"The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold" early next day. The
twenty innocent lambs whom, in the last chapter, we left sweetly folded
in slumber had barely had time to arise and comb their hair when the
advance-guard of the hungry tyrant appeared in their midst.
This was no other than a truck-load of trunks, portmanteaux, bags and
hat-boxes sent up from the station, the owners of which, so the alarming
rumour spread, were on the road.
It was an agitated meal our heroes partook of with the spectacle of that
truck before their eyes, and many an anxious ear was pricked for the
first sound of the approaching horde.
But the horde, being aware that nothing was expected of it till mid-day,
by no means saw the fun of surrendering its liberty at 10 o'clock, and
went down to bathe in the harbour on the way up, so that the fate which
impended was kept for two good hours in suspense.
Meanwhile, the interview with the Doctor was accomplished. It was not
very alarming. Your new boy would sooner face twenty doctors than one
hero of the middle Fifth. The head master asked a few kindly questions
of each boy, and, so to speak, took stock of him before adding his name
formally to the school list. He also added a few words of advice to the
company generally, and enlightened them as to a few of the chief school
rules. The others, he said, they would learn soon enough.
Whereat they all said, "Thank you, sir," and retired.
Dick and Heathcote, with young Aspinall in tow, walked back to
Westover's house together, and were nearly half-way there, when Aspinall
suddenly clutched Dick's arm and whispered--
"There's one!"
They all stood still and gazed as if it was a spectre, not a human
being, they expected.
What they really did see was a rather nice-looking boy of sixteen or
seventeen lounging in at the great gateway, looking about him with a
familiar air, and apparently bending his steps straight for Westover's.
It was an awkward situation for our three new boys. Every step brought
them nearer under the observation of the "Assyrian," and at every step
they felt more awkward and abashed.
Dick did his best to put on a little swagger. He stuck one hand in his
pocket, and twitched his hat a trifle on one side. Heathcote, too,
instinctively let slip his jacket button so as to betray his watch-
chain, and laughed rather loudly at something which nobody said. Poor
young Aspinall attempted no such demonstration, but slipped under the
lee of his protectors, and wondered what would become of him.
The old boy and the new foregathered just at the door of Westover's, and
it was not till they actually stood face to face that the former gave
any sign of being aware of the presence of the trio. He then honoured
them with a casual survey as they stood back to let him enter first.
"New kids?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Westover's?"
"Yes."
The hero grunted and passed in, and they heard him shouting to the
matron to ask if his traps had come from the station, and whether
anybody had come yet.
Anybody come! He didn't count them, that was plain.
Not knowing exactly what to do, they determined on another walk round
the Quad, preferring to be reconnoitred by the enemy in the open, and
not indoors--possibly in a corner.
The enemy reconnoitred in force. After the first arrival, boys dropped
in in twos and threes, in cabs, in omnibuses, in high spirits, in low
spirits. The old square began to get lively. The echoes which had
slept soundly for the past fortnight woke up suddenly, and the rooks in
the elms began to grow uneasy, and summoned a cabinet council to discuss
what was going on in the lower world.
"Hallo, Duff, old man," cried one boy near to our heroes, as he caught
sight of a chum across the square. "Seen Raggles?"
"Yes; he's got a cargo down. He's asked me."
"Tell him I'm up, will you?"
"What's a cargo?" asked Heathcote, as the speaker went past.
"Goodness knows," said Dick--"perhaps it's a crib."
"My brother Will used to call a hamper a cargo," said Aspinall.
"Humph," said Dick, who never liked to be corrected, "there's something
in that."
"I hope there is," said Heathcote.
It said a great deal for the solemnity of the occasion that Dick did not
at once proceed to administer condign punishment. He took note of the
offence, though, and punished the offender quietly in bed some days
after. Just at the present moment, had he been inclined to square
accounts, he had no leisure; for a sudden cry of "Dredger!" was raised,
whereat they noticed a number of boys step off the pavement on to the
grass. Before they could conjecture what this sudden manoeuvre might
mean, a rush of steps arose behind, and next moment they were caught up
in the toils of a net constructed of towels knotted together, stretching
across the path, and held at each end by two swift runners who swept
them along at a headlong pace, catching up a shoal of stray fish on the
way until even the stalwart dredgers were compelled, from the very
weight of their "take," to slacken speed.
A crowd collected to witness the emptying of the net. One by one the
trembling small fry were grabbed and passed round to answer a string of
questions such as--
"What's your name?"
"Are you most like your father or your mother?"
"Who's your hatter?"
"Can you swim?"
"Who was the father of Zebedee's children?"
"Are you a Radical or a Tory?"
All of which questions each luckless catechumen was required to answer
truly, and in a loud, distinct voice, amid the most embarrassing cheers
and jeers and hootings of the audience.
Dick got through his fairly well till he came to the political question,
when he made the great mistake of saying he didn't know whether he was a
Radical or a Tory. For, as he might have expected, every one was down
on him, and he was sent forth a marked man to make up his mind on the
question.
Heathcote, whose sorrow it was to be separated from his friend in the
landing of the catch, was less lucky. He professed himself like his
mother, which was greatly against him. His hatter also was a country
artist instead of a Londoner, and that he discovered was an extremely
grave offence. And as for his politics, he made a greater mistake even
than Dick, for he professed himself imbued with opinions "between the
two," an announcement which brought down a torrent of abuse and scorn,
mingled with cries of "kick him for a half-and-half prig!" an
observation which Heathcote was very sorry indeed to hear.
As the reader may guess, poor young Aspinall had a very bad time of it.
He began to cry as soon as the first question was propounded. But this
demonstration failed to shelter him. A general hiss greeted the sound
of his whimper, and cries of, "Where's his bottle?"
"Meow!"
"Hush-a-bye baby!" His ruthless tyrants, who knew no distinction
between the tears of a crocodile and the tears of a terrified child,
made him go through his catechism to the bitter end. They howled with
delight when they heard him call himself Bertie, and paused in dead
silence to hear him say whether he was like "papa or mamma"--"or nurse?"
as some one suggested. He took refuge in tears again, with the result
that his inquisitors were more than ever determined to get their answer.
"Hang it, you young ass," said one boy, whom the child, even in his
flutter and misery, recognised as the boy who had accosted them at the
door of Westover's that morning, "can't you answer without blubbering
like that? Nobody's going to eat you up."
This friendly admonition served to set the boy on his feet, and he
stammered out, "Mother."
"You weren't asked if you were like your mother," shouted some one, "are
you most like 'papa or mamma?'"
"Mamma," faltered the boy. Whereat there was great jubilation, as there
was also when he described his hatter as _Mr_. Smith of Totnes.
"Can you swim?"
"N-no, I'm afraid not."
"That's a pity, with the lot you blubber. You'll get drowned some day."
Terrific cheers greeted this sally, in the midst of which the boy was
almost forgotten.
But the political test remained.
"Now, Bertie dear, are you a Radical or a Tory?" he was asked.