STRIFE IN THE UPPER FOURTH.
"'You are exceedingly ugly,' said the wild ducks."--_The Ugly Duckling_.
School was a great change after Brenlands. The rooms seemed barer, the
desks more inky, and the bread and butter a good eighth of an inch
thicker than they had been at the close of the previous term; but by
the end of the first week our two friends had settled to work, and
things were going on much the same as usual.
Considerable alterations had been made in the composition of the Upper
Fourth. Most of the occupants of the front row of benches had got
their remove, while a number of boys from the lower division, of whom
Valentine was one, had come up to join Mr. Rowlands' class. The Long
Dormitory was also changed, and Jack now found himself in Number Eight,
sleeping in a bed next to that of his cousin.
Being thus so much thrown together, both in and out of school, it was
only natural that the friendship which they had formed in the holidays
should be still more firmly established. Only one thing acted as a
drag upon it, and that was the fact of Jack's still finding a strong
counter-attraction in the society of Garston, Rosher, and Teal.
The quartette began the term badly by being largely responsible for a
disturbance which occurred in the dining-hall, when a clockwork frog
was suddenly discovered disporting itself in Pilson's teacup; and it is
probable that Jack would have continued to distinguish himself as a
black sheep, in company with his three unruly classmates, had it not
been for an unforeseen occurrence which caused him to make a change in
his choice of friends.
As not unfrequently happens, the few original members of the Upper
Fourth who had not been called upon to "come up higher" still clung to
their old position at the bottom of the class, while the front benches
were filled by their more industrious schoolfellows who had earned
promotion. This state of affairs was not altogether pleasing to some
of the old hands. In Garston's opinion, the ideal Form was one which
would have no top, and where everybody would be bottom; and when the
first week's "order" was read out, he remarked, concerning those
new-comers who had won the posts of honour, that it was "like their
blessed cheek," and that some of them wanted a licking. Teal was
entirely at one with his chum in this opinion, and showed his approval
of the latter's sentiments by laying violent hands upon the person of
Hollis, the head boy, making a playful pretence of wringing his neck,
and then kicking his bundle of books down a flight of stairs. Hollis,
a weakly, short-sighted youth, threatened to complain to Mr. Rowlands;
which course of action, as may be supposed, did not tend to increase
his popularity with his new classmates.
The very next morning the dogs of war broke loose. The boys were
construing the portion of Virgil which had been set them overnight.
Garston, who came last, had floundered about for a few moments among
the closing lines, giving vent to a few incoherent sputterings, and
every one was impatiently awaiting the first tinkle of the bell.
"Yes, Garston," said Mr. Rowlands, "that's certainly up to your usual
form--quite a brilliant display; I'll give you naught. Let me see: I
set the lesson to the end of the page, and told you to go further if
you could; has any one done any more?"
"I have, sir," said Hollis; "shall I go on?"
The master nodded, Hollis proceeded, and Valentine, who stood second,
also followed in turn with a continuation of the translation. He had
only got through a couple of lines when the bell rang, and the class
was dismissed. Hardly had the door closed behind them, when Rosher and
Teal charged along the passage and seized hold of Valentine and Hollis.
The other boys crowded round in a circle.
"Look here, my good chap," said Teal, "in future you'll have to drop
that; d'you hear?"
"Drop what?"
"Why, doing more work than what's set."
"But why shouldn't I?" said Hollis. "There's no harm in it; he didn't
give us any marks."
"You young fool! don't you see that if you do more than what's set,
he'll think we can all do the same, and make the lessons longer."
"Of course he will!" added several voices.
"Just you mind what you're up to," continued Teal, "or you'll get what
you won't like."
"Pass on there! What are you waiting for?" cried Mr. Rowlands,
appearing in the doorway of his classroom, and the gathering dispersed.
The following morning, as fate would have it, nearly the same thing
happened again, only this time during the hour devoted to algebra.
"Has any one had time to do any of the next set of examples?" asked Mr.
Rowlands. "If so, let him hold up his hand."
Only two boys held up their hands--Hollis and Valentine. There were
murmurs of discontent at the back of the room, and several fists were
shaken ominously.
Jack had not troubled to side with either party--it mattered very
little to him whether the lessons were long or short, as he only did as
much as he felt inclined--but, if anything, his sympathies lay with his
less industrious comrades, who, he considered, had very good ground for
feeling aggrieved with Hollis and his cousin.
"Look here, Val," he said, when they met at the close of morning
school, "what d'you want to go and work so beastly hard for?"
"I don't."
"No, perhaps you don't, because you're clever; but you're always doing
more than you're obliged to, and the other chaps don't like it, because
they say it'll make Rowlands set longer pieces."
"Oh, that's all rubbish! It's simply because they're waxy with us for
getting above them in class. I don't see why I should take my orders
from Rosher and Teal, and only do what they like; and I don't intend to
either."
"All right, my boy," answered Jack, carelessly. "Do what you like,
only look out for squalls."
The latter piece of advice was not at all unnecessary; for soon after
this, as the giver was strolling across the gravel playground, he heard
his name called, and looking round saw his cousin hurrying after him
with a scrap of paper in his hand.
"Look," he said; "I found this in my desk just now, and there was one
just like it in Hollis's."
Jack took the paper. It was an anonymous note, printed in capitals to
disguise the handwriting; and it ran as follows:--
"This is to give you fair warning, that if you will persist in doing
more work than what is set, you'll get a thrashing. The rest of the
class don't intend to get more work on your account, and so have
decided not to put up with your nonsense any longer."
"It was Rosher or one of those chaps wrote it," said Jack. "You'd
better look out; any one of them could give you a licking."
"They'd have to try first," answered Valentine, hotly.
His cousin laughed; the reply rather tickled his fancy.
Those concerned had not long to wait before matters came to a head.
That same afternoon Mr. Rowlands set a history lesson for the following
day. "Take the reign of Elizabeth," he said. "By-the-bye, there's a
genealogical tree at the end of the chapter; get that up if you can."
The examination next morning was a written one, and the last question
on the board was, "Show, by means of a genealogical tree, the
connection between the Tudors and the Stuarts."
"Please, sir," said Garston, "you told us we needn't do that."
"I said you were to get it up if you had time," returned the master.
"Haven't any of you done it?"
"Yes, sir," came from the front desk.
"Very well; let those who have learned it write it down."
"Val, my boy," said Jack, in his happy-go-lucky style, as they met in
the dormitory to change for football, "you just keep your eyes open;
you're going to get licked."
Valentine replied with a snort of defiance, and the subject was
dropped. Tea was over, and in the short respite between the end of the
meal and the commencement of "prep.," Jack was strolling down one of
the passages, when his attention was attracted by a certain small boy
who stood beneath a gas-jet scanning the contents of a small book, and
occasionally scribbling something on a half-sheet of exercise-book
paper. Suddenly the youngster flung down the book in a rage, and
kicked it across the passage, whereupon Jack promptly cried, "No goal!"
"Hallo, little Garston!" he continued, "what's up with you?"
"Why, I've got to write out the translation of some of this Caesar for
old Thorpe, and I can't make head or tail of the blessed stuff. I say,
Fenleigh, you might do a bit for me!"
Jack was a good-natured young vagabond. "Where is it?" he said,
picking up the book. "All right! here goes."
Garston Minor slapped his piece of paper up against the wall, and wrote
at his friend's dictation. The translation was not very accurate, but
coming from the lips of a fellow in the Upper Fourth it was accepted
without question by the juvenile, and in ten minutes the rough copy of
the imposition was finished.
"Thanks awfully!" said the youngster, as he stuffed the book and paper
back into his pocket. "Look here, Fenleigh; as you've done me a good
turn, I'll let you into a secret, only you must promise not to let my
brother know who told you. He and Teal and Rosher are going to give
your cousin a licking."
"How d'you know?"
"I heard them talking about it. They said, 'We'll lick Valentine
Fenleigh. If we touched Hollis, he'd sneak; but it'll frighten him if
we thrash the other chap.'"
"When are they going to do it?"
"Now--some time; they said soon after tea."
"Where?" cried Jack.
"I can't tell you; they didn't say. That's all I know."
Jack exploded with wrath. He had talked calmly enough to Valentine
about his getting licked, and was inclined to think he deserved it; but
now that it had come to the point, he found that the idea of his cousin
being thrashed was not at all to his liking. Even at that very moment
the outrage might be taking place. The victim was not equal to any one
of his three assailants, and stood much less chance of escaping from
their combined attack.
Fenleigh J. rushed off down the passage on a wild-goose chase after his
chum, but nowhere was the latter to be found. As a last resource, he
ran into the schoolroom. Valentine's seat was empty, but a boy sat
reading at the next desk but one.
"Have you seen my cousin?"
"Yes, he was here a minute ago."
"Where's he gone?"
"Bother you!--let's see--oh, I know; some one came in to say Darlton
wanted him in the little music-room."
"Darlton never gives lessons after tea. Phew! I see what's up!"
The boy looked up from his reading with a grunt of astonishment as his
questioner turned sharply on his heel and dashed out of the room. Jack
had his faults, but he was loyal-hearted enough to remember those who
had at any time proved themselves to be his friends, and not to leave
them in the lurch when an opportunity offered for rendering them some
assistance. He was a strong boy, but the back desk trio were also
good-sized fellows for their age. Had it, however, been the whole of
the Sixth Form who were licking Valentine, Jack in his present state of
mind would have charged in among them and attempted a rescue.
"It's clear enough," he muttered to himself, as he turned off down a
short, narrow passage; "that message was a trap to catch him alone.
But wait a minute, and I'll surprise the beggars."
He paused outside a door, and hearing voices within tried the handle.
It was locked.
"Hallo! who's there? You can't come in."
Jack was too wary to make any reply. He glanced round rapidly,
endeavouring to concoct some plan for gaining an entrance. Stooping
down, he discovered that the key was turned so that it remained exactly
in the centre of the keyhole, anything pushed against it would send it
out on the other side. "I believe that bathroom key fits this door,"
he muttered, and tiptoed a little further along the passage. In
another moment he was back again, and thrusting the key suddenly into
the lock he turned it, and forced open the door.
The room was a small chamber set apart for music practice, the only
furniture it contained being a piano, a chair, some fiddle-cases, and
music-stands, while on the mantelpiece, in the place of a clock, was a
metronome that had something wrong with the works. Jack, however, had
no eye for these details; his attention was centred in a group of boys
who were struggling under the single gas-jet, which was flaring away in
a manner which showed it had evidently been turned up in a hurry.
"Here, leave that chap alone!" he exclaimed, plunging into the centre
of the scrimmage. "Let him alone, I say!"
"Hallo! it's Fenleigh J.," cried Garston. "You've just come in time to
help us to teach this cousin of yours a lesson on the subject of not
overworking himself."
"Leave him alone!" repeated Jack angrily, giving Rosher a push which
sent him staggering back into the fireplace, where he knocked over the
metronome, which fell with a crash on the fender.
"Don't be a fool, Fenleigh," cried Teal. "We're going to teach this
chap a lesson. If you don't want to help, you can clear out."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," returned the other. "You let him
alone."
Both parties were too much in earnest to waste their breath in talking,
and the next moment Garston and Rosher sprang on the intruder and
endeavoured to force him out of the room. Valentine, being unable to
free himself from the muscular grasp of Teal, could render no
assistance; but his cousin, whose blood was fairly up, struggled
furiously with his two assailants. Round the room they went, like a
circular storm, wrecking everything they came in contact with;
music-stands went over with an appalling clatter, while the back of the
solitary chair gave way with a crash as the three combatants fell
against it. Suddenly a sharp voice sounded down the passage,--
"Now then, there! What's all that noise about?"
Teal released his hold of Valentine, and springing to the gas-jet
turned out the light.
"_Cave_!" he whispered: "it's old Thorpe!"
It was impossible to continue the struggle in the darkness, and the
tumult ceased.
"He's gone into Copland's classroom," continued Teal. "Quick! let's
hook it before he comes back!"
A rush was made for the door.
"All right, Fenleigh; don't you think you're going to be friends with
us any more."
"I've no wish to be," answered Jack. "If you want to finish this out
any time, I shall be quite ready for you!"
"It was jolly good of you to stick up for me like that," said
Valentine, as the two cousins hurried off towards the schoolroom.
"I should have been a mean cad if I hadn't," returned the other,
laughing. "You don't think I've forgotten that affair of the magpie's
nest, do you? I don't care a straw for any of those fellows, and it
they want to fight, I'll take them on any day; but they'll have to lick
me first before they talk about thrashing you."
In course of time the dispute between the two extremes of the Upper
Fourth died a natural death. Mr. Rowlands did not increase the length
of the "prep." lessons, and peace was restored. Garston and his two
companions, however, did not forgive Jack for his interference with
their plans. Regarding him, perhaps, as rather a hard nut to crack,
they made no attempt to renew the combat, but evidently decided to cut
him off from any future enjoyment of their society or friendship.
Jack, on his part, did not seem to take this loss very much to heart;
it only induced him to become more chummy with Valentine, and, judging
from the comparatively few times that his name was down for punishment,
this change of associates seemed to be decidedly to his advantage. As
the autumn advanced, and wet days became more frequent, the two boys
took to doing fretwork in their spare time; and having purchased a
rather large and complicated design for a kind of bracket bookcase,
they conceived the happy notion of making it as a Christmas present for
Queen Mab, and so worked away together, taking an immense amount of
interest in their task.
Before the term ended a rather curious incident happened, insignificant
in itself, but worthy of being recorded as bearing on more important
events to be dwelt on at a later period in our story.
It wanted about three weeks to the holidays, and Jack and Valentine
were returning from the ironmonger's, where they had been purchasing
some sandpaper wherewith to put the finishing touches to their work.
"I wish it was midsummer instead of Christmas," the former was saying.
"I don't want to go home. I'd much rather go to stay with Aunt Mab at
Brenlands."
Valentine was about to reply, when both boys were surprised by a
shabby-looking man suddenly crossing from the other side of the street
and taking up his stand directly in their path. The stranger wore a
battered brown hat, no necktie, and a suit of clothes which he might
have stolen from some scarecrow.
"'Afternoon, young gents!" he said.
"Good afternoon," answered Jack shortly, stepping out into the road.
The stranger turned and walked at their side.
"You may not remember me, gents, but I'm Ned Hanks."
"I don't care who you are," answered Valentine; "I don't know you."
"Oh, but I know you, sir; it's Mr. Fenleigh I'm a-talking to. I
thought, perhaps, you might like to stand me a drink."
"I say, just be off," cried Jack sharply, "here's old Westford coming."
The man fell back, and a moment later the two boys raised their caps to
the headmaster. Mr. Westford acknowledged their salutation with a cold
stare, which clearly showed that he had seen their late companion, and
was wondering what business two of his pupils had to be talking with
such a vagabond.
"I wonder who that fellow was!" said Jack.
"Oh, some tramp. I never saw him before."
"But he knew your name."
"Well, these beggars are up to all kinds of dodges," answered
Valentine. "If we'd waited long enough, I daresay he'd have told me
the names of all the family!"