"OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN--"
"Above all, beware of the cat."--_The Ugly Duckling_.
"Here, Val, you're just the man I want! Tell me something to say."
It was a broiling afternoon. The summer term had once more come round,
and Jack, with his coat off, was sitting in a shady corner of the
schoolroom wrestling with a letter to Queen Mab.
"I write to her nearly every blessed week," he continued, "and the
consequence is I've never got anything to say. I've told her how jolly
it is to think that in four weeks' time we shall be at Brenlands again;
and now I'm stuck, and I can't get any further."
"Have you told her how well you've been doing in cricket this season?"
"No."
"Well, I have; so it doesn't much matter. Look here! Raymond
Fosberton's outside, and wants to see you."
"Oh, tell him to go to Bath!" answered Jack, making another stab at the
ink-pot with his pen. "I want to finish this letter."
"No, come along," answered Valentine, laughing. "You must be civil to
the fellow; he's been waiting about for nearly a quarter of an hour."
"Do him good," growled the scribe, reluctantly pitching his untidy
epistle into a very disorderly desk. "He only comes here to show off.
Just because he's in a lawyer's office, he thinks he's a big pot, and
all he does is to write copies like a kid in the Lower School."
According to his own opinion, Raymond Fosberton had blossomed out into
the full-blown man. He wore a light check suit of the very latest
fashion, a rosebud adorned his button-hole, and he tapped the toe of
his highly-polished, patent-leather boots with the point of a
silver-mounted cane.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed; "what the dickens d'you want to keep a chap
waiting so long for? I can tell you my time's more valuable than
yours. Look here! I'm sorry I haven't been able to ask you boys to
come and see me before, but nearly every night since I've been here
I've been engaged. However, I want you to get leave to come and have
tea at my rooms on Wednesday, and after that we'll go to the fair. You
know what I mean. It's held once a year in a big field on the other
side of the town; there are shows, and round-abouts, and all that sort
of thing."
"Thanks," answered Valentine, "but I'm afraid we can't go."
"Why not?"
"Because the rule of the school is that no boys are allowed to go to
Melchester Fair. Old Westford is awfully strict about it. Two years
ago some fellows went, and had a row with one of the showmen, and it
got into the papers."
"Oh, rubbish! you can say you're only going out to tea." Valentine
shook his head.
"Oh, yes, you can," continued Raymond. "By-the-bye, there's a fellow
here called Rosher, isn't there? My guv'nor knows his people, and told
me to ask him out sometimes; tell him to come too, if he can."
"We can't do it," answered Valentine decisively; "while the fair's on,
Westford won't even give fellows leave to go down into town."
"Nonsense!" answered Raymond contemptuously. "You leave it to me, and
I'll manage it all right. Now I must cut back to the office. Ta! ta!"
On Wednesday afternoon the two cousins were preparing to start for the
cricket field, when a small boy brought them word that the headmaster
wished to see them for a moment in his study.
"What's the row now, I wonder?" said Jack. "'Pon my word, it's so long
since I went to the old man's study that I feel quite nervous."
The interview was not of a distressing nature. "I have received a
letter from your uncle," began Mr. Westford, "asking for you to be
allowed to go and meet him at the station this afternoon at five
o'clock. He wishes also to see Rosher, so you can tell him that he may
go. Be back, of course, in time for supper."
"I wonder what brings Uncle Fosberton to Melchester," said Valentine to
Jack as they walked away together.
"Can't say," returned the other. "I don't want to see him; but I
suppose we must go. Let's hunt up Rosher."
A few minutes before five, the three boys entered the booking-office at
the railway station.
"I wonder which platform it is!" said Jack. "Hallo! there's Raymond."
The gentleman in question came forward, flourishing his silver-mounted
cane.
"Well, my dear nephews," he cried, laughing. "How are you to-day? Did
old Westford get my letter all right?"
"What letter?" asked Valentine.
"Why, the letter asking for you to come out."
"But uncle wrote that!"
"Not a bit of it!" answered Raymond triumphantly. "I did it. I had a
bit of the manor note-paper, and I sent it to our man to post it from
Grenford. Ha! ha! I told you I'd manage the business!"
Rosher chuckled, Jack whistled, but Valentine remained silent.
"Look here, Raymond," said Valentine, after a moment's pause, "I tell
you straight, I don't believe in this sort of thing. I'm going back."
"Don't be a fool, man," retorted the other. "You can't go back now, or
they'll want to know the reason. Come along to my diggings and have
some tea, and I'll bear all the blame."
With some reluctance Valentine agreed to go with the party to his
cousin's lodgings. Raymond did not seem on very good terms with his
landlady. The tea was a long time coming; and when at length it did
make its appearance, the fare consisted only of bread and butter, and a
half-empty pot of jam.
"Sorry I can't offer you anything more," remarked the host, "but just
now I've run rather short of cash. Better luck next time."
As soon as the meal was over, Raymond repeated his proposal that they
should visit the fair.
"It's an awful joke," he said. "I'm going, and you chaps may as well
come along too."
"It's all very well for you to go," answered Jack, "but with us it's
different. Any one can see by our hat-bands that we belong to the
school; and if it gets to Westford's ears that we've been, we shall
stand a jolly good chance of being expelled."
"Oh, well! if you're afraid, don't go," answered Raymond, with a sneer.
"I thought you were a chap who didn't care for anything. Will you go,
Rosher?"
"I don't mind."
"Come on, then; don't let's stick here all the evening."
The four boys put on their hats and sauntered out into the street.
Valentine said good-night, and turned off in the direction of the
school; but Jack lingered behind with the other two.
"That's right," said Raymond, taking his arm; "I knew you'd come."
The evening was always the gayest part of the day at Melchester Fair.
Crowds of people from the town and surrounding neighbourhood jostled
each other in the open spaces between the tents and booths, while the
noise of bands, steam-organs, and yelling showmen was something
terrific.
"I say, have either of you fellows got change for a sovereign?" asked
Raymond. "You haven't? well, you pay, and I'll settle up with you some
other time."
The boys wandered round the field, listening to the cheap Jacks, and
the proprietors of various exhibitions, which were all "just a-goin' to
begin." They patronized a shooting-gallery, where they fired down long
tubes with little rifles, which made the marksman's hands very black,
and seemed to carry round the corner. Jack, however, succeeded in
hitting the bull's-eye, and ringing the bell, and was rewarded with a
handful of nuts.
"Come on," said Rosher; "let's have a turn on the wooden horses," and
the party accordingly moved off in the direction of the nearest
round-about. The steeds were three abreast, and Raymond mounted the
one on the outside. A little group of factory boys were standing close
by, and, just as the engine started, one of them thought fit to enliven
the proceedings with a joke.
"Hallo, mister! how much starch d'you put on your weskit?"
"That much!" answered Raymond, snappishly, and leaning outwards in
passing he dealt the speaker a sharp cut with his cane.
"Yah! Thatches!" cried the boy, and every time the whirligig brought
his assailant into view the shout was repeated.
In the year of grace 1877 some traces still remained of an ancient feud
between the school and the boys of the town. The name "Thatches" had
been invented by the latter on account of the peculiar pattern of straw
hat worn by their adversaries; while the answering taunt always used in
those warlike times was, "Hey, Johnny, where's your apron?" a remark
which greatly incensed the small sons of toil, who usually wore this
garment.
"What have you been doing to those chaps?" asked Jack, as the horses
slowed down and the yell was repeated.
"One of them cheeked me, and I hit him with my stick."
"Well, we'd better slip away as soon as this thing stops; we don't want
to have a row with them here."
Unfortunately for the three boys, their steeds stopped just opposite
the hostile group. Jack pushed through them with an expression of
lofty contempt, an example followed by Rosher; but Raymond was stupidly
led into a further exchange of incivilities.
"Don't you give me any more of your confounded impudence, you miserable
little cads, or I'll give you another taste of this stick."
The "cads" answered with a shout of derisive laughter, and a few more
straggling clansmen joining the band, they followed after the three
friends, keeping at a safe distance, and repeating their cries of "Yah!
Thatches! Hit one yer own size!" and other remarks of a similar nature.
"We can't go on like this," said Jack. "They'll follow us all round
the fair. Shall we charge the beggars?"
"No," answered Raymond. "Let's go into the circus, and that'll put
them off the track. You fellows pay, and I'll owe it you; I don't want
to change my sovereign here."
Rosher paid for three shilling seats, and the trio entered the big
circular tent, thus for the time being effectually escaping from the
pursuing band of unfriendly natives.
The performance had just commenced, and though the display was by no
means brilliant, yet the boys enjoyed it, and soon forgot the existence
of everything except clowns, acrobats, and trained horses.
"_I say_!" exclaimed Rosher suddenly, "d'you know what the time is?
It's close on nine o'clock!"
"By jingo!" answered Jack, "we must do a bolt."
"No, don't go," interposed Raymond; "you can't get back in time now, so
you may as well stay and see the end. If you'll come round by my
lodgings, I'll get my guv'nor to write a letter of excuse."
"I don't want any more of your letters," murmured Jack, "it's too
risky. We'd better hook it."
"No, stay; you can't get back in time now, so what's the good of losing
part of the performance?"
After some further discussion, Jack and Rosher decided to remain, and
so kept their seats until the end of the performance. It was quite
dark when they emerged from the tent, and every part of the fair was
lit up with flaring paraffin lamps. They had not gone very far when,
as ill-luck would have it, a shrill cry of "Hallo! Thatches!" showed
that they had been sighted by some small scout of the enemy.
"I've got some coppers left," said Rosher; "let's have a shot at the
cocoa-nuts."
They stopped opposite a pitch, and began bowling at the fruit. The
first two or three shies were unsuccessful; then Jack knocked down a
nut.
"I'm not going to let you beat me!" cried Rosher. "Here; mister, give
me some more balls."
A fresh group of town boys were hovering about in the rear, their
number being now augmented by one or two of a larger size.
"Yah! Thatch! you can't hit 'em! Come 'ere and let's see that stick
you was talking about."
"I say," whispered Raymond to his cousin, "wouldn't it be a lark to
pretend to make a good shot, and knock that lamp over." He pointed as
he spoke to one of the flaring oil lamps which, fastened to a stake a
few feet above the ground, illuminated the line of nuts.
"No, don't do it," answered Jack; but the warning came too late.
Raymond threw with all his might, and, as ill-luck would have it, the
aim was only too true; the heavy wooden ball hit the lamp a sounding
whack, dashed it from its stand, and the next moment the canvas screen
at the back of the pitch against which it fell was all in a blaze.
In an instant all was confusion. Quick as thought Raymond turned, and
slipped away between the wheels of a caravan which stood close by. The
proprietor of the pitch sprang forward and seized Jack by the coat.
"'Ere, you did that," he cried, "and you did it a purpose."
The crowd of juvenile roughs closed in behind.
"Yes, 'e did it," they cried; "'e's the man."
"I didn't do it," retorted the boy. "Leave go!"
Rosher leaned forward, and giving his friend a nudge, uttered the one
word,--
"_Bolt_!"
Jack's blood was up. He wrenched himself free of the man's grasp, and
plunged into the little crowd of riff-raff, striking heavy blows to
right and left. Rosher did the same; and the enemy, who were nothing
but a pack of barking curs, went down like ninepins, falling over one
another in their efforts to escape.
The two fugitives rushed on, stumbling over tent-ropes and dodging
round the booths and stalls, until they came to the outskirts of the
fair. Then they paused to take breath and consider what was to be done
next. The glare of the burning canvas and a noise of distant shouting,
which could be clearly distinguished above the other babel of sounds,
showed the quarter from which they had come.
"Where's Raymond?" cried Jack.
"I don't know," answered Rosher; "we can't wait here, or we shall be
collared."
"Didn't you see what became of him? I don't like the thought of
leaving the fellow--"
The sentence was never finished; for at that moment two men suddenly
appeared from behind a neighbouring stall. One was arrayed in a blue
uniform with bright buttons, and his companion was at once recognized
by the boys as being the proprietor of the cocoa-nut pitch.
"Here they are!" shouted the latter, catching hold of the policeman's
arm; "now we've got 'em!"
[Illustration: "'Here they are! now we've got them!'"]
Quick as thought the two schoolfellows turned and dashed off at the top
of their speed. Beyond the outskirts of the fair all lay in darkness;
a high hedge loomed in front of them. Jack scrambled up the bank,
crashed through the thorn bushes, and fell heavily to the ground on the
other side. In an instant he had regained his feet, and was running
for his life with Rosher by his side. In this manner they crossed
three fields, stumbling over uneven places in the ground, scratching
their hands, and tearing their clothes in the hedges, and at length
landed nearly up to their knees in a ditch half-full of mud and water.
"It's no good, Fenleigh, I can't go any further. I'm completely
pumped."
Struggling on to a bit of rising ground, the fugitives halted and
turned round to listen. The glare of light and noise of the fair had
been left some distance behind them, and there were no sounds of
pursuit. The night was very dark, and everything in their immediate
neighbourhood was quiet and still.
"We must get to the town some other way," said Jack. "Doesn't the road
to Hornalby pass somewhere here on the right?"
"I don't know," answered Rosher; "we ought to strike some road or other
if we keep going in that direction."
The boys continued their flight, varying their walk by occasionally
breaking into a jog-trot. At length they found themselves in a narrow
lane; but after wandering down it for nearly half a mile, their further
progress was barred by the appearance of a private gate.
"Botheration!" cried Jack, "we've come wrong; this leads to some farm.
We shall never get home at this rate."
Retracing their steps the way they had come, the two unfortunate
adventurers at length found themselves on the Hornalby road; but when
they reached Melchester, and were hurrying down the side street past
"Duster's" shop, the cathedral clock struck half-past eleven.
"Oh, my!" said Rosher; "how shall we get in? Everybody will be in bed.
We shall have to knock up old Mullins at the lodge."
"No fear," answered Jack. "We must get into Westford's garden, and
from there into the quad; then we'll try some of the windows."
The plan was carried out, and a few moments later the two boys were
standing in the dark and deserted playground. Jack made a circuit of
the buildings on tiptoe, and then returned to his companion.
"All the classroom windows are fast," he said, "but there's one on the
first landing belonging to the bathroom that's open. What we must do
is this. Under the bench in the workshop is that ladder thing that
Preston and I made last year. We must fetch it, and you must hold it
while I get up to the window. Then you must put the ladder back, and
I'll creep down and let you in at the side door. The workshop's
locked, but luckily I've got the key in my pocket!"
The scheme was successful, and ten minutes later the two wanderers were
creeping up the main staircase. Rosher had a private bedroom; and
Jack, moving softly, and undressing in the dark, managed to get into
bed without awakening any of the other boys in his dormitory.