Slegge said it was all "bosh;" for fifty years ago a boy at school had
not learned to declare that everything which did not suit his taste was
"rot." So Slegge stood leaning up against the playground wall with a
supercilious sneer upon his lip, and said it was all "bosh," and only
fit for children.
The other fellows, he said, might make idiots of themselves if they
liked, he should stop in and read; for Dr Bewley, DD, Principal of the
world-famed establishment--a grey, handsome, elderly gentleman in the
truest sense of the word--had smilingly said after grace at breakfast
that when he was a boy he used to take a great deal of interest in
natural history, and that he presumed his pupils would feel much the
same as he did, and would have no objection to setting aside their
classical and mathematical studies for the morning and watching the
entrance of the procession when it entered the town at twelve o'clock.
The boys, who were all standing and waiting for the Doctor to leave the
dining-hall, gave a hearty cheer at this; and as the ragged volley died
out, after being unduly prolonged by the younger pupils, instead of
crossing to the door from the table, the Doctor continued, turning to
the mathematical master:
"I think, Mr Morris, you might be kind enough to tell Wrench to get the
boy to help him and place a line of forms by the wall, so that the young
gentlemen can enjoy the privilege of having a prolonged private box
above the crowd; or, shall I say, a high bank in this modern form of the
classic amphitheatre?"
"Hear, hear!" said Mr Rampson, the heavy, solid-looking classical
master, impressed by the Principal's allusion to the Roman sports; and
he grumbled out something in a subdued voice, with his eyes shut. What
it was the boys did not hear, but it was evidently a Latin quotation,
and ended in _ibus_.
The Doctor then marched slowly towards the door, with his black gown
floating out around him, and carrying his mortar-board cap by the limp
corner; for while everything about him was spick and span--his cravat of
the stiffest and whitest as it supported his plump, pink, well-shaven
chin, and his gown of the glossiest black--a habit of holding his
college cap by its right-hand corner had resulted in the formation of a
kind of hinge which made the University headpiece float up and down in
concert with his stately steps as he turned his head from side to side
and nodded benignantly at first one and then another of his junior
pupils.
The masters followed, looking very severe indeed; and, following the
example set by Mr Morris, they all frowned and shook their heads at the
great waste of time that would follow the passing of the procession.
"So childish of the old man," said Morris to the French master, Monsieur
Brohanne, a particularly plump-looking Gaul. "The boys will be fit for
nothing afterwards."
"_Certainement_!" said the French master.
"But I suppose I must give orders for these seats to be placed;" and as
soon as he was outside he summoned Wrench--the pale-faced and red-nosed
official whose principal duty it was, with the assistance of a sturdy
hobbledehoy (Mounseer Hobby-de-Hoy, as the boys called him) to keep
well-blackened the whole of the boots in the big establishment--and gave
orders to carry out and run a line of forms all along the outer wall of
the great playground, which was continued farther on by the
cricket-field hedge.
"A great waste of time," said Morris; but he gave very strict orders to
the man-servant that the biggest and strongest form was to be chalked
"Number One," and reserved for the masters only.
There was a buzz in the dining-hall which grew into a roar as the door
closed. The boys, who had sat down to breakfast rather wanting in
appetite--from the fact that their consciences were not very clear
regarding studies in English and French or certain algebraic solutions
or arrangements in angles specified by "A B C" and "D E F," according to
the declarations of a well-known gentleman named Euclid--felt in their
great relief as if they would like another cup of coffee and two slices
more, for the holiday was quite unexpected.
It was about this time that Slegge gave his opinion to his following,
which was rather large, he being the senior pupil and considering
himself head-chief of the school, not from his distinguished position as
a scholar, but from the fact that his allowance of cash from home was
the largest of that furnished to any pupil of the establishment, without
counting extra tips. Slegge, Senior--not the pupil, for there was no
other boy of the same name in the school, but Slegge _pere_, as Monsieur
Brohanne would have termed him--being sole proprietor of the great
wholesale mercantile firm of Slegge, Gorrock and Dredge, Italian
warehousemen, whose place of business was in the City of London, and
was, as Slegge insisted, "not a shop."
"You fellows," he said, "can do as you like. Some of you had better set
up a wicket and the net, and come and bowl to me. Ha, ha! look at
Thames and the Nigger! It will just suit them. Those Indian chaps
think of nothing else but show. I shan't be at all surprised if the
nigger goes up to dress and comes down again in white muslin and a
turban.--I say! Hi! Thames! Rivers! What's your stupid name? It's
going to be a hot day. You ought to come out with the chow-chow."
"No, no," whispered a boy beside him, "chowri."
"Well, chow-chow, chowri; it's all the same," said the big lad
impatiently. "Horse-tail to whisk the flies away.--Hi! do you hear?"
"Are you speaking to me?" said the tall, very English-looking lad
addressed.
"Of course I am."
"Well, you might address me by my name."
"Well, so I did. Thames. No, I remember, Severn! What idiots your
people were to give themselves names like that!"
"Well, it's as good as Slegge anyhow," said the lad.
There was a little laugh at this, which made the owner of the latter
name turn sharply and fiercely upon the nearest boy, who shut his mouth
instantly and looked as innocent as a lamb.
"Look here," said Slegge, turning again to the lad he had addressed,
"don't you be cheeky, sir, or you'll find yourself walked down behind
the tennis-court some morning to have a first breakfast; and you won't
be the first that I have taught his place in this school."
"Oh," said the lad quietly, "you mean fighting?"
"Yes," said Slegge, thrusting out his chin, "I mean fighting. You are
new to this place, and you have been coming the stuck-up on the strength
of your father being a poor half-pay Company's colonel. Honourable East
India Company indeed! Shabby set of sham soldiers got-up to look like
the real."
The face of the boy he addressed changed colour a little, and he drew a
deep breath as he compressed his lips.
"And don't you look at me like that," continued Slegge, who was
delighted to find a large audience gathering round him to listen while
he gave one of the new boys a good setting down, "or you may find that,
after I have done with you, you won't be fit to show your ugly
mug in the row of grinning boobies staring over the wall at a
twopenny-halfpenny wild-beast show."
"I don't want to quarrel," said the lad quietly.
"Oh, don't you!" continued Slegge, with a sneering laugh. "Well,
perhaps I do, and if I do I shall just give your master one for himself
as well."
"My master," said the lad staring.
"Yes, your master, the nigger--Howdah, Squashee, or whatever he calls
himself. Here! hi! you, Aziz Singh-Song, or whatever your name is, why
don't you dress up and go and get leave from the Doctor to ride the
elephant in the procession? Your father is a mahout out there in India,
isn't he?"
The boy he addressed, who had just come up to lay his hand upon the
shoulder of Severn, to whisper, "What's the matter, Glyn?" started on
hearing this address, and his dark face, which was about the tint of a
_young_ Spaniard's, whom he resembled greatly in mien, flushed up and
the lips closed very tightly, but only to part again and show his
glistening white teeth. "My father--" he began.
"Bother! come on," cried Severn, putting his arm round the other and
half-pushing, half-dragging him through the crowd of lads who were
clustering round in expectation of a coming set-to.
There was a low murmur as of disgust as the two lads elbowed their way
through, whilst Slegge shouted after them.
"Sneaks!" he cried. "Cowards! But I haven't done with you yet;" and as
they passed out through the door into the great playground he drew
himself up, giving his head a jerk, and then moistening his hands in a
very objectionable way, he gave them a rub together, doubled his fists,
and threw himself into a fighting attitude, jerking his head to and fro
in the most approved manner; and, bringing forth a roar of delight from
the little crowd around him, as quick as lightning he delivered two
sharp blows right and left to a couple of unoffending schoolfellows,
picking out, though, two who were not likely to retaliate.
"That'll be it, boys, the pair together--one down and t'other come on.
Both together if they like. They want putting in their places. I mean
to strike against it."
"Hit hard then, Sleggy," cried one of his parasites.
"I will," was the reply. "There you have it;" and to the last speaker's
disgust he received a sharp blow in the chest which sent him staggering
back. "Now, don't you call me Sleggy again, young man. Next time it
will be one in the mouth.--Yes, boys," he continued, drawing himself up,
"I do mean to hit hard, and let the Principal and the masters see that
we are not going to have favouritism here. Indian prince, indeed! Yah!
who's he? Why, I could sell him for a ten-pun note, stock and lock and
bag and baggage, to Madame Tussaud's. That's about all he's fit for.
Dressed up to imitate an English gentleman! Look at him! His clothes
don't fit, even if they are made by a proper tailor."
"It's he who doesn't fit his clothes," cried one of the circle.
"Well done, Burney!" cried Slegge approvingly. "That's it. Look at his
hands and feet. Bah! I haven't patience with it. The Doctor ought to
be ashamed of himself, taking a nigger like that! Why didn't he come
dressed like a native, instead of disguised as an English lad? And he's
no more like it than chalk's like cheese. Yes, I say the Doctor ought
to be ashamed of himself, bringing a fellow like that into an
establishment for the sons of gentlemen; and I'll tell him so before I
have done."
"Do," said the lad nearest to him; "only do it when we are all there. I
should like to hear you give the Doctor a bit of your mind."
Slegge turned round upon him sharply. "Do you mean that," he said, "or
is it chaff?"
"Mean it? Of course!" cried the boy hastily.
"Lucky for you, then," continued Slegge. "I suppose you haven't
forgotten me giving you porridge before breakfast this time last year?"
"Here, what a chap you are! I didn't mean any harm. But I say, Slegge,
old chap, you did scare them off. I wish the Principal wouldn't have
any more new boys. I say, though, you don't mean to get the wickets
pitched this morning, do you?"
"Of course I do," cried Slegge. "Do you want to go idling and staring
over the wall and look at the show?"
"Well, I--I--"
"There, that will do," cried Slegge. "I know. Just as if there weren't
monkeys enough in the collection without you!"
At this would-be witticism on the part of the tyrant of the school there
was a fresh roar of laughter, which made the unfortunate against whom it
was directed writhe with annoyance, and hurry off to conciliate his
schoolfellow by getting the wickets pitched.