphere was getting warm all round, and the storm evidently might break at any moment.

Fortunately for them, the Urbans, of their own accord, averted the peril.

“If you’ve done lunch,” said Quin, “we’d better get to business. Our fellows go in for something besides tuck, don’t they, Flitwick?”

“Rather,” said Flitwick; “we haven’t got a Latin motto that won’t parse, but we meet to improve our minds, not stuff our bodies. I vote Mr Quin takes the chair.”

“All serene,” said Quin, perching himself on a hamper. “I now call upon Mr Brown iii. to read us his paper on ‘Remains.’”

This was the first mention of my old comrade. During the interchange of courtesies during lunch he had kept steadily silent, anxious, no doubt, to spare my feelings. But now his chance was come. It was reserved to him to show off the Urbans on their intellectual side.

But before he could come to the front and clear his throat for action, Langrish had loudly called the Philosophers to order.

“Now, you fellows,” said he, “we have our programme to get through, and we are not going to give it up, even if our place of meeting was swarming with day idiots. Mr President, you had better lead off.”

Thus called upon, I loudly summoned Mr Philosopher Trimble to open the debate on the subject of “Beauty,” venturing to add,—

“Some fellows, I’ve been told, discuss subjects they know nothing about, such as ‘Remains,’ and that sort of thing; but the Conversation Club makes a point of sticking to what they are familiar with, and that is why we speak to-day of Beauty.”

It would not be easy to give a verbatim report of the proceedings which followed, for each party was evidently more attentive to what fell from the other side than to what fell from its own. And each speaker was evidently less concerned to impress his friends than his enemies.

But any one who had chanced to stand on the ridge above, half-way between the two parties, would have heard a medley somewhat of the following kind,—

“Gentlemen, in addressing you on the subject of remains—”

”—I need hardly explain what we mean when we speak of beauty—”

”—Remains are things dug up out of the earth where they—”

”—make a great mistake in calling things people eat, beautiful. In fact—”

“very few of them are to be found unless you know where they are, but—”

“When we talk of a beautiful face we mean a face that is—”

”—plastered over with mud and grime, and hardly recognisable till it is scraped clean, or—”

“people differ very much about it—what one person thinks beautiful, another—”

“generally digs for with spades and shovels, and may spend days—”

”—trying to look less ugly than they really are—”

”—some people find this quite impossible and have to employ persons to—”

“make personal remarks about their neighbours—”

“gentlemen,—”

“I need not remind you that among the Urbans—”

“are to be found some of the most hideous types of ugliness imaginable—what we need is—”

”—a little common sense to enable us to tell the difference between shams—”

”—like ourselves and the baboons, which is not always easy. In conclusion, gentlemen, I beg to point to our—”

”—dirty hands and faces, which no one who is really interested in hunting for remains of his native—”

”—ugliness ought to be ashamed of.”

And so on.

We were too busy cheering our own orator and listening to the enemy’s to take in the full humour of the medley at the time. The opening speeches were evidently prepared beforehand (a good part of them possibly copied bodily out of some book). But, as soon as the chairman on either side declared the subject open for discussion, the interest thickened.

Flitwick led off on “Remains,” whereas it fell to my lot to reply on “Beauty.” By a little sharp practice, I got the lead, which, as it happened, turned out more to the enemy’s profit than my own.

“Gentlemen,” shouted I, for the breeze made it necessary to speak out, “I beg to disagree with all that the last speaker has said.”

“Gentlemen,” came the answering voice of Flitwick, “in consequence of a donkey braying somewhere near, I fear I shall find it difficult to make myself heard.”

“When people have nothing to say,” continued I, “the less they try to say the better.”

“I will not imitate the idiots who call themselves Philosophers, and yet don’t know what gender a simple Latin word likecorporeis.”

“It is sad to think how many afflicted ones there are, close to us, who cannot possibly be as big fools as they look, or look as big fools as they are.”

“The one kind of remains you can’t find are the remains of a Philosopher’s lunch. ‘Greedy’ is a mild word to use for their sickening gluttony.”

“If you want to look for beauty, gentlemen, you should look anywhere but straight in front of you.” (Cheers.)

“Gentlemen, as I hear some geese quacking, as well as the donkey braying, I find it difficult to say what I want.” (Laughter.)

“I deny that there is any beauty in the laugh of a pack of hyenas.”

“If there was anybody here called Sarah,” continued Flitwick, wandering farther and farther from his point, “who has been brought up in a girls’ school, and wears tan boots and lavender gloves in school (loud and derisive shouts), and is well-known as the dunce of his house (hear, hear), I should advise him never to look in the looking-glass if he is afraid of chimpanzees.”

This was too much for the pent-up feelings of the Philosophers—not that they particularly resented Flitwick’s facetious allusions to myself—but in my capacity as President of the Club they felt called upon to support me.

“Shut up, cheap-jack!” cried Trimble defiantly. We had given ourselves away at last!

“Hullo,” cried Flitwick, “there’s somebody here! I wonder if those little cads of Sharpe’s have found out our place?”

“Yourplace!” thundered Warminster. “You knew it was ours. And we mean to kick you out.”

“Ho! ho! when are you going to begin?” shouted the twenty Urbans.

“Now,” yelled the twenty Philosophers.

A battle now seemed imminent, as fierce and disastrous as that fought four centuries before on the adjoining heath. The blood of both parties was up, and I might even have found myself engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with my old chum Dicky, had not Tempest unexpectedly appeared on the scene, like a bolt out of the blue.

He was pushing along his bicycle, and had evidently been attracted to the Bottom by the noise.

“What’s up?” he inquired, taking advantage of the temporary silence.

“Those day-boy cads have come and bagged our places and spoiled our fun,” said we.

“No, it’s your kids who have come and stopped ours,” protested the enemy.

“And you’re all going down into the middle to have a mill,” said Tempest. “Just as you like. But why don’t you try a tug of war across instead? You’re pretty evenly matched, and I’ll umpire!”

It was not a bad idea, and took beautifully. The only drawback was, that Tempest being a Sharper, was presumably prejudiced in favour of the Philosophers. However, he had the reputation of being addicted to fair play.

“The side that’s pulled down,” said he, “clears out, and goes somewhere else; and the side that wins I’ll photograph in a group.”

It was a tremendous prize to offer, and served to stimulate both teams to the uttermost. We had a rope with us which easily stretched across the dell, and admitted the twenty pairs of hands on either side to grasp it. Tempest carefully saw that neither side started with the least advantage, and waited till we were all ready before giving the signal.

A tug of war in which each side is ranged up the steep slope of a hollow is very different work from a tug on the level, as we soon found out. Indeed, as soon as the rope was stretched, those lowest down were hanging on to it by their finger tips, while those higher up were obliged to sit down to get within anything like reach. Under these circumstances the contest was short and sharp, and ended in a draw. For each side lost its footing the moment the strain was applied, and almost before Tempest had given the signal, the whole forty of us were sprawling in a confused heap on the grassy floor of the Bottom.

This abortive contest had the effect (which probably Tempest intended) of smoothing over, to some extent, the angry dispute which was on foot, and which was still further allayed by his undertaking to take a monster joint photograph of the two clubs, provided we stood or sat still for the process.

After that, he good-naturedly remained at our invitation, to officiate as judge in some impromptu sports, in which, once again, the rival parties proved most evenly matched. Finally, as evening was drawing on, he consented just to witness a hurried display of our joint fireworks, after which, he told us, we must at once take to our boats and repair home.

It was an imposing display. Twelve Roman candles were set up at regular distances round the hollow, with a fellow in charge of each. Two rockets were set in position, one on either side, and green and red lights alternately were planted on the banks above. At a given signal from Tempest, all were simultaneously lit, and in a perfect blaze of glory, accompanied by a babel of cheers, we concluded our programme.

At least, not quite. One unrehearsed incident was yet to come. For, as the smoke cleared off and the noise ceased, and our eyes once more grew accustomed to the twilight, we became aware of the presence of Mr Jarman, standing in our midst!

Chapter Fourteen.Extra Drill.Mr Jarman must have felt flattered at the gloomy dead silence which fell on Philosophers and Urbans alike as we looked round and saw him. It was of course impossible to believe he had found us by accident, still less that he had come with any friendly purpose.He advanced into the middle of the Bottom, watch in hand.“This is contrary to rules,” said he. “It is now a quarter-past six, and you are half an hour from Low Heath. In addition to which I have already said that fireworks are only to be had with leave. Tempest, you should have put an end to this. You will kindly send me in the name of every boy here. And each of you boys must attend an extra drill to-morrow and write out one hundred lines—except,” added he, catching sight of me, “except Jones iv., whom I have already had to punish, and who must write two hundred lines.”It was a study to watch Tempest’s face during this speech. It was all he could do to wait to the end.“It’s not fair,” said he, with pale cheeks and angry brow. “It’s a half-holiday, and boys always get half an hour’s grace.”“That is not the rule,” said the master.“It’s the practice, sir. Half these boys are in my house, and I have given them leave to stay. I also allowed the fireworks.”“Tempest, we will speak of this presently—”“No, sir,” blurted out Tempest, “the fellows have done nothing wrong; and if they have, I’m responsible to Dr England about it.”Mr Jarman was not the man to give himself away in a public discussion, and coolly walked off, observing—“I shall expect the list of names to-night, Tempest.”Tempest’s reply was a short, defiant laugh, which made the master turn a moment, as if about to notice it. But he departed silently, and left us to recover as well as we could from the surprise of the whole scene.The general opinion was that the policeman had met his match at last in Tempest; and the more enthusiastic of us tried to express our feelings in words. But Tempest was by no means inclined to discuss the situation.“Shut up,” he replied angrily, when I ventured to applaud his courage. “Cut back to school at once, and don’t speak to me.”This was a blow to some of the party, who had calculated on a general revolt, to be headed by the rock of Sharpe’s house in person, and celebrated by general orgies on the spot.“I sha’n’t do my lines, shall you?” said Dicky, as we trotted down to the boats.“Rather not. And I don’t think our chaps will turn up for extra drill.”“Just like old Tempest,” said Brown. “He enjoys a row of this kind.”“He didn’t look as if he did,” remarked I. “Perhaps that was because such a lot of day chaps are mixed up in it.”Brown looked a little glum at this.“He needn’t bother about us unless he likes,” said he. “We can take care of ourselves, I fancy.”Luckily at this stage we reached the boats, and further discussion was interrupted.The voyage home was comparatively uneventful. It was of course enlivened by a desultory race with the Urbans all the way, in which, I regret to say, Mr Jorrocks’s boats received a few scratches, owing to the desire of each boat to take the water of its opponent before it was clear ahead. The town-boys unrighteously claimed in the end to have won by a quarter of a length, but as in passing our leader they had pulled away one of our bow oars and further turned the nose of theSarahinto the bank, we stoutly resisted their claim, and a very lively argument ensued, in which Mr Jorrocks lost a good deal of varnish, and most of the combatants became rather wet. However, we were back in school within half an hour of embarking, which on the whole was not a bad record.Curiosity to know what Tempest would do prevented us from so much as thinking of our “lines.” I took an early opportunity of presenting myself in Pridgin’s study, feeling sure I should be likely to hear something of the matter there.As it happened, Tempest and Wales were there too, in deep confabulation.“Look here, old chap,” Pridgin was saying, “don’t spoil your term for a parcel of yelping young puppies like this kid here and his lot. They’re not worth it.”“For all that,” said Wales, “it’s a question of whether the cock of a house is to be allowed his rights or not.”“It’s more a question whether Jarman is to be allowed his rights,” said Tempest. “I quite agree that these young muffs are a nuisance, and it’s all the more aggravating to be dragged into a mess by them. But he’d no right to interfere.”“Strictly speaking, I suppose he was right,” said Pridgin. “There is a rule about juniors being in by 6:30; although every one knows half an hour’s grace is given on half-holidays. And I suppose he’s right about the fireworks.”“You think I ought to cave in?” asked Tempest.“I don’t say that. But I’d let the matter alone.”“We shall never stop Jarman at that rate,” said Wales. “I should say fight it out.”“All very well for you and me,” said Pridgin, “who are comfortably out of it. But it means a big job for old Tempest. He’ll have to bear the brunt of it.”“I can’t well drop it when he’s told me to give him a list of the youngsters present,” said Tempest.“You certainly are not called upon to give him a list of the day boys.”“Well, as I only know one of them, it wouldn’t be easy. If he’d only lagged me, and given me extra drill and lines, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was playing it low down to—”Here came a knock at the door, and the school messenger entered with a letter.“No answer,” said he, handing it to Tempest.It was plain to see by the flush on Tempest’s face as he read it that it contained anything but pleasant news.“It’s from Jarman,” said he, throwing it down on the table.Wales took it up and read it.“Mr Jarman informs Tempest that the list of names required in connection with this afternoon’s incident will not be required, as Mr Jarman already has it. Tempest will please attend the extra drill with the other boys of his house to-morrow, as his conduct this afternoon was neither respectful nor a good example to others.”“Whew!” exclaimed Pridgin, rising, for a wonder, out of his chair; “that’s a nasty one, if you like. He’s taken you at your word, old man. Who’s given the list of names? Did you, you young sweep?” he demanded of me.“Oh no,” said I, glad to be recognised under any term of endearment. “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. But I’ll tell you what I think.”“Really, Jones iv., it’s nice to know you do think; but, if you don’t mind, we would rather not hear. If youknowanything, let us hear it, but spare us your thoughts.”Pridgin was rather crushing sometimes.“I meant we were marked off by the porter at the lodge as we came in,” said I. “Perhaps that’s how he’s got the names.”“Evidently,” said Pridgin, “he’s had you for once. Tempest. He guessed there’d be a bother about the list, and he has taken the wind out of your sails. You’ll attend extra drill, of course.”“Certainly.”“So that,” said Wales, “all you will score by the affair will be a public disgrace before the juniors.”Tempest’s half dismal, half wrathful face was answer enough.“Wesha’n’t consider it a disgrace,” said I.“Thank you very much, Jones iv. If that is so, we shall feel it was worth living for to have your approbation. Now you had better go and write out your lines.”“What?” said I. “I thought we were none of us going to do that.”“I have warned you once against the perils of thinking. It’s a bad habit for little boys. Off you go, or you won’t get yourpoenadone in time.”“What am I to tell the others?” I inquired.“You may tell them it’s a fine evening. Cut—do you hear?”It was a great come-down. The Philosophers thought so when I reported the case. Some were inclined to be angry with Tempest, others to pity him; and every one was unanimous, I do not know why, in expressing a burning desire to kick me.The expectation of a general revolt, headed by Tempest in person, and reinforced by the Urbans, faded dismally away as the company saw itself going down to “knock off” Mr Jarman’s lines.“This comes,” said Langrish, rather illogically, I thought, “of getting mixed up with the day-boy cads. I knew it would land us in a mess, and so it has.”“Anyway, they’re in the mess too,” said Trimble.“It’s a little rough on Tempest having to show up for them as well as for us,” said I.“Shut up, and let a fellow write his lines, can’t you?” growled Coxhead. “When we want Sarah’s advice we’ll ask for it.”The reader will gather from this that the Philosophers were in bad tempers, and that their president was in imminent danger of losing his.At noon next day, when most of the school was turning out after morning class into the fields, a melancholy band might have been seen dropping in, in irregular order, at the door of the school gymnasium. All except one were juniors. Some looked as if they were used to the thing, other betrayed the shy and self-conscious embarrassment of the first delinquents. None looked cheerful, not a few looked savage. The exception in point of age was a well set-up, square-shouldered, proud-faced senior, who entered with an air of reckless disgust which was not comfortable to look at, and might be dangerous if provoked. None of us spoke to Tempest, and he vouchsafed no sign of recognition of us.A squad of the school volunteers, chiefly composed of smart boys from Mr Selkirk’s house, were concluding drill as we entered, and of course took stock of our dejected looks and of Tempest’s unwonted appearance as they filed out.“A row on, eh?” whispered one, as he passed us.“It doesn’t look like fun, does it?” snarled Langrish.“Where does Tempest come in?” persisted the inquirer.“By the door; and the sooner you get out by it the better.”“Ha, ha!—poor little naughty boys. An extra drill will do you good. Come on, you chaps. Let’s leave them to enjoy themselves. They’ll get used to it in time. Ho, ho!”“Fall in!” called Mr Jarman.And painfully conscious not only that a few of the volunteers were hanging about to look on, but that the school porter was at the moment conducting a party of visitors through the building, we obeyed listlessly and dismally. Tempest taking his place at the end of the line.“Are these some of the volunteers?” we heard one of the lady spectators ask.“No, madam. This is an extra drill for breach of rules,” replied the official.“Number from the right,” cried Mr Jarman.We numbered.“Answer to your names,” said the discipline master, producing a paper. We could not help noticing that Tempest’s name was mixed in along with ours, and that no difference was made on account of his age or status. We were then formed into double rank, and fours, and open order, and put through a hideous series of extension exercises, irksome enough at any time, but under present circumstances specially so. I heard Dicky Brown beside me groan as he stood leaning over with his left knee bent, his right leg stretched out behind, and his two arms doubled up at his side.“I wonder they don’t all kick,” he whispered.“Not easy like this,” said I.“How Tempest must be enjoying it!” Dick murmured.“Poor beggar! it’s a nasty dose for him.”But if Mr Jarman counted on any protest or resistance from his senior victim, he was disappointed. Tempest went patiently and impassively through the drill with the rest of us; but, as we could see, with a blazing eye fixed all the while on the master. But I could guess the struggle that was going on in my friend’s breast. Mr Jarman may have flattered himself he was “taking it out of him”, Dicky and I knew better.We all took our cue from Tempest that morning, and any inclination to rebel or mutiny was suppressed. We contented ourselves with glaring at our tormentor, and denying him the excuse he probably desired of prolonging the agony. My impression is that Mr Jarman was never so happy as when he realised that he was absolute master of the situation. The Roman emperors were not in it with him.“Attention! Front!” said he at last, when the proceedings were becoming dull even to him. “Stand at ease! Attention! Stand at ease! Attention! Left turn! Dismiss! As you were! Dismiss!”It was a prolonged insult, and we knew it. But Tempest stood it, and so, consequently, did we. But as we filed from the place we felt that Mr Jarman’s turn would come some day.Tempest, contrary to general expectation, evinced no haste to leave the scene of his tribulation. There was yet a quarter of an hour to next bell, and this he evidently decided to spend, as he had the right to do, where he was. Mr Jarman was evidently annoyed to find, not only that the senior was apparently unaffected by the humiliation through which he had passed, but that now the drill was over he evinced an entire unconcern in the master’s presence.Tempest was one of the best gymnasts in the school, and it was always worth while to watch him on the trapeze and horizontal bar. So the Philosophers and Urbans, by one consent, trooped back into the gymnasium to look on, and (what must have been particularly annoying to the master, because he had no authority to stop it) to cheer. How we did cheer, and what good it did us! Had Tempest been the meanest of performers, and done nothing but swing with his legs doubled up under him from one ring to the next, we should have applauded. But to-day his flights were terrific. No fellow was less given to show off, and he probably objected to our applause as much as Mr Jarman. But he was bound to relieve his feelings somehow, and the trapeze was just what he wanted.When finally the bell rang, and we were hoarse with cheering (which was our way of relieving our feelings) he came to earth decidedly better for his exercise.Mr Jarman evidently was impressed, and, to our surprise, even ventured on a compliment.“You did that well, Tempest.”Tempest’s reply was to walk away, putting on his coat as he went.It was plain to see by the angry twitch of Mr Jarman’s mouth that the shaft of this public snub had gone home, and we who looked on and witnessed it all had little need to tell ourselves that civil war had already been declared.It is hardly necessary to state that the extraordinary meeting of the Conversation Club that evening was lively, and that there was no lack of a topic. Besides our own contingent, a few of the outsiders, including Muskett and Corderoy from Selkirk’s house, and a few of the “paupers,” dropped in. As the faggery would only conveniently hold six persons, and as at least twenty were present, it was considered advisable to adjourn to the shoe-room, where, in the dim light of a small candle, several particularly revolutionary motions were discussed, the company sitting on the floor for the purpose.The meeting opened by my calling on Langrish to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.“The inaugural picnic of the Ph.C.C. was held the other day. Present, all the usual lot and seven paupers. The president had chartered theSarahandFirefly, two of the vilest crocks at Jorrocks’s.”“He said they were the best they had got,” I explained.“Shut up, or you’ll be kicked out, young Sarah.”“I’ve a right to speak.”“No, you haven’t—unless you hold your tongue.”“If I held my tongue, I couldn’t possibly speak,” I explained.“Turn him out!” cried the paupers. Whereat I subsided.“The paupers,” continued the minutes, “had beastly little go in them, and ought to have had a meal of hay before starting (interruption), and will be badly kicked if they don’t shut up. TheFireflyhad the best of the race up.” (Here there were most indignant protests from the crew of the gallantSarah; and the question was argued out with some energy on the floor of the shoe-room before Langrish could proceed.)“Nature was dressed in her most pristine colours, and the incandescent hues of the autumn leaves brought cries of enjoyment out of the mouths of the Ph.C.C, except the paupers, whose mouths were too full for utterance.”This paragraph was not likely to pass unchallenged. Coxhead impeached its grammar, Trimble its taste, and the paupers its accuracy, and a very heated argument ensued, at the end of which it was agreed to let the door stand open a few minutes to get rid of the dust.“Arrived at Camp Hill, a flock of jibbering apes were discovered, headed by the president’s arch-enemy. Brown iii.”“No, he’s not my enemy,” protested I. “I never said so.”“The minutes say so. They’re more likely to be right than you.”“But I like Dicky Brown,” said I.“That sounds like poetry,” said Warminster, “ho, ho!“I like Dicky Brown,His cheek is so cool,And if I don’t kick himYou call me a fool.”“I can do that whether you kick him or not,” said I, quite unmoved by this brilliant impromptu.Here I was compelled to vacate the chair for a few moments, in order to discuss the matter further with Warminster. On order being restored, the minutes proceeded—“The Philosophers soon made it too hot for these mules, and they were only allowed to stay on the ground as it amused us to see their idiotic sniggers. The paper on ‘Beauty’ was rot, and invoked well-deserved hisses.”“Say that again,” ejaculated the outraged Trimble.“That! there you are,” said Langrish hurriedly. But Trimble had more to say on the subject, and once again the meeting became warm and dusty.“Order, please; let’s hear the rest,” said I, when both had been brushed down by their friends.“As for Sarah’s speech in reply, it was the drivellingest balderdash you ever heard. It made the club blush.”“That speaks well for it,” I suggested mildly.The meeting did not seem to know how exactly to take this, but concluded it was meant to be complimentary, and contented themselves with ordering me to “shut up” if I didn’t want to be kicked out.“Tempest (loud cheers) turned up presently and backed us up (cheers). The baboons weren’t in it in the sports. We pulled off the tug of war on our heads (cheers), and their speeches were even drivellinger than Trim’s and Sarah’s. (Interruption.) Just at the end a howling sneak and cad and outsider called Jarman came, and lagged us all, including Tempest. (Groans.) Our president behaved like a mutton-head throughout. Going home, the Philosophers led by several miles. The meeting then adjourned for extra drill in the gym. to-day, and mean to pay Jarman out.” (Cheers.)The patriotic sentiment with which the minutes concluded did away with any little difference arising earlier is the evening, and they were carried unanimously.It was then moved, seconded, thirded, fourthed, and fifthed, “that Jarman be, and is hereby, hung, and ought to be kicked.”It was further agreed, “that Tempest be elected an Honorary Philosopher, and be let off entrance fee.”Also, “that the town cads are about the biggest outsiders going.”Also, “that Trimble be requested to wash his face.”This last was not carried without some opposition, Trimble’s amendment, “that you be hung,” being lost only by a narrow minority. Finally it was resolved unanimously—“That the Philosophers’ Conversation Club make it hot all round for any one who doesn’t want to kick Jarman or back up Tempest.”With which highly satisfactory piece of business accomplished, we adjourned to our own studies, and finally to bed.

Mr Jarman must have felt flattered at the gloomy dead silence which fell on Philosophers and Urbans alike as we looked round and saw him. It was of course impossible to believe he had found us by accident, still less that he had come with any friendly purpose.

He advanced into the middle of the Bottom, watch in hand.

“This is contrary to rules,” said he. “It is now a quarter-past six, and you are half an hour from Low Heath. In addition to which I have already said that fireworks are only to be had with leave. Tempest, you should have put an end to this. You will kindly send me in the name of every boy here. And each of you boys must attend an extra drill to-morrow and write out one hundred lines—except,” added he, catching sight of me, “except Jones iv., whom I have already had to punish, and who must write two hundred lines.”

It was a study to watch Tempest’s face during this speech. It was all he could do to wait to the end.

“It’s not fair,” said he, with pale cheeks and angry brow. “It’s a half-holiday, and boys always get half an hour’s grace.”

“That is not the rule,” said the master.

“It’s the practice, sir. Half these boys are in my house, and I have given them leave to stay. I also allowed the fireworks.”

“Tempest, we will speak of this presently—”

“No, sir,” blurted out Tempest, “the fellows have done nothing wrong; and if they have, I’m responsible to Dr England about it.”

Mr Jarman was not the man to give himself away in a public discussion, and coolly walked off, observing—

“I shall expect the list of names to-night, Tempest.”

Tempest’s reply was a short, defiant laugh, which made the master turn a moment, as if about to notice it. But he departed silently, and left us to recover as well as we could from the surprise of the whole scene.

The general opinion was that the policeman had met his match at last in Tempest; and the more enthusiastic of us tried to express our feelings in words. But Tempest was by no means inclined to discuss the situation.

“Shut up,” he replied angrily, when I ventured to applaud his courage. “Cut back to school at once, and don’t speak to me.”

This was a blow to some of the party, who had calculated on a general revolt, to be headed by the rock of Sharpe’s house in person, and celebrated by general orgies on the spot.

“I sha’n’t do my lines, shall you?” said Dicky, as we trotted down to the boats.

“Rather not. And I don’t think our chaps will turn up for extra drill.”

“Just like old Tempest,” said Brown. “He enjoys a row of this kind.”

“He didn’t look as if he did,” remarked I. “Perhaps that was because such a lot of day chaps are mixed up in it.”

Brown looked a little glum at this.

“He needn’t bother about us unless he likes,” said he. “We can take care of ourselves, I fancy.”

Luckily at this stage we reached the boats, and further discussion was interrupted.

The voyage home was comparatively uneventful. It was of course enlivened by a desultory race with the Urbans all the way, in which, I regret to say, Mr Jorrocks’s boats received a few scratches, owing to the desire of each boat to take the water of its opponent before it was clear ahead. The town-boys unrighteously claimed in the end to have won by a quarter of a length, but as in passing our leader they had pulled away one of our bow oars and further turned the nose of theSarahinto the bank, we stoutly resisted their claim, and a very lively argument ensued, in which Mr Jorrocks lost a good deal of varnish, and most of the combatants became rather wet. However, we were back in school within half an hour of embarking, which on the whole was not a bad record.

Curiosity to know what Tempest would do prevented us from so much as thinking of our “lines.” I took an early opportunity of presenting myself in Pridgin’s study, feeling sure I should be likely to hear something of the matter there.

As it happened, Tempest and Wales were there too, in deep confabulation.

“Look here, old chap,” Pridgin was saying, “don’t spoil your term for a parcel of yelping young puppies like this kid here and his lot. They’re not worth it.”

“For all that,” said Wales, “it’s a question of whether the cock of a house is to be allowed his rights or not.”

“It’s more a question whether Jarman is to be allowed his rights,” said Tempest. “I quite agree that these young muffs are a nuisance, and it’s all the more aggravating to be dragged into a mess by them. But he’d no right to interfere.”

“Strictly speaking, I suppose he was right,” said Pridgin. “There is a rule about juniors being in by 6:30; although every one knows half an hour’s grace is given on half-holidays. And I suppose he’s right about the fireworks.”

“You think I ought to cave in?” asked Tempest.

“I don’t say that. But I’d let the matter alone.”

“We shall never stop Jarman at that rate,” said Wales. “I should say fight it out.”

“All very well for you and me,” said Pridgin, “who are comfortably out of it. But it means a big job for old Tempest. He’ll have to bear the brunt of it.”

“I can’t well drop it when he’s told me to give him a list of the youngsters present,” said Tempest.

“You certainly are not called upon to give him a list of the day boys.”

“Well, as I only know one of them, it wouldn’t be easy. If he’d only lagged me, and given me extra drill and lines, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was playing it low down to—”

Here came a knock at the door, and the school messenger entered with a letter.

“No answer,” said he, handing it to Tempest.

It was plain to see by the flush on Tempest’s face as he read it that it contained anything but pleasant news.

“It’s from Jarman,” said he, throwing it down on the table.

Wales took it up and read it.

“Mr Jarman informs Tempest that the list of names required in connection with this afternoon’s incident will not be required, as Mr Jarman already has it. Tempest will please attend the extra drill with the other boys of his house to-morrow, as his conduct this afternoon was neither respectful nor a good example to others.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Pridgin, rising, for a wonder, out of his chair; “that’s a nasty one, if you like. He’s taken you at your word, old man. Who’s given the list of names? Did you, you young sweep?” he demanded of me.

“Oh no,” said I, glad to be recognised under any term of endearment. “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. But I’ll tell you what I think.”

“Really, Jones iv., it’s nice to know you do think; but, if you don’t mind, we would rather not hear. If youknowanything, let us hear it, but spare us your thoughts.”

Pridgin was rather crushing sometimes.

“I meant we were marked off by the porter at the lodge as we came in,” said I. “Perhaps that’s how he’s got the names.”

“Evidently,” said Pridgin, “he’s had you for once. Tempest. He guessed there’d be a bother about the list, and he has taken the wind out of your sails. You’ll attend extra drill, of course.”

“Certainly.”

“So that,” said Wales, “all you will score by the affair will be a public disgrace before the juniors.”

Tempest’s half dismal, half wrathful face was answer enough.

“Wesha’n’t consider it a disgrace,” said I.

“Thank you very much, Jones iv. If that is so, we shall feel it was worth living for to have your approbation. Now you had better go and write out your lines.”

“What?” said I. “I thought we were none of us going to do that.”

“I have warned you once against the perils of thinking. It’s a bad habit for little boys. Off you go, or you won’t get yourpoenadone in time.”

“What am I to tell the others?” I inquired.

“You may tell them it’s a fine evening. Cut—do you hear?”

It was a great come-down. The Philosophers thought so when I reported the case. Some were inclined to be angry with Tempest, others to pity him; and every one was unanimous, I do not know why, in expressing a burning desire to kick me.

The expectation of a general revolt, headed by Tempest in person, and reinforced by the Urbans, faded dismally away as the company saw itself going down to “knock off” Mr Jarman’s lines.

“This comes,” said Langrish, rather illogically, I thought, “of getting mixed up with the day-boy cads. I knew it would land us in a mess, and so it has.”

“Anyway, they’re in the mess too,” said Trimble.

“It’s a little rough on Tempest having to show up for them as well as for us,” said I.

“Shut up, and let a fellow write his lines, can’t you?” growled Coxhead. “When we want Sarah’s advice we’ll ask for it.”

The reader will gather from this that the Philosophers were in bad tempers, and that their president was in imminent danger of losing his.

At noon next day, when most of the school was turning out after morning class into the fields, a melancholy band might have been seen dropping in, in irregular order, at the door of the school gymnasium. All except one were juniors. Some looked as if they were used to the thing, other betrayed the shy and self-conscious embarrassment of the first delinquents. None looked cheerful, not a few looked savage. The exception in point of age was a well set-up, square-shouldered, proud-faced senior, who entered with an air of reckless disgust which was not comfortable to look at, and might be dangerous if provoked. None of us spoke to Tempest, and he vouchsafed no sign of recognition of us.

A squad of the school volunteers, chiefly composed of smart boys from Mr Selkirk’s house, were concluding drill as we entered, and of course took stock of our dejected looks and of Tempest’s unwonted appearance as they filed out.

“A row on, eh?” whispered one, as he passed us.

“It doesn’t look like fun, does it?” snarled Langrish.

“Where does Tempest come in?” persisted the inquirer.

“By the door; and the sooner you get out by it the better.”

“Ha, ha!—poor little naughty boys. An extra drill will do you good. Come on, you chaps. Let’s leave them to enjoy themselves. They’ll get used to it in time. Ho, ho!”

“Fall in!” called Mr Jarman.

And painfully conscious not only that a few of the volunteers were hanging about to look on, but that the school porter was at the moment conducting a party of visitors through the building, we obeyed listlessly and dismally. Tempest taking his place at the end of the line.

“Are these some of the volunteers?” we heard one of the lady spectators ask.

“No, madam. This is an extra drill for breach of rules,” replied the official.

“Number from the right,” cried Mr Jarman.

We numbered.

“Answer to your names,” said the discipline master, producing a paper. We could not help noticing that Tempest’s name was mixed in along with ours, and that no difference was made on account of his age or status. We were then formed into double rank, and fours, and open order, and put through a hideous series of extension exercises, irksome enough at any time, but under present circumstances specially so. I heard Dicky Brown beside me groan as he stood leaning over with his left knee bent, his right leg stretched out behind, and his two arms doubled up at his side.

“I wonder they don’t all kick,” he whispered.

“Not easy like this,” said I.

“How Tempest must be enjoying it!” Dick murmured.

“Poor beggar! it’s a nasty dose for him.”

But if Mr Jarman counted on any protest or resistance from his senior victim, he was disappointed. Tempest went patiently and impassively through the drill with the rest of us; but, as we could see, with a blazing eye fixed all the while on the master. But I could guess the struggle that was going on in my friend’s breast. Mr Jarman may have flattered himself he was “taking it out of him”, Dicky and I knew better.

We all took our cue from Tempest that morning, and any inclination to rebel or mutiny was suppressed. We contented ourselves with glaring at our tormentor, and denying him the excuse he probably desired of prolonging the agony. My impression is that Mr Jarman was never so happy as when he realised that he was absolute master of the situation. The Roman emperors were not in it with him.

“Attention! Front!” said he at last, when the proceedings were becoming dull even to him. “Stand at ease! Attention! Stand at ease! Attention! Left turn! Dismiss! As you were! Dismiss!”

It was a prolonged insult, and we knew it. But Tempest stood it, and so, consequently, did we. But as we filed from the place we felt that Mr Jarman’s turn would come some day.

Tempest, contrary to general expectation, evinced no haste to leave the scene of his tribulation. There was yet a quarter of an hour to next bell, and this he evidently decided to spend, as he had the right to do, where he was. Mr Jarman was evidently annoyed to find, not only that the senior was apparently unaffected by the humiliation through which he had passed, but that now the drill was over he evinced an entire unconcern in the master’s presence.

Tempest was one of the best gymnasts in the school, and it was always worth while to watch him on the trapeze and horizontal bar. So the Philosophers and Urbans, by one consent, trooped back into the gymnasium to look on, and (what must have been particularly annoying to the master, because he had no authority to stop it) to cheer. How we did cheer, and what good it did us! Had Tempest been the meanest of performers, and done nothing but swing with his legs doubled up under him from one ring to the next, we should have applauded. But to-day his flights were terrific. No fellow was less given to show off, and he probably objected to our applause as much as Mr Jarman. But he was bound to relieve his feelings somehow, and the trapeze was just what he wanted.

When finally the bell rang, and we were hoarse with cheering (which was our way of relieving our feelings) he came to earth decidedly better for his exercise.

Mr Jarman evidently was impressed, and, to our surprise, even ventured on a compliment.

“You did that well, Tempest.”

Tempest’s reply was to walk away, putting on his coat as he went.

It was plain to see by the angry twitch of Mr Jarman’s mouth that the shaft of this public snub had gone home, and we who looked on and witnessed it all had little need to tell ourselves that civil war had already been declared.

It is hardly necessary to state that the extraordinary meeting of the Conversation Club that evening was lively, and that there was no lack of a topic. Besides our own contingent, a few of the outsiders, including Muskett and Corderoy from Selkirk’s house, and a few of the “paupers,” dropped in. As the faggery would only conveniently hold six persons, and as at least twenty were present, it was considered advisable to adjourn to the shoe-room, where, in the dim light of a small candle, several particularly revolutionary motions were discussed, the company sitting on the floor for the purpose.

The meeting opened by my calling on Langrish to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.

“The inaugural picnic of the Ph.C.C. was held the other day. Present, all the usual lot and seven paupers. The president had chartered theSarahandFirefly, two of the vilest crocks at Jorrocks’s.”

“He said they were the best they had got,” I explained.

“Shut up, or you’ll be kicked out, young Sarah.”

“I’ve a right to speak.”

“No, you haven’t—unless you hold your tongue.”

“If I held my tongue, I couldn’t possibly speak,” I explained.

“Turn him out!” cried the paupers. Whereat I subsided.

“The paupers,” continued the minutes, “had beastly little go in them, and ought to have had a meal of hay before starting (interruption), and will be badly kicked if they don’t shut up. TheFireflyhad the best of the race up.” (Here there were most indignant protests from the crew of the gallantSarah; and the question was argued out with some energy on the floor of the shoe-room before Langrish could proceed.)

“Nature was dressed in her most pristine colours, and the incandescent hues of the autumn leaves brought cries of enjoyment out of the mouths of the Ph.C.C, except the paupers, whose mouths were too full for utterance.”

This paragraph was not likely to pass unchallenged. Coxhead impeached its grammar, Trimble its taste, and the paupers its accuracy, and a very heated argument ensued, at the end of which it was agreed to let the door stand open a few minutes to get rid of the dust.

“Arrived at Camp Hill, a flock of jibbering apes were discovered, headed by the president’s arch-enemy. Brown iii.”

“No, he’s not my enemy,” protested I. “I never said so.”

“The minutes say so. They’re more likely to be right than you.”

“But I like Dicky Brown,” said I.

“That sounds like poetry,” said Warminster, “ho, ho!

“I like Dicky Brown,His cheek is so cool,And if I don’t kick himYou call me a fool.”

“I like Dicky Brown,His cheek is so cool,And if I don’t kick himYou call me a fool.”

“I can do that whether you kick him or not,” said I, quite unmoved by this brilliant impromptu.

Here I was compelled to vacate the chair for a few moments, in order to discuss the matter further with Warminster. On order being restored, the minutes proceeded—

“The Philosophers soon made it too hot for these mules, and they were only allowed to stay on the ground as it amused us to see their idiotic sniggers. The paper on ‘Beauty’ was rot, and invoked well-deserved hisses.”

“Say that again,” ejaculated the outraged Trimble.

“That! there you are,” said Langrish hurriedly. But Trimble had more to say on the subject, and once again the meeting became warm and dusty.

“Order, please; let’s hear the rest,” said I, when both had been brushed down by their friends.

“As for Sarah’s speech in reply, it was the drivellingest balderdash you ever heard. It made the club blush.”

“That speaks well for it,” I suggested mildly.

The meeting did not seem to know how exactly to take this, but concluded it was meant to be complimentary, and contented themselves with ordering me to “shut up” if I didn’t want to be kicked out.

“Tempest (loud cheers) turned up presently and backed us up (cheers). The baboons weren’t in it in the sports. We pulled off the tug of war on our heads (cheers), and their speeches were even drivellinger than Trim’s and Sarah’s. (Interruption.) Just at the end a howling sneak and cad and outsider called Jarman came, and lagged us all, including Tempest. (Groans.) Our president behaved like a mutton-head throughout. Going home, the Philosophers led by several miles. The meeting then adjourned for extra drill in the gym. to-day, and mean to pay Jarman out.” (Cheers.)

The patriotic sentiment with which the minutes concluded did away with any little difference arising earlier is the evening, and they were carried unanimously.

It was then moved, seconded, thirded, fourthed, and fifthed, “that Jarman be, and is hereby, hung, and ought to be kicked.”

It was further agreed, “that Tempest be elected an Honorary Philosopher, and be let off entrance fee.”

Also, “that the town cads are about the biggest outsiders going.”

Also, “that Trimble be requested to wash his face.”

This last was not carried without some opposition, Trimble’s amendment, “that you be hung,” being lost only by a narrow minority. Finally it was resolved unanimously—

“That the Philosophers’ Conversation Club make it hot all round for any one who doesn’t want to kick Jarman or back up Tempest.”

With which highly satisfactory piece of business accomplished, we adjourned to our own studies, and finally to bed.

Chapter Fifteen.Explosive Material.It was plain to be seen that Tempest, although he had borne his humiliating penalty like a man, had been badly bruised by it. Not that he broke out into any wild rebellion, or tried to make for himself a party to avenge his wrongs; but he seemed to have either lost interest in his work as house captain, or to enjoy disturbing the sensibilities of his friends by a reckless indifference to its affairs.The story of his “extra drill” had become public property in Low Heath. Most of the fellows sympathised with him, but could not understand why he had not appealed to the head master. A few, a very few, suggested that he had come badly out of the business; but no one particularly cared to discuss the matter with him.To Pridgin and Wales he insisted that it was no use referring to Dr England. The Head was bound to support his policeman.“Why not get Redwood to take it up?” suggested Pridgin.“Redwood! He wouldn’t go a yard out of his way. What does it matter to him—a day boy? No, old chap, we can take care of ourselves. There’ll be a return match one day!”It concerned me to hear my old friend talk like this; still more to notice how he began to lose grip in Sharpe’s house. No news flies so fast in a school as that of a responsible head boy being slack or “out of collar.” And when once it is known and admitted, it takes a good deal to keep the house from going slack and “out of collar” too.In our particular department the relaxing of authority was specially apparent. It destroyed some of the interest in our philosophical extravagances; for the dread of coming across the powers that be lends a certain flavour to the routine of a junior boy. It also tended to substitute horseplay and rowdyism for mere fun—greatly to the detriment of our self-respect and enjoyment.On the whole, then, Sharpe’s house had a heavier grudge against Mr Jarman than it suspected.The worst of the whole business was that Tempest himself seemed not to see the effect of his attitude on the house at large. He did not realise how much the juniors were impressed by what he said and how he looked, or how much his example counted with others of a less imitative turn. He looked upon his grievance as his own affair, and failed to give himself credit for all the influence he really possessed.One curious result of the upset was that Crofter was now and then to be found in his fellow-seniors’ rooms. He had blossomed out as an ardent anti-Jarmanite, and belonged to the party who not only vowed revenge, but was impatient at delay. Tempest’s wrongs he seemed to feel as keenly as if they had been his own; and the insults put upon Sharpe’s house he took to heart as warmly as any one.Tempest could hardly help tolerating this effusively-offered sympathy, although he made no profession of liking it, and continued to warn me against having more to do than I could help with Crofter. Pridgin was even less cordial, but his laziness prevented his taking any active steps to cut the connection. Wales, on the other hand, though Tempest’s chum, took more kindly to the new-comer, and amused himself now and again by defending him against his detractors.“The wonder to me is,” said Crofter, “Jarman has not caught it before now. We’re not the only house he’s insulted, although I don’t think he’s tried it on with any of the others as he has with us.”“Some day he’ll find he’s sailing a little too near the wind,” said Tempest, with a pleasant confusion of metaphors; “and then he’ll get bowled out.”“Upon my word, though,” said Wales, “I think we’ve a right to get that extra drill of yours wiped out. It stands against you on the register, and it’s a scandal to the house.”“They seem to think it so,” observed Pridgin, as just then a loud chorus of war-whoops came up from the region of the faggery. “Somebody had better stop that row!”“Jarman had better come and do it,” said Tempest, laughing. “He’s got charge of the morals of Sharpe’s house now.”When in due time I returned, somewhat depressed by what I had overheard, to the faggery, I discovered that the particular occasion of the triumphal shout referred to had been a proposal by Langrish to celebrate the approaching Fifth of November by hanging, and, if possible, burning Mr Jarman in effigy, for which purpose an overcoat of mine had already been impounded. I had the greatest difficulty in rescuing it from the hands of the marauders, who represented to me that it was my duty to sacrifice something for the public good.“Why don’t you let them haveyourcoat, then?” I asked.“Because,” was the insinuating reply, “it wouldn’t burn as well.”“You won’t have mine,” I insisted. “But I tell you what; I’ve got an old hat and pair of boots I—I don’t often wear—you can have them.”A shout of laughter greeted this ingenuous offer—but it saved my top-coat. And when in time my flat-topped pot-hat and tan boots were produced, there was general rejoicing. Each Philosopher present tried them on in turn, and finally I was compelled to wear them, as well as my top-coat, for the rest of the evening, and assist in a full-dress rehearsal of the proposed hanging of the discipline master, in which, greatly to my inconvenience, I was made to personate Mr Jarman.The following day I was enjoying a little hard-earned solitude, and amusing myself by leaning over the bridge and watching the boats below, when a voice at my side startled me.“Ah, my polite letter-writer, is that you? The very chap I want.”It was Crofter. My instinct at first, especially on the sly reference to my letter of apology, was to fly. On second thoughts it seemed to me wiser to remain. Crofter and Tempest were on better terms now. It would be best to be civil.“What is it?” I asked.“Can you steer a boat?”“A little,” said I.“Does that mean you can run it into the bank every few yards?”“Oh no, I’ve often steered Tempest and Pridgin.”“Come along, then; I’m going to have a spin up to Middle-weir.”If there was one thing I enjoyed it was steering a boat, and I was not long in accepting the invitation.Crofter was not conferring a favour on me; only making a convenience of me. So that I was not in any way making up to him. Our relations were that of senior and fag only; and Tempest’s and Pridgin’s warnings to beware when he was particularly friendly (even if it had not already been cancelled by the fact that they now frequently had Crofter in their rooms) could hardly apply now.For all that, I did not feel quite comfortable, and was glad, on the whole, that the embarkation did not take place under the eyes of my patrons.For some time Crofter sculled on in silence, giving me directions now and again to keep in the stream, or take the boat well out at the corners—which I considered superfluous. Presently, however, when we were clear of Low Heath he slacked off and began to talk.“I enjoyed that letter of yours,” said he; “did you write it all yourself?”“Yes,” said I, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.“You and Tempest must be quite old chums.”“Yes.”“It’s very rough on him, all this business.”“Yes, isn’t it?” said I, somewhat won over by this admission.“The worst of it is, it makes the house run down. I expected we were going to do big things this term.”“It’s not Tempest’s fault if we don’t,” said I.“Of course not. It’s Jarman’s. Every one knows that. It’s rather a pity Tempest takes it so meekly, though. Fellows will think he’s either afraid or doesn’t care; and neither would be true.”“I should think not.”There was a pause, during which Crofter sculled on. Then he said,—“Tempest and I don’t hit it, somehow. He doesn’t like me, does he?”“Well—no, I don’t fancy he does,” I admitted.“I dare say he advises you to fight shy of me, and that sort of thing, eh?”This was awkward; but I could not well get out of it.“Yes.”Crofter laughed sweetly.“I wish he’d let me be friends. I hate to see a fellow coming to grief, and not be allowed to give him a leg-up.”“Tempest’s not coming to grief,” said I.“Well, not perhaps that, only it’s a pity he’s adding to his other troubles by getting head-over-ears in debt. I hear he’s been going it pretty well in the shops. You should give him a friendly tip.”This was a revelation to me. I had gathered some time ago, from what Pridgin had said, that there was some fear of it; but I had hoped I had made a mistake.“Who told you?” said I.“A good many people are talking about it; including some of the shopmen. It’s just one of those things that a fellow himself never dreams anybody knows about till it’s public property. That’s why I wish I were on good enough terms to give him the tip.”“If he’s owing anybody he’ll pay,” said I, feeling a great sinking in my heart.“Look out for that stake in the water there; pull your left! Narrow shave that. Of course he means to pay. What I’m afraid of is, Jarman or England or any of them getting to hear of it. Ever since Sweeten last year got turned out of the headship of his house, and afterwards expelled, it’s seemed to me to be a risky thing for a fellow to run into debt. These shopmen are such sneaks. If they can’t get their money from the fellow, they send their bills in to the house master, and sometimes to the head master; and then it’s a precious awkward thing. How are you getting on in your form?”I had not much spirit to tell him, and if I had there was no time, for just then the swish of a pair of sculls came round the corner behind us, and presently a boat at almost racing speed appeared in sight.“Pull your right!” said Crofter. “Hallo! it’s one of our fellows. Looks like Tempest himself.”I wished myself at the bottom of the river then! What would he think of me if he saw me, and if he knew what I had been listening to?In my perturbation I over-pulled my line and sent our boat into the bank. Tempest, who evidently was relieving himself with a spin of hard exercise after his fashion, and imagined he had the river to himself, was bearing down straight upon us.“Hallo, there; keep her out!” shouted Crofter.Tempest looked round in a startled way, and held water hard to avoid a collision. Then, as he suddenly took in who we were, his face lengthened, and he came to a halt alongside.“You there, Jones iv.?”“Yes, would you like me to come and steer you?” said I.Considering the difficulty into which I had just landed my present boat, it was difficult to flatter myself any one would exactly compete for my services. But Tempest answered shortly,—“Come along.”“Hullo, I say,” said Crofter suavely, but with a flush on his cheeks, “he’s steering me, Tempest.”“He’s doing no good. He’s stuck you in the bank already. Come along, Jones.”“I haven’t done with him yet,” said Crofter, flushing still more deeply as his voice became sweeter. “I want him to stay with me.”“And I don’t want him to stay with you,” blurted out Tempest, losing his temper. “I’ve told him so already. He can do as he likes, though.”And he began to dip his sculls again in the water.“No,” said I, “I want to come in your boat, Tempest.”“Come along, then;” and he backed his stern up towards me.Crofter made no further protest; but greeted my desertion with a mellifluous laugh, which made me more uncomfortable than a storm of objurgations.Tempest said nothing, but dug his blades viciously in the water, and spun away with grim face and clenched teeth.For a quarter of a mile he sculled on before he lay on his oars and exclaimed,—“You young fool!”“Why,” pleaded I, “I didn’t think you’d mind. He’s been friendly enough to you lately.”“Bah! What do I care what he is to me? I told you to fight shy of the fellow, and there you go and give yourself away to him.”I did not quite like this. Tempest spoke to me as if I had not a soul of my own, and had no right to do anything without his leave.“He was speaking quite kindly about you,” persisted I.Tempest checked the contemptuous exclamation which came to his lips, and said, more earnestly than I had heard him yet,—“Look here, Jones; that fellow’s a cad; and he’ll make a cad of you, if you let him. Don’t believe a word he says to you, unless he calls you a fool.”“I hope what he’s been saying to-day will turn out to be Lies,” said I oracularly.To my disappointment Tempest evinced no curiosity as to my meaning, and relapsed into gloomy silence for the rest of the voyage.For the first time in my life I felt out of humour with my old Dux. He had no right to treat me like a baby, or dictate to me whom I was to know and whom I was not to know in Low Heath. No doubt he thought he was doing me a good turn, and honestly thought ill of Crofter. But it did not follow he was not doing him an injustice, and demanding that I should join in it.At any rate, I felt heartily miserable, and wished I had never put foot outside the faggery that day.About a mile from home Tempest got out on the towing-path, and said he would trot to the school while I paddled the boat home. It was some relief to be left alone; a relief, however, which was considerably tempered by the fear of meeting Crofter, and having to explain matters to him. That difficulty fortunately did not occur, and I got back to the bosom of the Philosophers without further adventure.In their sweet society I gradually recovered my spirits. Their enthusiasm for Tempest was still unabated, and their avowed contempt for his enemies all the world over was refreshing. A night’s reflection further repaired my loyalty. After all, thought I, Tempest meant well by me, and was willing to make an enemy for my sake. He might be wrong, of course; but suppose hewasright—The result of all these inward musings was that I offered Trimble to do Tempest’s fagging in his place next morning.He seemed half to expect me, and the old friendly look was back in his face as he saw me enter.“I’m sorry I offended you yesterday, Tempest,” said I.“I fancied it was I offended you,” said he; “but I couldn’t stand seeing you in that cad’s clutches.”“Is he really a cad, then?” I asked.“You don’t suppose I asked you into my boat for fun, do you?” said he shortly.I went on for some time with my work, and then said,—“Would you like to know what he was saying about you?”“Not a bit,” said he, so decisively that I relapsed again into silence.“Look here, kid,” said he, presently, and with unwonted seriousness. “I’m not a saint, and don’t profess to be. And I may not be able to manage my own affairs, to judge by what you and half a dozen other of the fellows seem to think; but I don’t want to see you—well, come to grief—and that’s what you’re likely to do if you let that fellow get hold of you.”“He’s not got hold of me,” said I, feeling a little hurt once more. “Mayn’t I be civil to a fellow, even? Why, he was saying if you—”“Shut up! didn’t I tell you I don’t want to hear?” said he.“Oh, all right.”If he had only vouchsafed to tell me why he disliked Crofter, or if he had given his counsel in a less authoritative way, it would have been different. He would not even let me repeat the friendly remarks Crofter had made about him; and was determined neither to say a good word for the fellow himself, nor let me say one.The consequence was that our interview ended in my wishing once more I had confined myself to my own quarters and let ill alone.My companions were not long in discovering that something was on my mind, and in their gentle way tried to cheer me up.“What’s the row—ear-ache?” demanded Trimble.“He’s blue because he’s not had lines to-day,” suggested Langrish.“Perhaps his washerwoman has sent in her bill,” said Coxhead.“You’ll get kicked out of here, if you look so jolly blue,” said Warminster. “It’s stale enough this term, without having a chap with a face like a boiled fish gaping at you.”“Look here,” said I, resolved to be candid as far as I dare. “I’m in a jolly mess—”“Never knew you out of it. What’s up?” said Langrish.“Really though, no larks,” said I. “Tempest’s down on me because I went out with Crofter, and Crofter’s down on me because I cut him for Tempest. That’s enough to give a chap blues, isn’t it?”“There seems to be a run on Sarah,” said Trimble. “Anybody got a halfpenny?”“What for?” I inquired, as the requisite coin was planked down on the table.“Heads Tempest, tails Crofter,” said Langrish.It was heads, and I was solemnly ordered to adhere to Crofter.“We’ll square it with Tempest,” said they. “He’ll probably keep his shutters up for a day or two, but he’ll soon get over it.”“But,” said I, “I mean to stick to Tempest as well. The fact is, from what I hear,”—little I realised the fatal error I was making!—“he’s in rather a bad way himself.”“How?”“Well, don’t tell; but he’s owing a lot in the shops; and if he can’t pay he’ll get shown up.”There was a whistle of dismay at this. Sweeten’s fate was still fresh in the memory of some of the faggery.“We’ll have to give him a leg-up,” was the general verdict.“Oh, don’t let out I told you!” said I, beginning to get alarmed at the interest my revelation had evoked.“Who’s going to say a word about you? We can back up the cock of our own house, I suppose, without asking your precious leave. You go and black Crofter’s boots. We’ll see old Tempest through.”This was not at all what I wanted. I had at least hoped to be recognised as Tempest’s leading champion in this company. Whereas, here was I coolly shunted, my revelation coolly appropriated, and my services unceremoniously dispensed with. I did not like it at all.“This dodge about stringing up Jarman’s guy,” said Trimble, “ought to help our man a bit. It’ll show we’re taking the matter up. By the way, Sarah’s not heard the latest—we’re going to blow him up as well as hang him.”And they proceeded to explain that the guy was to be filled chock-full of fireworks and gunpowder, and his tongue to be made of touch-paper. Altogether, he was to be a most dangerous and explosive effigy; and I, as president of the Philosophical Conversation Club, was naturally selected to take charge of him.I pleaded hard for a sub-committee to assist me, but they would not hear of it.“It’ll only be a day or two,” said they, “to the Fifth of November. We’ll have his stuffing all in to-morrow—there’s almost enough fireworks left over from the picnic to load him. Then you can stow him away quiet somewhere till the day. Couldn’t you stick him under your bed?”“Oh no, he might go off, you know,” said I; “or some one might see him. Besides, he’ll be too stout to go under.”“Bother!—where can he go, then?”“I vote we stick him in the lumber room under the gymnasium. Nobody ever goes there, and you can get into it any time by the area outside,” said Coxhead.This was voted an excellent idea. At any rate, if he was discovered or did go off there, the gymnasium was far enough away from Sharpe’s.So, with much rejoicing, the guy was duly loaded with his explosive internals, and clad in an old derelict overcoat of some late senior. My famous hat adorned his hideous head, and my unappreciated tan boots lent distinction to his somewhat incoherent legs. A train of touch-paper connected with a Roman candle was cunningly devised to protrude in the form of a tongue from his mouth, while ginger-beer bottles filled with gunpowder served as hands. And the whole work of art was one dark evening conveyed by me tenderly and deposited among a wilderness of broken forms, empty hampers, and old bottles in the lumber room under the school gymnasium, “to be called for” in a few days time.

It was plain to be seen that Tempest, although he had borne his humiliating penalty like a man, had been badly bruised by it. Not that he broke out into any wild rebellion, or tried to make for himself a party to avenge his wrongs; but he seemed to have either lost interest in his work as house captain, or to enjoy disturbing the sensibilities of his friends by a reckless indifference to its affairs.

The story of his “extra drill” had become public property in Low Heath. Most of the fellows sympathised with him, but could not understand why he had not appealed to the head master. A few, a very few, suggested that he had come badly out of the business; but no one particularly cared to discuss the matter with him.

To Pridgin and Wales he insisted that it was no use referring to Dr England. The Head was bound to support his policeman.

“Why not get Redwood to take it up?” suggested Pridgin.

“Redwood! He wouldn’t go a yard out of his way. What does it matter to him—a day boy? No, old chap, we can take care of ourselves. There’ll be a return match one day!”

It concerned me to hear my old friend talk like this; still more to notice how he began to lose grip in Sharpe’s house. No news flies so fast in a school as that of a responsible head boy being slack or “out of collar.” And when once it is known and admitted, it takes a good deal to keep the house from going slack and “out of collar” too.

In our particular department the relaxing of authority was specially apparent. It destroyed some of the interest in our philosophical extravagances; for the dread of coming across the powers that be lends a certain flavour to the routine of a junior boy. It also tended to substitute horseplay and rowdyism for mere fun—greatly to the detriment of our self-respect and enjoyment.

On the whole, then, Sharpe’s house had a heavier grudge against Mr Jarman than it suspected.

The worst of the whole business was that Tempest himself seemed not to see the effect of his attitude on the house at large. He did not realise how much the juniors were impressed by what he said and how he looked, or how much his example counted with others of a less imitative turn. He looked upon his grievance as his own affair, and failed to give himself credit for all the influence he really possessed.

One curious result of the upset was that Crofter was now and then to be found in his fellow-seniors’ rooms. He had blossomed out as an ardent anti-Jarmanite, and belonged to the party who not only vowed revenge, but was impatient at delay. Tempest’s wrongs he seemed to feel as keenly as if they had been his own; and the insults put upon Sharpe’s house he took to heart as warmly as any one.

Tempest could hardly help tolerating this effusively-offered sympathy, although he made no profession of liking it, and continued to warn me against having more to do than I could help with Crofter. Pridgin was even less cordial, but his laziness prevented his taking any active steps to cut the connection. Wales, on the other hand, though Tempest’s chum, took more kindly to the new-comer, and amused himself now and again by defending him against his detractors.

“The wonder to me is,” said Crofter, “Jarman has not caught it before now. We’re not the only house he’s insulted, although I don’t think he’s tried it on with any of the others as he has with us.”

“Some day he’ll find he’s sailing a little too near the wind,” said Tempest, with a pleasant confusion of metaphors; “and then he’ll get bowled out.”

“Upon my word, though,” said Wales, “I think we’ve a right to get that extra drill of yours wiped out. It stands against you on the register, and it’s a scandal to the house.”

“They seem to think it so,” observed Pridgin, as just then a loud chorus of war-whoops came up from the region of the faggery. “Somebody had better stop that row!”

“Jarman had better come and do it,” said Tempest, laughing. “He’s got charge of the morals of Sharpe’s house now.”

When in due time I returned, somewhat depressed by what I had overheard, to the faggery, I discovered that the particular occasion of the triumphal shout referred to had been a proposal by Langrish to celebrate the approaching Fifth of November by hanging, and, if possible, burning Mr Jarman in effigy, for which purpose an overcoat of mine had already been impounded. I had the greatest difficulty in rescuing it from the hands of the marauders, who represented to me that it was my duty to sacrifice something for the public good.

“Why don’t you let them haveyourcoat, then?” I asked.

“Because,” was the insinuating reply, “it wouldn’t burn as well.”

“You won’t have mine,” I insisted. “But I tell you what; I’ve got an old hat and pair of boots I—I don’t often wear—you can have them.”

A shout of laughter greeted this ingenuous offer—but it saved my top-coat. And when in time my flat-topped pot-hat and tan boots were produced, there was general rejoicing. Each Philosopher present tried them on in turn, and finally I was compelled to wear them, as well as my top-coat, for the rest of the evening, and assist in a full-dress rehearsal of the proposed hanging of the discipline master, in which, greatly to my inconvenience, I was made to personate Mr Jarman.

The following day I was enjoying a little hard-earned solitude, and amusing myself by leaning over the bridge and watching the boats below, when a voice at my side startled me.

“Ah, my polite letter-writer, is that you? The very chap I want.”

It was Crofter. My instinct at first, especially on the sly reference to my letter of apology, was to fly. On second thoughts it seemed to me wiser to remain. Crofter and Tempest were on better terms now. It would be best to be civil.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Can you steer a boat?”

“A little,” said I.

“Does that mean you can run it into the bank every few yards?”

“Oh no, I’ve often steered Tempest and Pridgin.”

“Come along, then; I’m going to have a spin up to Middle-weir.”

If there was one thing I enjoyed it was steering a boat, and I was not long in accepting the invitation.

Crofter was not conferring a favour on me; only making a convenience of me. So that I was not in any way making up to him. Our relations were that of senior and fag only; and Tempest’s and Pridgin’s warnings to beware when he was particularly friendly (even if it had not already been cancelled by the fact that they now frequently had Crofter in their rooms) could hardly apply now.

For all that, I did not feel quite comfortable, and was glad, on the whole, that the embarkation did not take place under the eyes of my patrons.

For some time Crofter sculled on in silence, giving me directions now and again to keep in the stream, or take the boat well out at the corners—which I considered superfluous. Presently, however, when we were clear of Low Heath he slacked off and began to talk.

“I enjoyed that letter of yours,” said he; “did you write it all yourself?”

“Yes,” said I, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.

“You and Tempest must be quite old chums.”

“Yes.”

“It’s very rough on him, all this business.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” said I, somewhat won over by this admission.

“The worst of it is, it makes the house run down. I expected we were going to do big things this term.”

“It’s not Tempest’s fault if we don’t,” said I.

“Of course not. It’s Jarman’s. Every one knows that. It’s rather a pity Tempest takes it so meekly, though. Fellows will think he’s either afraid or doesn’t care; and neither would be true.”

“I should think not.”

There was a pause, during which Crofter sculled on. Then he said,—

“Tempest and I don’t hit it, somehow. He doesn’t like me, does he?”

“Well—no, I don’t fancy he does,” I admitted.

“I dare say he advises you to fight shy of me, and that sort of thing, eh?”

This was awkward; but I could not well get out of it.

“Yes.”

Crofter laughed sweetly.

“I wish he’d let me be friends. I hate to see a fellow coming to grief, and not be allowed to give him a leg-up.”

“Tempest’s not coming to grief,” said I.

“Well, not perhaps that, only it’s a pity he’s adding to his other troubles by getting head-over-ears in debt. I hear he’s been going it pretty well in the shops. You should give him a friendly tip.”

This was a revelation to me. I had gathered some time ago, from what Pridgin had said, that there was some fear of it; but I had hoped I had made a mistake.

“Who told you?” said I.

“A good many people are talking about it; including some of the shopmen. It’s just one of those things that a fellow himself never dreams anybody knows about till it’s public property. That’s why I wish I were on good enough terms to give him the tip.”

“If he’s owing anybody he’ll pay,” said I, feeling a great sinking in my heart.

“Look out for that stake in the water there; pull your left! Narrow shave that. Of course he means to pay. What I’m afraid of is, Jarman or England or any of them getting to hear of it. Ever since Sweeten last year got turned out of the headship of his house, and afterwards expelled, it’s seemed to me to be a risky thing for a fellow to run into debt. These shopmen are such sneaks. If they can’t get their money from the fellow, they send their bills in to the house master, and sometimes to the head master; and then it’s a precious awkward thing. How are you getting on in your form?”

I had not much spirit to tell him, and if I had there was no time, for just then the swish of a pair of sculls came round the corner behind us, and presently a boat at almost racing speed appeared in sight.

“Pull your right!” said Crofter. “Hallo! it’s one of our fellows. Looks like Tempest himself.”

I wished myself at the bottom of the river then! What would he think of me if he saw me, and if he knew what I had been listening to?

In my perturbation I over-pulled my line and sent our boat into the bank. Tempest, who evidently was relieving himself with a spin of hard exercise after his fashion, and imagined he had the river to himself, was bearing down straight upon us.

“Hallo, there; keep her out!” shouted Crofter.

Tempest looked round in a startled way, and held water hard to avoid a collision. Then, as he suddenly took in who we were, his face lengthened, and he came to a halt alongside.

“You there, Jones iv.?”

“Yes, would you like me to come and steer you?” said I.

Considering the difficulty into which I had just landed my present boat, it was difficult to flatter myself any one would exactly compete for my services. But Tempest answered shortly,—

“Come along.”

“Hullo, I say,” said Crofter suavely, but with a flush on his cheeks, “he’s steering me, Tempest.”

“He’s doing no good. He’s stuck you in the bank already. Come along, Jones.”

“I haven’t done with him yet,” said Crofter, flushing still more deeply as his voice became sweeter. “I want him to stay with me.”

“And I don’t want him to stay with you,” blurted out Tempest, losing his temper. “I’ve told him so already. He can do as he likes, though.”

And he began to dip his sculls again in the water.

“No,” said I, “I want to come in your boat, Tempest.”

“Come along, then;” and he backed his stern up towards me.

Crofter made no further protest; but greeted my desertion with a mellifluous laugh, which made me more uncomfortable than a storm of objurgations.

Tempest said nothing, but dug his blades viciously in the water, and spun away with grim face and clenched teeth.

For a quarter of a mile he sculled on before he lay on his oars and exclaimed,—

“You young fool!”

“Why,” pleaded I, “I didn’t think you’d mind. He’s been friendly enough to you lately.”

“Bah! What do I care what he is to me? I told you to fight shy of the fellow, and there you go and give yourself away to him.”

I did not quite like this. Tempest spoke to me as if I had not a soul of my own, and had no right to do anything without his leave.

“He was speaking quite kindly about you,” persisted I.

Tempest checked the contemptuous exclamation which came to his lips, and said, more earnestly than I had heard him yet,—

“Look here, Jones; that fellow’s a cad; and he’ll make a cad of you, if you let him. Don’t believe a word he says to you, unless he calls you a fool.”

“I hope what he’s been saying to-day will turn out to be Lies,” said I oracularly.

To my disappointment Tempest evinced no curiosity as to my meaning, and relapsed into gloomy silence for the rest of the voyage.

For the first time in my life I felt out of humour with my old Dux. He had no right to treat me like a baby, or dictate to me whom I was to know and whom I was not to know in Low Heath. No doubt he thought he was doing me a good turn, and honestly thought ill of Crofter. But it did not follow he was not doing him an injustice, and demanding that I should join in it.

At any rate, I felt heartily miserable, and wished I had never put foot outside the faggery that day.

About a mile from home Tempest got out on the towing-path, and said he would trot to the school while I paddled the boat home. It was some relief to be left alone; a relief, however, which was considerably tempered by the fear of meeting Crofter, and having to explain matters to him. That difficulty fortunately did not occur, and I got back to the bosom of the Philosophers without further adventure.

In their sweet society I gradually recovered my spirits. Their enthusiasm for Tempest was still unabated, and their avowed contempt for his enemies all the world over was refreshing. A night’s reflection further repaired my loyalty. After all, thought I, Tempest meant well by me, and was willing to make an enemy for my sake. He might be wrong, of course; but suppose hewasright—

The result of all these inward musings was that I offered Trimble to do Tempest’s fagging in his place next morning.

He seemed half to expect me, and the old friendly look was back in his face as he saw me enter.

“I’m sorry I offended you yesterday, Tempest,” said I.

“I fancied it was I offended you,” said he; “but I couldn’t stand seeing you in that cad’s clutches.”

“Is he really a cad, then?” I asked.

“You don’t suppose I asked you into my boat for fun, do you?” said he shortly.

I went on for some time with my work, and then said,—

“Would you like to know what he was saying about you?”

“Not a bit,” said he, so decisively that I relapsed again into silence.

“Look here, kid,” said he, presently, and with unwonted seriousness. “I’m not a saint, and don’t profess to be. And I may not be able to manage my own affairs, to judge by what you and half a dozen other of the fellows seem to think; but I don’t want to see you—well, come to grief—and that’s what you’re likely to do if you let that fellow get hold of you.”

“He’s not got hold of me,” said I, feeling a little hurt once more. “Mayn’t I be civil to a fellow, even? Why, he was saying if you—”

“Shut up! didn’t I tell you I don’t want to hear?” said he.

“Oh, all right.”

If he had only vouchsafed to tell me why he disliked Crofter, or if he had given his counsel in a less authoritative way, it would have been different. He would not even let me repeat the friendly remarks Crofter had made about him; and was determined neither to say a good word for the fellow himself, nor let me say one.

The consequence was that our interview ended in my wishing once more I had confined myself to my own quarters and let ill alone.

My companions were not long in discovering that something was on my mind, and in their gentle way tried to cheer me up.

“What’s the row—ear-ache?” demanded Trimble.

“He’s blue because he’s not had lines to-day,” suggested Langrish.

“Perhaps his washerwoman has sent in her bill,” said Coxhead.

“You’ll get kicked out of here, if you look so jolly blue,” said Warminster. “It’s stale enough this term, without having a chap with a face like a boiled fish gaping at you.”

“Look here,” said I, resolved to be candid as far as I dare. “I’m in a jolly mess—”

“Never knew you out of it. What’s up?” said Langrish.

“Really though, no larks,” said I. “Tempest’s down on me because I went out with Crofter, and Crofter’s down on me because I cut him for Tempest. That’s enough to give a chap blues, isn’t it?”

“There seems to be a run on Sarah,” said Trimble. “Anybody got a halfpenny?”

“What for?” I inquired, as the requisite coin was planked down on the table.

“Heads Tempest, tails Crofter,” said Langrish.

It was heads, and I was solemnly ordered to adhere to Crofter.

“We’ll square it with Tempest,” said they. “He’ll probably keep his shutters up for a day or two, but he’ll soon get over it.”

“But,” said I, “I mean to stick to Tempest as well. The fact is, from what I hear,”—little I realised the fatal error I was making!—“he’s in rather a bad way himself.”

“How?”

“Well, don’t tell; but he’s owing a lot in the shops; and if he can’t pay he’ll get shown up.”

There was a whistle of dismay at this. Sweeten’s fate was still fresh in the memory of some of the faggery.

“We’ll have to give him a leg-up,” was the general verdict.

“Oh, don’t let out I told you!” said I, beginning to get alarmed at the interest my revelation had evoked.

“Who’s going to say a word about you? We can back up the cock of our own house, I suppose, without asking your precious leave. You go and black Crofter’s boots. We’ll see old Tempest through.”

This was not at all what I wanted. I had at least hoped to be recognised as Tempest’s leading champion in this company. Whereas, here was I coolly shunted, my revelation coolly appropriated, and my services unceremoniously dispensed with. I did not like it at all.

“This dodge about stringing up Jarman’s guy,” said Trimble, “ought to help our man a bit. It’ll show we’re taking the matter up. By the way, Sarah’s not heard the latest—we’re going to blow him up as well as hang him.”

And they proceeded to explain that the guy was to be filled chock-full of fireworks and gunpowder, and his tongue to be made of touch-paper. Altogether, he was to be a most dangerous and explosive effigy; and I, as president of the Philosophical Conversation Club, was naturally selected to take charge of him.

I pleaded hard for a sub-committee to assist me, but they would not hear of it.

“It’ll only be a day or two,” said they, “to the Fifth of November. We’ll have his stuffing all in to-morrow—there’s almost enough fireworks left over from the picnic to load him. Then you can stow him away quiet somewhere till the day. Couldn’t you stick him under your bed?”

“Oh no, he might go off, you know,” said I; “or some one might see him. Besides, he’ll be too stout to go under.”

“Bother!—where can he go, then?”

“I vote we stick him in the lumber room under the gymnasium. Nobody ever goes there, and you can get into it any time by the area outside,” said Coxhead.

This was voted an excellent idea. At any rate, if he was discovered or did go off there, the gymnasium was far enough away from Sharpe’s.

So, with much rejoicing, the guy was duly loaded with his explosive internals, and clad in an old derelict overcoat of some late senior. My famous hat adorned his hideous head, and my unappreciated tan boots lent distinction to his somewhat incoherent legs. A train of touch-paper connected with a Roman candle was cunningly devised to protrude in the form of a tongue from his mouth, while ginger-beer bottles filled with gunpowder served as hands. And the whole work of art was one dark evening conveyed by me tenderly and deposited among a wilderness of broken forms, empty hampers, and old bottles in the lumber room under the school gymnasium, “to be called for” in a few days time.

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