FANE'S FATAL MISTAKE
Strange as it may seem, the coolest person who looked on the appalling
scene in the classroom presided over by the French master was Jack
Symonds himself. Recovering from his surprise, he could gaze down and
enjoy the havoc even as he knew that, unless something intervened to
save them, he and his companions were booked for a severe spasm of
trouble--and trouble of the direst order.
But the classroom scene was irresistibly funny--too funny for words.
Monsieur Anastasie stood like a sawdust statue, his comical moustache
powdered with sawdust, too amazed, too dumbfounded, to utter a word of
protest or surprise. Before him the sawdust was spread in an irregular
layer, almost knee-deep, and it was piled on tables and chairs, and the
boys of the extra French set in generous fashion.
All at once, the French master found his voice--with a vengeance. "What
is ze meaning of zis?" he cried, dusting at his coat, and sending the
sawdust flying in clouds. "Pah! I am smother--I am choke! Abominable!"
He raved and danced on the platform, scooping the sawdust in handfuls
from his person, and then shaking indignant fists at the open man-hole.
"Peste! I will not have ze tomfool antic! Ah, but you shall answer for
him before quickly," he choked. "Sacrebleu! It is an outrage--it is vat
you call indignation! Ze ear of ze headmaster shall be apprised of zis!"
The extra French set, half-guessing what had happened, commenced to
roar with laughter at those who had received the contents of the bags
upon their heads, and the furious Anastasie became more wild and
incoherent than ever.
"Ah, you laugh?" he cried. "You identify me comical? But you shall not
entertain ze ribald laughter for longer! Remember ze proverb--he laughs
loudest who gathers no moss!"
There was a perfect yell at this brilliant effort on the part of
Monsieur Anastasie, who was always tangling his proverbs in the most
ludicrous manner.
But the laughter was cut short when Jack Symonds began to appear in
instalments through the open man-hole. His feet showed first; then his
legs dangled; in a moment he was hanging by his hands. Then, he let go,
and came to the floor as lightly as a feather.
"I must explain--" he commenced.
But Monsieur Anastasie literally overwhelmed him with a torrent of
French and English phrases, and he could not get a word in on any
account.
"Ah, you are ze misdemeanour!" said the excitable Frenchman bitingly.
"You play at Père Santa Claus, hein? Explain yourself without ze
hesitate! You shall disport yourself before ze headmaster, quoi!"
"I'm really sorry for what's happened," said Jack, seeking to cool the
master's wrath by appearing calm himself. "It was all an accident--"
"Ah, an accident!"
"Yes, that's so--"
"Ze sawdust has tipped himself over?"
"I don't mean that. You see, sir, we were going to play a joke on those
cads--I mean those fellows next door. We did not mean to harm you in
any way. Only thing was, though, we mistook the giddy--that is, the
man-hole up there. The two of them are close together, and in the dark
we opened the wrong one."
He stood awaiting the verdict of Monsieur Anastasie, who took the frank
confession in silence. Then he dusted a little sawdust off his sleeve.
"I rejoice myself you have owned up, Symonds. Ze business was very
foolish, and you are too big to intermeddle yourself with ze foolish
tricks of little boys. I was going to inform ze headmaster of your
prank, entendez-vous? But no--you are not a bad boy. You must disperse
ze sawdust."
And the hot-tempered little French master actually smiled. It was his
way. He flew into a furious rage in a second or two; but it never
lasted long. And in this case Jack's open confession had somehow subtly
pleased him. He turned to his class.
"It is wise, is it not," he observed, "to be certain always? Think what
our friend would have saved had he ze forethought to look into ze room.
Remember ze proverb: a look before you leap saves nine!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" The class chuckled its appreciation of this portmanteaued
proverb, while Jack and others of the Crees who had nothing to do,
hastily collected the sawdust and shamefacedly put it into the sacks
that they had emptied with such gusto. Monsieur Anastasie, deep in the
mysteries of French grammar, permitted himself an occasional broad
smile, quite restored to his native good-humour.
Just as Jack was about to leave the room, however, the French master
walked over to him and spoke quietly.
"Two hundred lines," he said, "will repair ze mistake. From
Corneille--Le Cid. And put in all ze accents."
He smiled and nodded as if he had just handed Jack a five-pound note,
and Jack got out into the corridor, feeling that he had made a fool of
himself.
"Jingo, though!" he exclaimed, "I was jolly lucky not to be carpeted
before the Head. What a dickens of a mess I would have landed myself
into! Hullo, Patchie!"
"How fares it, comrade?" asked Patch, in his usual grand manner,
saluting Jack with an elaborate salaam. "What is this rumour that comes
to my ears that you have met with a set-back in the course of that jape
intended for the Cripples? Untrue, of course?"
"No such luck. We made an awful bloomer, and we'll have it in for those
Cripple blighters worse than ever now. Instead of letting the Cripples
have the sawdust, we made a slight miscalculation, and tipped it all
over old 'Annie' and his class."
"'Annie,' I take it, is Monsieur Anastasie? I suppose he was sore?"
"Oh, he cut up a bit at first, but he soon cooled down. In fact, he was
rather decent about it. Handed me two hundred lines, that's all."
"Bad luck, comrade. But it might have been worse, mightn't it?"
"Oh, easily! I might have dropped on Annie's head, and killed him, or
perhaps the sawdust might have choked one of those grinning beggars in
the extra French set. Or there might have been a tribe of death-adders
hidden in the sawdust. Oh, yes; I came off pretty well considering." He
laughed his usual happy, careless laugh. "Why, I've gone and forgotten
that trial swim for this afternoon--down at the baths. Coming along?"
"Er--no thanks. In fact, comrade, I may confide that I--well, I can't
swim."
"Oh, get out--you must. On a hot afternoon like this, too. Come along,
I'll give you a few pointers about the game. What on earth would you
do if you were left on a sinking ship with no lifebelts and unable to
swim?"
Patch seemed to ponder the situation. "I expect I should sink," he
announced brightly.
"Come, I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jack. "I'll defy an indignant
world, and teach you the noble art of supporting yourself in the
aqueous elephant--I mean element. That is, after the trial swim."
"What is this trial swim, comrade? For that matter, any sort of a swim
would be a trial--for me."
"Joke?" asked Jack, carelessly. "Fact is, old fellow, this is a
preliminary canter, so to speak, for a hundred-yards championship of
the Coll. Friend Billy is in for the event and he's a hot favourite
too. You'll see. It's a pound to a peanut that the Cup goes to Salmon's
House this year. I'm just going to give Billy a bit of a sprint over
the length."
"I'm sure it will be most exciting, comrade. I never did like baths,
though. The sight of all that water--ugh! Tell you what, I've just
remembered that I'd made an appointment. Beastly forgetful of me, but--"
"No, you don't," laughed Jack, grabbing the Socialist's arm and
dragging him towards the entrance to the baths. "You must learn
swimming some time--why not now. Hop into a costume--wait till my
swim's over."
In a few minutes Patch stood shivering upon the edge in a costume
several sizes too large for him, while Jack took a ten seconds'
start on Billy in a hundred-yards sprint. Septimus looked on with
an eye of cold disfavour as the two chums swept the length of the
baths in a cloud of foam and bubbles. Billy had perfected a very neat
trudgeon-crawl, and he beat Jack, who was no mean hand at the game, by
a matter of three seconds, despite the start that the latter had had.
Later on when Billy ran off to change, Jack caught sight of the
miserable Septimus Patch and recalled his intention of giving the
inventor a few lessons.
"Here," said Jack, "come along to the shallow end--look slippy."
Septimus paced gingerly after him along the wet boards, and all at once
he executed a most astounding manœuvre. His feet went from under him,
and he landed head-first in the water.
"Good gracious. What's the beggar up to?" asked Jack, who had imagined
that Patch had dived into the deeper part of the bath. "I say," he went
on, as Patch's head appeared, "you can swim--after all?"
"Swim--glug!" said Patch, as a wavelet curved into his
conveniently-opened mouth. "No--help! I'm drowning--glug!"
He paddled his way frantically to a ladder near by, and hauled himself
out.
"You asked me to look slippy, and I slipped!" he said. "Believe me,
it's no joke. How far did the water fall when I swallowed that little
lot--ugh! I had a young Niagara trickling down my throat! Comrade, does
it all taste like that?"
Jack choked with laughter. "Mind your step," he warned. "Here, this is
the shallow end. Hop in--it's only up to your waist."
He prepared to demonstrate the art of kicking while holding to a step
on the level of the water, and Septimus appeared to manage that part of
the business well enough. Jack then showed his study-mate a few simple
arm movements, and invited Septimus to try while being supported in the
water by his middle.
After a few minutes of this sport, Patch wriggled out of his mentor's
grasp and spluttered indignantly.
"Do you want to drown me?" he asked. "I'll buy a gun and let you shoot
me--it'd be quicker."
"Why, what's up?"
"Up, do you say? Down more fits it--at least that's where my head was,
under water, while you were watching my feet! I don't want to die a
lingering death, thanks. I've had enough for the first lesson--and I'd
like to take the others by post."
As he clambered out of the bath, his loose costume hanging about him in
ridiculous folds, a roar of laughter went up from the fellows bathing
there.
When they got back to the study they met Billy Faraday. He was grinning
broadly. "I hear you've been teaching the inventor how to swim!" he
laughed. "I believe he found the water quite wet?"
"Yes, comrade," answered Patch genially, "and so would you if only you
were more familiar with that unknown quantity."
"Well, you ought--" began Billy; but he broke off with a sharp, "I say!"
"What's the matter?"
"The coat--it's gone! And the Star's in it, too!"
Jack and Septimus looked up in surprise, and were startled to observe
that it was even as Billy had said--the coat was gone. They jumped up
and made a hurried search.
"Jingo, this is serious!" murmured Jack. "It's gone, right enough.
Wonder whether that beast Redisham--?"
"It's got misplaced, perhaps," said Patch, who had put down his book
and joined in the hunt. "Mislaid somewhere or other--"
"But I never wear it!" said Billy. "How could it?"
"Fane--Fane's the solution, I think," jerked out the amateur detective,
rubbing his chin hard. "We didn't tell him, I remember, that we'd
hidden the Star, and perhaps he's--but here he is."
"Yes, here I am," said Fane, closing the door. "You fellows look
excited--what's up?"
"Look here--did you move a coat of Billy's? It was hanging up in this
corner."
"Billy's coat!" exclaimed Fane, turning a trifle pale. "What's the
matter with Billy's coat?"
"Matter enough, comrade," said Patch grimly. "We didn't tell you--we
forgot, as a matter of fact--we didn't tell you that we'd sewn the
Black Star up in one of the seams of that coat, to hide it. And now the
coat's gone."
"My only aunt!" gasped Fane, falling into a chair. "Is that right? Was
the Star in that coat?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Why?" echoed Fane. "I sold that coat for five bob to an Indian hawker
yesterday afternoon! And I expect he's miles off by this time!"