"--INTO THE FIRE."
"One of the little boys took up the tin soldier and threw him into the
stove."--_The Brave Tin Soldier_.
"Hallo, Fenleigh! You were back precious late last night," said
Walker, the Sixth Form boy in charge of the dormitory.
"Yes," answered the other carelessly. "I had leave to go out to tea."
The reply seemed to satisfy Walker; but there was one person in the
room to whom Jack knew he would have to make a full confession. While
dressing he avoided Valentine's questioning glances, but after
breakfast he was forced to give his cousin a full account of all that
had happened. A dark frown settled on the latter's face as he listened
to the recital, which he several times interrupted with impatient
ejaculations.
"I knew you'd be in a wax with me," concluded Jack, with an air of
defiance; "but it can't be helped now. You'll never make a saint of
me, Val, old chap, so don't let's quarrel."
"It's not you that I'm angry with," answered Valentine wrathfully,
"it's that beast of a Raymond. It's just his way to get other people
into a mess, and leave them to get out of it as best they can. I
suppose he never paid up his share of the money you spent?"
"Not he. Never mind, we got out of the bother a lot better than I
expected."
Valentine shook his head.
"I hope to goodness you won't be found out," he said anxiously. "If
you are, you'll stand a jolly good chance of being expelled."
"Oh, we're safe enough. Don't you fret," answered Jack
lightly.--"Hallo, Tinkleby, what's up with you?"
The president of the Fifth Form Literary Society was striding across
the gravel, fingering his nippers, as he always did when excited.
"Haven't you heard?" he answered. "Some one's in for a thundering row,
I can tell you."
"Why, what do you mean?"
"Why, Mullins says that some man from the fair came this morning, and
wanted to see the headmaster. He says one of our fellows was up there
last night, kicking up a fine shindy, and set his show on fire; and he
means to find out who it is, and summon him for damages. Mullins told
him he'd better call again later on, as Westford was at breakfast. My
eye! I pity the chap who did it, if it's true, and he's collared."
The clang of the school bell ended the conversation, and Tinkleby
rushed off to impart his news to other classmates.
The distressed look on Valentine's face deepened, but he said nothing.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Jack, sticking his hands in his pockets, and making
the gravel fly with a vicious kick. "Let him come and say what he
likes. What do I care?"
The school had reassembled after the usual interval, and the Sixth Form
were sitting in their classroom waiting for the arrival of the
headmaster. A quarter of an hour passed, and still he did not arrive.
At length the door opened, and Mullins poked his head inside.
"Mr. Westford wants to see all those gentlemen who are in charge of the
different dormitories--now, at once, in his study."
A murmur of surprise followed the announcement, as the boys indicated
rose to their feet and prepared to obey the summons. On entering the
study they found a shabby-looking man standing just inside the door,
who eyed them all narrowly as they came in. The headmaster sat at his
writing-table looking stern and troubled. The twelve prefects arranged
themselves in a semicircle, and stood silently waiting and wondering
what could have happened.
"You say this took place about a quarter past ten?"
"Yes, sir," answered the man, twirling his hat with his fingers. "As
near as I can say, it must have been about a quarter a'ter ten."
"I have sent for you," continued Mr. Westford, turning to the group of
senior scholars, "to know if any of the boys were absent from any of
the dormitories at the usual bed-time."
"One was absent from Number Five, sir," said Walker.
"Who?"
"Fenleigh J., sir."
"Why didn't you report him? What time did he return?"
"I don't know, sir. I was asleep when he came back. He said he'd had
leave to go out to tea."
"Was any one else absent from any of the rooms? Very well. You may
go. Redbrook, send Fenleigh J. to me at once."
A minute or so later the culprit entered the room.
"That's the young feller I want!" exclaimed the stranger. "I could
tell him anywheres in a moment."
"Fenleigh, were you at the fair last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"What were you doing there? You know my orders?"
The boy was silent.
"I can tell you what he was doing," interrupted the man. "He knocked
over one of my lamps and set my screen afire; and a'ter that he started
fightin', and I was obliged to fetch a p'liceman. But there was two of
'em, this one and another."
"Did this really happen, Fenleigh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who else was with you?"
"My cousin, Raymond Fosberton. It was he who knocked over the lamp."
"That's a lie!" interrupted the man. "It was you done it. I seed you
with my own eyes."
"I don't think I need detain you any longer," said Mr. Westford,
turning to the owner of the cocoa-nuts. "I need hardly say I regret
that one of my scholars should be capable of such conduct. I shall
make some further inquiries, and if you will call again this evening,
whatever damage has been done shall be made good."
The man knuckled his forehead and withdrew. Jack was left alone with
his judge, and felt that the case was ended.
"Now, sir," said the latter, in a cold, rasping tone, "you have
succeeded in bringing public disgrace on the school, and I hope you are
satisfied. Go to the little music-room, and remain there for the
present."
There was something ominous in the brevity of this reprimand. No
punishment had been mentioned, but in the school traditions the little
music-room was looked upon as a sort of condemned cell. Every one knew
the subsequent fate of boys who had been sent there on previous
occasions; and in a short time the news was in everybody's mouth that
Fenleigh J. was going to be expelled. It was a grave offence to hold
any communication with a person undergoing solitary confinement, yet,
before Jack had been very long a prisoner, a pebble hit the window, and
looking out he saw Rosher.
"I say," began the latter dolefully, "I'm awfully sorry you've been
found out. If you like, I'll go and tell Westford I was with you."
"Of course you won't. What's the good?"
"Well, I thought perhaps you'd think I was a sneak if I didn't. I'm
afraid you'll get the sack," continued Rosher sadly. "It was awfully
good of you, Fenleigh, not to split; you always were a brick. I say,
we were rather chummy when you first came, if you remember; and then we
had a bit of a row. I suppose it don't matter now. If you like, I'll
write you when you get home."
It was something, at such an hour, to have the sympathy and friendship
even of a scapegrace like Rosher. The prisoner said "it didn't
matter," and so they parted.
For some time Jack wandered round the little room, swinging the blind
cords, and trifling with the broken-down metronome on the mantelpiece.
It was this very instrument that had been upset when he sent Rosher
sprawling into the fireplace; and yet, here was the same fellow talking
about keeping up a correspondence. A litter of torn music lay on the
top of the piano; among it a tattered hymn-book. Jack turned over the
pages until he came to "Hark, hark, my soul!" and then, sitting down,
played the air through several times with one finger. It was a tune
that had been popular on Sunday evenings at Brenlands, and the children
had always called it Queen Mab's hymn.
Jack shut the book with a bang. In less than a fortnight's time he
ought to have been with her again, and what would she think of him now?
* * * * *
Dinner was over in the big hall, and most of the boys had started for
the playing-field. Mr. Ward sat correcting exercises in the deserted
Fifth Form classroom, when there was a knock at the door, and Valentine
entered.
"Well, Fenleigh," said the master kindly, "what do you want?"
"I came to speak to you, sir, about my cousin Jack. Don't you think
there's any chance of getting Mr. Westford to let him off?"
"I'm afraid there isn't. I don't see what excuse can be offered for
your cousin's conduct."
"But there is an excuse, sir," persisted Valentine, his love of honour
and justice causing the blood to mount to his cheeks at the
recollection of Raymond Fosberton's share in the adventure. "It was
not all Jack's fault, and it'll be an awful shame if he's expelled."
Had it been another fellow, Mr. Ward might have pooh-poohed the
objection, and sent the speaker about his business; for, it being
nearly the end of the term, the master had plenty of work to occupy his
attention. He was not given to making favourites among his pupils, but
Valentine was a boy who had won his respect; and so he laid down his
pen to continue the conversation.
"I still fail to see what can be said on your cousin's behalf. If it
was not his fault, who then is to blame?"
Valentine hastily recounted all that had happened on the previous
afternoon. He did not hesitate to give a true account of the bogus
invitation, and repeated all that Jack had told him as to what had
taken place at the fair. Mr. Ward listened patiently till he had heard
the whole of the story.
"There certainly is something in what you say," he remarked. "But the
fact remains that your cousin went to the fair in defiance of the
school rules. There was no reason at all why he should have gone. You
say you came back; then why couldn't he have done the same?"
"If I'd thought that my staying away would have made it any the worse
for him, I'd have gone to the fair myself," said Valentine desperately.
Mr. Ward smiled.
"Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked. "I don't see that I can
be of much service to you in the matter. The only thing I can advise
you to do is to go to Mr. Westford, and tell him exactly what you have
told me."
"I thought perhaps you might say a word for him too, sir," pleaded the
boy. "He's been behaving a lot better lately than he used to do."
"There certainly was some room for improvement," returned the master,
laughing. "Well, if you like to come to me again just before school,
I'll go with you and speak to Mr. Westford."
The long summer afternoon dragged slowly away. Mullins brought Jack
his dinner; and after that had been consumed, he sought to while away
the hours of captivity by reading a tattered text-book on harmony, and
strumming tunes with one finger on the piano. He wondered whether he
would be sent away that evening or the following morning.
At length, just before the second tea-bell rang, the school porter once
more appeared, this time to inform the prisoner that the headmaster
wished to see him in his study. Mr. Westford sat at his table writing
a letter, and received his visitor in grim silence.
"I've sent for you, sir," he said at length, "to tell you that I have
been given to understand that you were not altogether to blame for what
happened yesterday. There is, however, no excuse for your having set
me at defiance by breaking the strict rule I laid down that no boy was
to attend the fair. As I have already said, I believe you are not
solely responsible for the disgraceful behaviour of which I received a
complaint this morning. I shall not, therefore, expel you at once, as
I at first intended, but I am writing to your father to inform him that
your conduct is so far from satisfactory that I must ask him to remove
you at the end of the present term. Until then, remember you are not
to go beyond the gates without my permission."
"Well, I've got off better than I expected," said Jack, as he walked up
and down the quadrangle, talking matters over with his cousin. "It was
jolly good of you, Val, to go and speak up for me to the old man. Ward
told me all about it. If it hadn't been for that, I should have been
expelled at once. You've always been a good friend to me ever since I
came here."
"I'm sorry to think you're going at all," returned the other. "I can't
help feeling awfully mad with Raymond."
"Yes," answered Jack, "it wasn't all my fault; but there, it's just my
luck. The guv'nor'll be in a fine wax; but I don't care. Only one
thing I'm sorry for, and that is that this'll be my last holidays at
Brenlands."