"STORMS IN A TEA-CUP."
"'Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn
something? But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very
agreeable.'"--_The Ugly Duckling_.
At the commencement of the winter term, in addition to being in the
same class and dormitory, the two cousins were thrown still more
together by occupying adjoining desks in the big schoolroom.
"Now I shall be able to keep an eye on you," said Valentine, "and see
that you do some work."
"Shall you?"
"Yes; Helen gave me special instructions that I was to make you behave
yourself. This is my last year; and the guv'nor says if I do well I
shall go on then to an army coach to work up for Sandhurst."
"Well, I suppose I must behave myself, if it's Helen's orders," said
Jack, laughing. "I wish I knew what I was going to do when I leave
this place. I only wish I was going into the army like you. Some fine
day I think I shall enlist."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't. What d'you think Queen Mab would say when she
heard about it?"
"But she wouldn't hear about it," returned the other, with a touch of
his restless discontent. "No one would hear about it. I should call
myself Jones, or something of that sort. It would be a happier life
than that I live at home; and what the guv'nor thinks he's going to do
with me, I'm sure I don't know."
Valentine certainly did his best to follow out his sister's
instructions, and keep Master Jack out of hot water. The latter seemed
to have become a trifle more tractable; perhaps, finding other people
were interested in him, he was led to take more interest in himself.
At all events, his conduct underwent a considerable change for the
better, and his name no longer appeared on every page of the
defaulters' book.
Football was now on, a sport which he specially enjoyed. In addition
to this, Garston and Teal had left, and Rosher, who had now joined the
Fifth, seemed to be increasing in wisdom as well as in stature, and no
longer sought the bubble reputation in official visits to the
headmaster's study. In short, Jack had improved with his surroundings.
He and Valentine, in addition to their fretwork, had taken up
carpentry; and on wet afternoons, when idle hands were steeped in
mischief, they were always to be found in the shed which had been set
apart for the boys to use as a sort of workshop. As far as the Fifth
Form was concerned, only one incident happened to relieve the monotony
of a somewhat uneventful term; and as one of our heroes was largely
responsible for what took place, an account of the episode may as well
be included in our story.
Jack, it should be said, was not to blame for what happened in the
first place, his and Preston's share in the business was, as it were,
only the effect arising from a primary cause; and for this, the real
root of the matter, Tinkleby was solely responsible.
"Look here," said Tinkleby, "those fellows in the Sixth are running
that debating show of theirs, and they get let off 'prep.' every
Saturday night; wherefore I vote we join."
"They wouldn't have us," answered Dorris; "they won't allow any one to
join if they are lower in the school than Sixth or Remove."
"Ah!" answered Tinkleby, adjusting his nippers, "but, don't you see, I
should do it in this way--I should propose that our society be
amalgamated with theirs."
"What society?" asked Preston the bowler.
"Why, the Fifth Form Literary Society, you blockhead!"
Preston and Dorris both exploded.
"You seem to think," continued Tinkleby, with a cynical smile, "that
the only use for our society is to provide us with an excuse for having
a feed once a year at 'Duster's;' but let me remind you, sir, that its
main object, according to the original rules, was the cultivation of a
taste for literary pursuits among its members."
"Yes," added Dorris, "and so you want to get off Saturday 'prep.' Fire
away, Tinky, I'm with you."
That very afternoon Tinkleby addressed a large, square envelope to
_S. R. HENINGSON, Esq.,_
_Hon. Sec. Melchester School Debating Society._
and having sealed it with an old military button, dropped it into the
letter-box, a proceeding more in keeping with the importance of the
communication than if he had delivered it by hand. The honorary
secretary went one higher--he sent his reply by post. It was polite,
and to the point. The committee of the debating society did not see
their way to extend the limit of the rule relating to membership. They
would be pleased to admit any of the Fifth Form who could obtain
permission to attend the meetings, but they would not be entitled to
vote, or to take any active part in the proceedings.
Tinkleby was incensed at this cool reception of his proposal, and
harangued his comrades during a temporary absence of Mr. Ward from the
classroom.
"They think such a confounded lot of themselves, with their miserable
essays and dry debates. I'll bet we could stand up and spout as well
as they can, on any subject you like to mention, from cribbing to
astronomy."
"Of course we could," answered Boswell-Jones, who had prepared a paper
entitled, "An Hour with the Poets," into which he had introduced all
his favourite recitations, and which he longed to fire off at something
in the shape of an audience--"of course we could; it's all that
conceited beast Heningson. He thinks he's an orator--great ass!"
"Well, look here," said Tinkleby, fixing his nippers with an air of
resolution and defiance, "Heningson's going to open a debate next
Saturday. The subject is: 'That this house is of opinion that the
moral and physical condition of mankind is in a state of
retrogression.' We'll go and hear it. Ward'll let us do our 'prep.'
in the afternoon. I've got a little plan in my head, and we'll take a
rise out of these gentlemen."
The Melchester School Debating Society, as we have already mentioned,
was established for the benefit of the senior boys, who held their
meetings every Saturday night during the winter and Easter terms in
what was known as the drawing classroom. It was conducted in a very
solemn and serious manner. Redbrook, the head of the school, took the
chair; while on the table before him, as a sign of his office and
authority, a small hand-bell was placed, which he was supposed to ring
when, in the heat and excitement of debate, members so far forgot
themselves as to need a gentle reminder of the rule relating to
silence. As a matter of fact, the chairman seldom, if ever, had any
need to use this instrument, though on one occasion some wag removed it
before the proceedings commenced, and substituted in its place the huge
railway-bell used by Mullins, the school-porter; a jest which greatly
incensed the grave and dignified assembly on whom it was practised.
There was a proper mahogany ballot-box. The subjects for discussion
always began, "That this house, etc.," and the secretary entered in a
book exhaustive minutes of every meeting, which the chairman signed
with a quill pen. These details are given in order that the reader may
understand the character of the society in question, and be therefore
in a better position to pass judgment on the outrageous behaviour of
certain gentlemen whose conduct will shortly be described.
On the following Saturday evening, in answer to the formal invitation
which they had received, Tinkleby and his friends filed into the room,
looking very good and demure, and occupied the desk against the end
wall, which they entered as though it had been a pew in church. The
usual preliminaries were gone through, and the chairman called on "our
worthy friend the secretary" to open the debate by moving, "That this
house is of opinion that the moral and physical condition of mankind is
in a state of retrogression."
For a time all went well. The visitors sat as mute as mummies, and the
opener sought to justify his proposition by launching out into an
impassioned discourse, which seemed rather inclined to resolve itself
into a brief history of the world, and which the critical Tinkleby
afterwards described as containing "more wind than argument." Touching
briefly on the statements of the Hebrew chroniclers, Heningson
proceeded with a wordy exposition of the manners and customs of ancient
Greece, and from this stumbled rather abruptly into the rise of the
Roman empire. Drawing a fancy and perhaps rather flattering portrait
of one of the world-conquering legionaries, the speaker thought fit to
compare it with that of a latter-day Italian organ-grinder who often
visited the school, and who had recently been had up for being drunk
and disorderly in the streets of Melchester.
"Gentlemen," exclaimed the orator earnestly, pointing accidentally at
the chairman, but meaning to indicate the unfortunate musician, "is
_this_ the culmination of a race of gods? this inebriate, undersized--"
At this point the discourse was suddenly interrupted by a loud and
prolonged snore. Heningson hesitated, and glanced up from his notes
with a look of annoyance. He was about to proceed when a chorus of
snores in every imaginable pitch and key effectively checked his
utterance. With an indignant "Sh--s-h!" the audience turned in their
seats to witness the following astonishing spectacle. At the back of
the room every one of the half-dozen visitors sat, or rather sprawled,
with his head upon the desk, in an attitude suggestive of the soundest
slumber; the only variation in position being on the part of Jack
Fenleigh, who lay back with a handkerchief thrown over his face like an
old gentleman taking his after-dinner nap. The nasal concert
continued, and the chairman smote his hand-bell.
"Firs' bell," murmured Tinkleby drowsily, "stop working;" while Dorris
became suddenly afflicted with a catch in his breath which caused a
succession of terrific snorts, each of which nearly cracked the windows.
"Here, stop that noise!" cried Redbrook, springing to his feet in great
wrath. "Wake 'em up, somebody!"
An obliging member caught Tinkleby by the arm, and gave him a
prodigious shake.
"Shur up," growled that gentleman. "Give me back my pillow, 'tisn't
time to ger up. Hallo! have I been asleep? I'm beastly sorry."
One by one the other occupants of the visitors' gallery were made to
understand that they were not in their beds. Jack Fenleigh, however,
absolutely refused to return from the land of dreams. He was shaken,
pinched, and pommelled, but all to no purpose; his snores only became
louder, and the style more fantastic.
Meanwhile a heated altercation was going on between the chairman and
the president of the Fifth Form Literary Society.
"Look here, Tinkleby, we don't want any more of your silly foolery, so
just stop it."
"My dear sir, I'm doing nothing."
"Well, why did you begin?"
"If you mean my having dropped off to sleep, I'm very sorry; but really
there's something in the air of the place--"
"Haw-r-r-r-r-ratch," interposed Jack Fenleigh. Redbrook rose from his
chair, boiling with wrath.
"Just clear out!" he cried. "Go on--all the lot of you!" The visitors
demurred, but being outnumbered three to one, they were seized and
hustled unceremoniously out of the room. In the midst of all this
commotion, however, Fenleigh J., still continued in an unbroken
slumber, and was distinctly heard snoring louder than ever as his
companions dragged him off down the passage.
[Illustration: "The visitors were seized, and hustled unceremoniously
out of the room."]
For the time being this little joke gave rise to a rather strained
relationship between the members of the Sixth and Fifth Forms.
Tinkleby and his comrades were designated a set of rowdy jackasses; and
they replied to the compliment by declaring that a fraternity of live
donkeys was better than a collection of stuffed owls, and advising
Heningson to patent his discourse as an infallible cure for insomnia.
Cutting allusions to the "Literary Society" and sarcastic retorts were
exchanged in the corridors and playing-field; and so the feud continued.
All his classmates were charmed with Jack's share in the performance.
"You wait," was his invariable answer to their congratulations; "I'll
take a better rise out of them before long."
For a time this boast was not considered to imply any definite
intention on the speaker's part to play any further pranks on the
members of the debating society; but at length a rumour got abroad that
something _was_ going to happen. Fenleigh J. and Preston had been seen
more than once taking counsel together in out-of-the-way corners, and
exchanging mysterious nods and winks. They were known to have spent
the free time between "prep." and supper, on two consecutive evenings,
alone together in the workshop, with the door locked. A great deal of
hammering went on, but no one could find out what they were making.
When questioned on the subject, they professed a lamb-like state of
innocence; and even Tinkleby himself could give no explanation of their
conduct. A fortnight after the delivery of Heningson's essay, the
debating society held an important meeting, the announcement of which,
posted the previous evening on the notice-board, was worded as
follows:--
M. S. D. S.
_Saturday, November ...th._
DEBATE.
"That this house approves of the settlement of all international
disputes by arbitration instead of war,"
_Aff._, Mr. N. J. CARTER.
_Neg._, Mr. SHEPHERD.
The members turned up in force, for this time the openers of the
discussion were the two leading lights of the society, and the contest
between them was certain to prove an intellectual treat which ought not
to be missed. Carter's style of oratory was of the impassioned order;
he thumped on the desk, and went through the "extension motions," with
the exception of that awful movement where you bend double and try to
touch your toes. It was rumoured that he wrote deep, unintelligible
poetry that did not rhyme; and if the school rules had not forbidden
the practice, he would have worn long hair and a fly-away necktie.
Shepherd, on the other hand, went in for logic, unadorned by any
movements suggestive of setting-up drill. His style bore a suspicious
resemblance to that of Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P. He stuck his thumbs
in the armholes of his waistcoat, and pushed forward that portion of
his body which it would have been unfair to strike at in a fight. It
would be impossible to give here anything like a detailed report of the
proceedings. From the moment when the chairman rose to introduce the
first speaker, every one felt that the meeting would be one of unusual
interest; and in one sense they were certainly destined not to be
disappointed. Carter was in great form; he dealt the desk such
terrific blows that the ink spurted out of the ink-pots, and ran down
on to the secretary's breeches. War, he declared, was legalized
murder, and the soldier little better than a hired assassin. Napoleon
Bonaparte was far more roughly handled than at Leipsic or Waterloo; and
a long list of conquerors, ranging back to Alexander the Great, were,
figuratively speaking, torn from their graves and hung in chains. At
length, having dwelt on the enormous cost of standing armies, and other
more practical aspects of the subject, the speaker concluded with a
vivid picture of the horrors of a battlefield, and was in the act of
quoting a verse of poetry, when he was suddenly silenced by an
unlooked-for interruption.
"The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The--"
Bang!
Every one started; something like a miniature representation of the
"bursting shell" had just exploded in the neighbourhood of the
blackboard. A boy sitting close by stooped down and picked up from the
floor a small fragment of burnt tissue-paper.
"Who threw that?" he exclaimed.
"What is it?" asked the chairman.
"Why, one of those 'throw-downs.'"
Redbrook glanced round the room in angry astonishment.
"Look here," he said sharply, "I don't know who did it, but if any of
you have come to play the fool, you'd better leave the room at once,
for we aren't going to have any more nonsense like we had the other
night."
The audience turned in their seats, and stared at one another in
amazement. Most of my readers will probably have some practical
knowledge of the small, round paper pellets known as "throw-downs,"
which explode when flung against anything; and it was difficult to
imagine that any member of the select and decorous Melchester School
Debating Society would cause an interruption by flinging such things
about in the middle of an important discussion.
"Go on, Carter," said the chairman.
"Shan't!" returned the other, snappishly. "I've finished."
Shepherd was now called upon to open on the side of the negative.
"War," he began, assuming his accustomed attitude, and beaming round on
his listeners with a very good imitation of the Powler smile--"war is
like surgery. When drugs are of no avail, we are often forced to
resort to the use of the knife, and so--"
Another mimic bomb exploded in the very centre of the speaker's
waistcoat, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. Redbrook sprang
to his feet in a towering rage, and as he did so another projectile
burst on the open pages of the minute book.
"Who threw those things? I will find out!"
A babel of voices rose in reply. No one had done it. The door was
shut, the windows were fastened, a hasty search was made in the
cupboards and under the back desks, in the hope of discovering a
lurking enemy; but even while the search was in progress another
missile went off under the secretary's chair.
"Who is it?" shouted Redbrook. "Where do they come from?"
"That seemed to fall from the ceiling," answered Heningson; "yes--look
there!"
Above the hanging gas-jet in the centre of the room was an ornamental
iron grating, between the apertures of which there now appeared about
an inch and a half of brass tube, like the end of a big peashooter. A
moment later there was a prodigious puff, and four "throw-downs"
exploded with a simultaneous crash in the centre of the chairman's
table.
"There's some one up on the roof!" cried several voices.--"Stop it, you
villain!"
"How could any one get there?"
"There's a trap-door at the end of the passage," exclaimed Shepherd.
"Quick! we shall cut him off."
A rush was made for the door, but it refused to open; some one had
evidently blocked the exit from the outside, by placing a short form
lengthways across the passage. The drawing classroom formed part of a
one-storied building which bounded one side of the school quadrangle.
Finding the door closed, Shepherd dashed to the nearest window, and
flinging it open dropped out on to the gravel, an example which was
speedily followed by the chairman and several members of the audience.
Breathing out all manner of threats, they ran round through the nearest
door and gained the entrance to the passage. The trap-door in the
ceiling was wide open, and communicating with it was a curious,
home-made ladder, consisting of an old post, with half a dozen rough
cross pieces fastened to it with stout nails. A candle end was lying
on the floor, and with its aid Shepherd climbed up and explored the
roof; but the bird had flown.
After such an interruption it was no use attempting to continue the
debate, and Redbrook and his companions spent the remainder of the
evening trying to discover the authors of this outrage.
The culprits, however, had made good their escape; no one remembered
having seen the ladder before, and it was impossible to say to whom it
belonged. The members of the debating society were clearly outwitted;
and not wishing to make the story of their discomfiture too public,
they determined for the present to let the matter drop, at the same
time announcing their intention of taking dire vengeance on any
irreverent jokers who should rashly attempt to disturb their meetings
in future. Two days later, Valentine was sitting at his desk reading,
when he was joined by his cousin.
"I borrowed your brass ruler the other afternoon," said the latter,
producing something from under his coat.
"Yes, I know all about it, you villain!"
"I only used it as a sort of pea-shooter."
"Oh, I've heard all about your little game; Preston told me."
Jack tried to look innocent, and then laughed.
"It's no use, Val, old chap, you'll never make a good boy of me. It's
the old story of the silk purse and the sow's ear."
Valentine laughed too.
"I'm afraid I never shall," he answered. "The joke is that you're
always ready to bring the whole place about your ears with some mad
prank, and then when a cartload of bricks does fall on your head, you
say, 'It's just your luck, and that--'"
"A collection will be taken at the door in aid of the poor fund at the
close of the present service," interrupted the other. "Good-bye--I'm
off!"
He moved away a step or two, then came softly back, and began to rumple
his cousin's hair; whereupon an exciting struggle ensued, which brought
them both down on to the floor, and ended with the edifying spectacle
of the preacher sitting flushed and triumphant on the congregation's
chest.