Mountjoy House had a narrow escape that afternoon of losing three of its
most promising pupils.
The boys themselves by no means realised the peril of their situation.
Indeed, after the first alarm, and finding that, by clinging tightly to
the rail of the box-seat, they could support themselves on their feet on
the floor of the swinging vehicle, Heathcote and Coote began almost to
enjoy it, and were rather sorry one or two of the Templeton boys were
not at hand to see how Mountjoy did things.
Richardson, however, with the reins in his hands, but utterly powerless
to check the headlong career of the mare, or to do anything but guide
her, took a more serious view of the situation, and heartily wished the
drive was at an end.
It was a flat road all the way to Mountjoy--no steep hill to breathe the
runaway, and no ploughed field to curb her ardour. It was a narrow
road, too, so narrow that, for two vehicles to pass one another, it was
necessary for one of the two to draw up carefully at the very verge.
And as the verge in the present case meant the edge of rather a steep
embankment, the prospect was not altogether a cheering one for an
inexperienced boy, who, if he knew very little about driving, knew quite
well that everything depended on his own nerve and coolness.
And Richardson not only had a head, but knew how to keep it. With a
rein tightly clutched in each hand, with his feet firmly pressed against
the footboard, with a sharp eye out over the mare's ears, and a grim
twitch on his determined mouth, he went over the chances in his own
mind.
"If she goes on like this, we shall get to Mountjoy in half an hour.
What a pace! We're bound to smash up before we get there! Perhaps
these fellows had better try and jump for it. Hallo! lucky we didn't go
over that stone! Wonder if I could pull her up if I got on her back?
She might kick up and smash the trap! Wonder if she will pull up, or go
over the bank, or what? Tom--Tom will have to run hard to catch us.
Whew! what a swing! I could have sworn we were over!"
This last peril, and the involuntary cry of the two boys clinging on
behind him, silenced even this mental soliloquy for a bit. But the
waggonette, after two or three desperate plunges, righted itself and
continued its mad career at the heels of the mare.
"What would happen if we went over? Jolly awkward to get pitched over
on to my head or down among the mare's feet! She'd kick, I guess!
Those fellows inside could jump and-- By Jove! there comes something on
the road! We're in for it now! Either a smash, or over the bank, or--
Hallo! there's a gate open!"
This last inward exclamation was caused by the sight of an open gate
some distance ahead, through which a rough cart-track branched off from
the road towards the sand-hills on the left. Richardson, with the
instinct of desperation, seized upon this as the only way of escape from
the peril which threatened them.
"Look out, you fellows!" cried he; "hang on tight on the right side
while we turn, and jump well out if we go over."
They watched him breathlessly as they came towards the gate. The
vehicle which was meeting them and their own were about equal distance
from the place, and it was clear their fate must be settled in less than
a minute.
Richardson waved to the driver of the approaching cart to pull up, and
at the same time edged the mare as far as he could on to the off-side of
the road, so as to give her a wide turn in.
"Now for it!" said he to himself, pulling the left rein; "if this don't
do, I'll give up driving."
The mare, perhaps weary, perhaps perplexed at the sight of the cart in
front, perhaps ready for a new diversion, obeyed the lead and swerved
off at the gate. For a moment the waggonette tottered on its left
wheel, and, but for the weight of the two passengers on the other side,
would have caught the gate post and shattered itself to atoms in the
narrow passage.
As it was, it cleared the peril by an inch, and then, plunging on to the
soft, rough track, capsized gently, mare and all, landing its three
occupants a yard or two off with their noses in the mud.
It was an undignified end to an heroic drive, and Richardson, as he
picked himself up and cleared the mud from his eyes, felt half
disappointed that no bones were broken or joints dislocated after all.
Coote did certainly contribute a grain of consolation by announcing that
he _believed_ one of his legs was broken. But even this hope of glory
was short-lived, for that young hero finding no one at leisure to assist
him to his feet rose by himself, and walked some distance to a grass
bank where he could sit down and examine for himself the extent of his
injuries.
"Wal, young squire," said a voice at Dick's side, as that young
gentleman found eyesight enough to look about him, "you've done it this
time."
The owner of the voice was the driver of the cart, and the tones and
looks with which he made the remark were anything but unflattering to
Richardson.
"It was a close squeak through the gate," said the latter, "not six
inches either side; and if it hadn't been for the ruts we should have
kept up all right till now. I say, do you think the trap's damaged, or
the mare?"
The mare was lying very comfortably on her side taking a good breath
after her race, and not offering to resume her feet. As for the
waggonette it was lying equally comfortably on its side, with one wheel
up in the air.
"Shaft broken," said the driver, "that's all."
"That's all!" said Dick, dolefully, "we shall catch it, and no mistake."
The man grinned.
"You can't expect to play games of that sort without scratching the
varnish off," said he. "No fault of yours you haven't got your necks
broke."
"Suppose we try to get her up?" said Richardson, looking as if this last
information had very little comfort in it.
So among them they unharnessed the mare and managed to disengage her
from the vehicle and get her to her feet.
"She's all sound," said the man, after a careful overhauling.
"She's a cad," said Dick, "and I shouldn't have been sorry if she'd
broken her neck. Look at the smash she's made."
The trap was indeed far worse damaged than they supposed as first. Not
only was a shaft broken, but a wheel was off, and the rail all along one
side was torn away. It was clear there was no more driving to be got
out of it that afternoon, and the boys gave up the attempt to raise it
in disgust.
"Do you know Tom, our man--Ashford's man?" said Dick.
"Who? Tom Tranter? Yes, I knows him."
"Well, you'll meet him on the road between here and Markridge, walking,
or perhaps running. Tell him we've had a spill and he'd better see
after the trap, will you? We'll go on."
"What about the horse, though?" said Heathcote.
"I suppose we shall have to take the beast along with us. We can't
leave her here."
"I think we'd better stop till Tom comes, and all go on together,"
suggested Heathcote.
"I suppose you funk it with Ashford," said Dick whose temper was
somewhat ruffled by misfortune. "I don't. If you two like to stop you
can. I'll go on with the mare."
"Oh, no, we'll all come," said Heathcote. "I'm not afraid, no more is
Coote."
"All serene then, come on. Mind you tell Tom, I say," added he to the
carter. "Good-bye, and thanks awfully."
And they departed in doleful procession, Dick, with the whip in his
hand, leading the mare by the mouth, and Heathcote and Coote following
like chief mourners, just out of range of the animal's heels.
"What shall we say to Ashford?" asked Heathcote, after a little.
"Say? What do you mean?" said Dick.
"He's sure to ask us what has happened."
"Well, we shall tell him, I suppose."
"There'll be an awful row."
"Of course there will."
"We shall get licked."
"Of course we shall. What of it?"
"Only," said Heathcote, with a little hesitation, "I suppose there's no
way of getting out of it?"
"Not unless you tell lies. You and Coote can tell some if you like--I
shan't."
"I'm not going to tell any," said Coote, "I've told quite enough in my
exam. papers."
"Oh, of course, I don't mean telling crams," said Heathcote, who really
didn't exactly know what he did mean. "I'll back you up, old man."
"Thanks. I say, as we are in a row, mightn't we just as well take it
out of this beastly horse? If Coote led him you and I could take cock
shots at him from behind."
"Oh, yes," said Coote, "and hit me by mistake; not if I know it."
"We might aim at Coote," suggested Heathcote, by way of solving the
difficulty, "and hit the mare by mistake."
"Perhaps it would be rather low," said Dick. "I don't see, though, why
she shouldn't carry us. She's a long back; plenty of room for all three
of us."
"The middle for me," said Coote.
"Think she'd kick up?" asked Heathcote.
"Not she, she couldn't lift with all of us on her. Come on. Whoa! you
beast. Give us a leg up, somebody. Whoa! Hold her head, Coote, and
keep her from going round and round. Now then. By Jove! what a way up
it is!"
By a mighty effort of combined hoisting and climbing, the boys, one
after the other, scaled the lofty ridge, and perched themselves, as
securely as they could, well forward on the mare's long back.
Luckily for them, the patient animal endured her burden meekly, and
plodded on in a listless manner, pricking her ears occasionally at the
riot which went on on her back, and once or twice rattling the bones of
her riders by a mild attempt at a trot, but otherwise showing no signs
of renewing her former more energetic protest.
In this manner, after a weary and not altogether refreshing journey, the
three jaded, tightly-packed heroes came to a standstill at the door of
Mountjoy House, where, one after the other, they slid sadly from their
perches, and addressed themselves to the satisfying of Mrs Ashford's
natural curiosity, only hoping the interview would not be protracted,
and so defer for long the supper to which they all eagerly looked
forward.
"Why, what's all this?" said the matron.
"Where's the waggonette, and Tom?" chimed in Mr Ashford, appearing at
the same moment.
"Please, sir," said Dick, "we didn't wait for Tom, and drove home, and
there was a little accident. I was driving at the time, sir. We got
spilt, and the trap was a little damaged. We left word for Tom to see
to it, and I'll write and get my father to pay for mending it. We're
all awfully sorry, sir. Dr Winter sends his regards, and we shall hear
the result of the exam. on Thursday. One of the wheels came off, but I
fancy it will go on again. It was a rut did it. We were coming along
at a very good pace, and should have been here an hour ago if it hadn't
been for the accident. We're sorry to be late, sir."
After which ample explanation and apology the boys felt themselves
decidedly aggrieved that they were not at once ushered in to supper.
Mr Ashford, however, being a mortal of only limited perception,
required a good deal more information; and a painful and somewhat
petulant cross-examination ensued, the result of which was that our
heroes were informed they were not to be trusted, that both Mr and Mrs
Ashford were disappointed in them, that they ought to be ashamed of
themselves, and that they would hear more about the matter to-morrow.
And what about the supper?--that glorious spread of coffee and hot
toast, and eggs and bacon, the anticipation of which had borne them up
in all the perils and fatigue of the day, and had shone like a beacon
star to guide them home? The subject was ignored, basely ignored; and
the culprits were ordered to join the ordinary school supper and appease
their hunger on bread and cheese and cold boiled beef, and slake their
thirst on "swipes."
Then did the spirits of Richardson, Heathcote and Coote wax fierce
within them. Then did they call Mr Ashford a cad, and Mrs Ashford a
sneak. Then did they kick all the little boys within reach, and scowl
furiously upon the big ones. Then did they wish the mare was dead and
Templeton a ruin!
As, when Jove frowns and Mercury and Vulcan scowl, the hills hide their
heads and the valleys tremble beneath the storm, so did the youth of
Mountjoy quake and cower that evening as it raised its eyes and beheld
those three gloomy heroes devour their beef and drink their swipes. No
one ventured to ask how they had fared, or wherefore they looked sad;
but they knew something had happened. The little boys gazed with awe-
struck wonder at the heroes who had that day been at Templeton, and
contended for Templeton honours. The elder boys wondered if gloom was
part of Templeton "form," and when their turn would come to look as
black and majestic; and all marvelled at the supper those three ate, and
at the chasm they left in the cold boiled beef!
"Come on, you fellows," said Richardson, as soon as the meal was
finished. "I'm going to bed; I'm fagged."
"So am I," said Heathcote.
"So am I," said Coote.
And the triumvirate stalked from the room, leaving Mountjoy more than
ever convinced something terrific had happened.
If Coote had had his way, he would rather have stayed up. He slept in a
different room from Richardson and Heathcote, and it was rather slow
going to bed by himself at half-past seven. But as it was evident from
Dick's manner that this was the proper course to take under the
circumstances, he took it, and was very soon dreaming that he and Edward
the Fifth's father were trotting round the Templeton quadrangle on the
mare, much to the admiration of the Templeton boys, who assembled in
their thousands to witness the exploit.
Next day the uncomfortable topic of the mare and the waggonette was
renewed in a long conference with Mr Ashford.
As supper was no longer pending, and as a night's rest had intervened,
the boys were rather more disposed to enter into details. But they
failed to satisfy Mr Ashford that they were not to blame for what had
occurred.
"I am less concerned," said he, "about the damage done to the waggonette
than I am to think I cannot trust you as fully as I ought to be able to
trust my head boys. I hope during the week or two that remains of this
term you will try to win back the confidence you have lost. I must, in
justice to my other boys, punish you. Under the circumstances, I shall
not cane you, but till the end of the term you must each of you lose
your hour's play between twelve and one."
Mr Ashford paused. Perhaps he expected an outburst of gratitude.
Perhaps he didn't exactly know what to say next. In either case, he
found he had made a mistake.
The boys, with an instinct not, certainly, of self-righteousness, but of
common justice, felt that they had had punishment enough already for
their sin. Mr Ashford took no account of those few seconds when the
waggonette was dashing through the gate and reeling to its fall. He
reckoned as nothing the weary jolt home, the indignity of that supper
last night, and the suspense of that early morning. He made no
allowance for an absence of malice in what they had done, and gave them
no credit--although, indeed, neither did they give themselves credit--
for the regret and straightforwardness with which they had confessed it.
He proposed to treat them, the head boys of Mountjoy, as common
delinquents, and punish them as he would punish a cheat, or a bully, or
mutineer.
It wasn't fair--they knew it; and if Ashford didn't know it, too--well,
he ought.
"We'd rather be caned, sir," said Richardson, speaking for all three.
Mr Ashford regarded the speaker with sharp surprise.
"Richardson, kindly remember I am the best judge of what punishment you
deserve."
"It's not fair to keep us in all the term," said Dick, his cheeks
mounting colour with the desperateness of his boldness.
Mr Ashford changed colour, too, but his cheeks turned pale.
"Leave my sight, sir, instantly! How do you dare to use language like
that to me!"
Fortunately for the dignity, as well as for the comfort, of the three
boys, Dick made no attempt to prolong the argument. He turned and left
the room, followed by his two faithful henchmen, little imagining that,
if any one had scored in this unsatisfactory interview, he had.
Don't let the reader imagine that any mystical glory belongs to the
schoolboy who happens to "score one" off his master. If he does it
consciously, the chances are he is a snob for doing it. If he does it
unconsciously, as Dick did here, then the misfortune of the master by no
means means the bliss of the boy.
Dick felt anything but blissful as he stalked moodily to the schoolroom
that morning and growled his injuries to his allies.
But Mr Ashford, as soon as his first burst of temper had evaporated,
like an honest, sensible man, sat down and reviewed the situation; and
it occurred to him, on reviewing it, that he had made a mistake. It
was, of course, extremely painful and humiliating to have to acknowledge
it; but, once acknowledged, it would have been far more humiliating to
Mr Ashford's sense of honour to persist in it.
He summoned the boys once more to his presence, and they trooped in like
three prisoners brought up on remand to hear their final sentence.
The master's mouth twitched nervously, and he half repented of the
ordeal he had set before himself.
"You said just now, Richardson, that the punishment I proposed to
inflict on you was not fair?"
"Yes, sir, we think so," replied Dick, simply.
"I think so, too," said Mr Ashford, equally simply, "and I shall say no
more about it. Now you can go."
The boys gaped at him in mingled admiration and bewilderment.
"You can go," repeated the master.
Richardson took a hasty survey of his companions' countenances, and
said--
"Will you cane us instead, please sir?"
"No, Richardson, that would not be fair either."
Richardson made one more effort.
"Please, sir, we think we deserve something."
"People don't always get their deserts in this world, my boy," said the
master, with a smile. "Now please go when I tell you."
Mr Ashford rallied three waverers to his standard that morning. They
didn't profess to understand the meaning of it all, but they could see
that the master had sacrificed something to do them justice, and with
the native chivalry of boys, they made his cause theirs, and did all
they could to cover his retreat.
Two days later, a letter by the post was brought in to Mr Ashford in
the middle of school.
Coote's face grew crimson as he saw it, and the faces of his companions
grew long and solemn. A sudden silence fell on the room, broken only by
the rustle of the paper as the master tore open the envelope and
produced the printed document. His eyes glanced hurriedly down it, and
a shade of trouble crossed his brow.
"We're gone coons," groaned Heathcote.
"Don't speak to me," said Dick.
Coote said nothing, but wished one of the windows was open on a hot day
like this.
"This paper contains the result of the entrance examination at
Templeton," said Mr Ashford. "Out of thirty-six candidates, Heathcote
has passed fifteenth, and Richardson twenty-first. Coote, I am sorry to
say, has not passed."