"I'm a Radical."
At which straightforward and unlooked-for reply there were great cheers
and counter-cheers, in the midst of which the scared little Radical was
hustled down from his perch and sent flying to join his friends, and
calm the fluttering of his poor little heart.
It being evidently unsafe to remain longer in the Quadrangle, the
dejected trio betook themselves with many misgivings, to their house.
Westover's presented a striking contrast to the quiet scene of yesterday
evening. It being still a quarter to twelve, and term not being
supposed to commence till mid-day, the short interval of freedom from
school rules was being made use of to the best advantage.
The matron, shouted at and besieged on all sides, already stood at bay,
with her hands to her ears, having abandoned any attempt to do anything
for anybody. The house porter was in a similar condition of strike. He
had once been knocked completely over by rival claimants on his
assistance, and he had several times been nearly pulled limb from limb
by disappointed employers. He, therefore, stood with his back to the
wall and his arms folded, waiting till the storm should blow itself out.
Upstairs, in the studies, riot scarcely less exuberant was taking place.
Bosom friends, reunited after three weeks' separation, celebrated their
reunion with paeans of jubilation and war-whoops of triumph. "Cargoes"
were being unladen here; Liddell-and-Scott was officiating as a cricket
ball there; a siege was going on round this door, and a hand-to-hand
scrimmage between the posts of that. A few of the placid ones were
quietly unpacking in the midst of the Babel, and one or two were
actually writing home.
Our heroes, fancying the looks neither of the matron's hall nor of the
lobby upstairs, deemed it prudent to retreat as quickly as possible to
the junior schoolroom, there to await, in the calm atmosphere of
expectant scholarship, the ringing of the twelve o'clock bell.
Has the reader ever visited that famous resort of youth, the Zoo? Has
he stood on that terrace five minutes before dinner-time and listened to
the deep-mouthed growl of the lion, the barking of the wolf, the shriek
of the hyaena, as they pace their cages and await their meal? Then,
turning on his heel, has he quitted that stately scene and pushed back
the door of the monkey house?
Even so it was with our heroes. The junior schoolroom was as the
matron's hall and the studies thrown into one.--At first, to the
untutored eyes of the visitors, it looked like a surging sea of unkempt
heads and waving elbows; then, as their vision grew accustomed to the
scene, they beheld faces and legs and boots; then, amid the general din,
they distinguished voices, and perceived that the sea was made up of
human beings.
At the which they would fain have retreated; but, as old Virgil says--
and we won't insult our readers by translating the verses--
"Facilis descensus Averni, Sed revocare gradum Hoc opus, hic labor
est."
Their retreat was cut off before they were well in the room, and, amid
loud cries of "New kids!" "Bertie!" "Scrunch!" they were escorted to
the nearest form, where they forthwith received a most warm and pressing
welcome into their new quarters. The top boy of the form, in his
emotion, planted his feet against the wall and began to push inwards.
The bottom boy, equally overcome, planted his feet in the hollow of a
desk and also pushed inwards. Every one else, in fellow-feeling, pushed
inwards too, except our heroes, who, being in the exact centre, remained
passive recipients of their schoolfellows' welcome until the line showed
signs of rising up at the point where Aspinall's white face pointed the
middle; whereupon the bottom boy considerately let go with his feet, and
the occupants of the form were poured like water on the floor.
After being thus welcomed on some half-dozen forms, our heroes began to
feel that even good fellowship may pall, and were glad, decidedly glad,
to hear the great bell beginning to sound forth.
School that morning was rather a farce; the master was not in the humour
for it, nor were the boys. After calling over names and announcing the
subjects which would engage the attention of the different classes, and
reading over, in case any one had forgotten them, the rules of
Westover's house, the class was dismissed for the present, all except
the new boys being permitted to go out into the court or playing-fields
till dinner.
It was a welcome relief to our new boys to find themselves together once
more with the enemy beyond reach.
Their ranks showed signs of severe conflict. One boy, who had rashly
worn a light blue necktie in the morning, wore no necktie now;
Heathcote's jacket was burst under the arm; Dick bore no scars in his
raiment, but his nose was rather on one side and his face was rather
grimy; Aspinall was white and hot, and the "skeery" look about his eyes
proclaimed he had had almost enough for one day.
After dinner, at which our heroes rejoiced to find "the Assyrians" had
something more serious to do than to heed them, Templeton went out into
the fields to air itself. There was nothing special doing. A few
enthusiastic athletes had donned their flannels, and were taking
practice trots round the half-mile path. Another lot were kicking about
a football in an aimless way. Others were passing round a cricket ball
at long range. But most were loafing, apparently undecided what to turn
themselves to thus early in the term.
One or two of the Fifth, however, appeared to have some business on
hand, in which, much to their surprise, our new boys found they were
concerned.
The senior whose arrival they had witnessed in the morning came up to
where they were, and said:
"You're all three new boys, aren't you?"
"Yes," they replied.
"Well, go up to the flag-staff there, and wait for me."
With much inward trepidation they obeyed, wondering what was to happen.
Swinstead, for that was the name of the Fifth-form fellow, continued his
tour of the field, accosting all the new boys in turn, and giving them
the same order.
At length, the long-suffering twenty clustered round the flag-staff, and
awaited their fate.
It was simple enough. Every new boy was expected to race on his first
day at Templeton, and that was what was expected of them now.
"Let's have your names--look sharp," said one Fifth-form fellow, with a
pencil and paper in his hand, who seemed to look upon the affair as
rather a bore. "Come on. Sing out one at a time."
They did sing out one at a time.
"Twenty of them," said the senior, running down his list. "Four fives,
I suppose?"
"Yes," said Swinstead. "Clear the course, somebody, and call the
fellows."
So the course was cleared, and proclamation made that the new boys were
about to race. Whereat Templeton lined the quarter-mile track; and
showed a languid interest in the contest. Swinstead called over the
first five names on his list.
"Take off your coats and waistcoats," said he.
They obeyed. Dick, who was not in the first heat, took charge of
Heathcote's garments, and secretly bade him "put it on."
"Toe the line," said Swinstead. "Are you ready? Off!"
They started. It was a straggling procession. Two of the boys could
scarcely use their legs, and of the other three Heathcote was the only
one who showed any pace, and, greatly to Dick's delight, came in easily
first.
Dick's turn came in the second round, and he, greatly to Heathcote's
delight, won in a canter.
In the fourth heat Aspinall ran; but he, poor fellow, could scarcely
struggle on to the end, and had literally to be driven the last fifty
yards. For no new boy was allowed to shirk his race.
Templeton evinced a more decided interest in the final round. It had
looked on as a matter of duty on the trial heats; but it got a trifle
excited over the final. The winner of the fourth round, the youth who
had been robbed of his light blue tie, commanded the most general
favour. Swinstead on the other hand secretly fancied Dick, and one or
two others were divided between Heathcote and the winner of the third
round.
"Keep your elbows in, and don't look round so much," whispered Swinstead
to Dick, as the four champions toed the line.
Dick nodded gratefully for the advice.
"Now then. Are you ready?
"Go!" cried the starter.
The hero of the blue tie led off amid great jubilation among the
sportsmen. But Swinstead, who trotted beside the race, still preferred
Dick, and liked the way he kept up to the leader's heels in the first
hundred yards. Heathcote, in his turn, kept well up to Dick, and had
nothing to fear from the other man.
"Pretty race," said some one.
"Good action number two," replied another.
"Swinstead fancies him, and he knows what's what."
"I should have said number three, myself."
Two hundred yards were done, and scarcely an inch had the position of
the three runners altered.
Then Swinstead called.
"Now then, young 'un."
Dick knew the call was meant for him, and his spirit rose within him.
He "waited on his man," as they say, and before the next hundred yards
were done he was abreast, with Heathcote close on the heels of both.
Frantic were the cries of the sportsmen to their man. But his face was
red, and his mouth was open.
"He's done!" was the cry of the disgusted knowing ones. And the knowing
ones were right. Dick walked away, as fresh as a daisy, in the last
hundred yards, while Heathcote blowing hard stepped up abreast of the
favourite. It was a close run for second honours; but the Mountjoy boy
stuck to it, and staggered up a neck in front, with ten clear yards
between him and the heels of the victorious Dick.