One result of the alarming paragraph in the _Templeton Observer_ was,
that Dick and Heathcote for the remainder of the term became models of
virtue as far as going out of school bounds was concerned.
Other boys might stray down the High Street and look at the shops, but
they didn't. Others might go down to the beach and become familiar with
the boatmen, but our heroes were far too respectable. Others might
"mitch" off for a private cruise round Sprit Rock in quest of whiting,
or other treasures of the deep; but Dick and Georgie would not sully
their fair fame with any such breach of Templeton rules.
They kept up early morning "Tub," but that was the limit of their
wanderings from the fold, and it was often amusing to mark the diligence
with which they always took to drying their heads with the towels on the
way up, if ever a boatman happened to cross their path.
Heathcote on more than one occasion was compelled, politely but firmly,
to decline Pledge's commissions into the town, although it sometimes
cost him words, and, worse still, sneers from his patron.
Once, however, he had to yield, and a terrible afternoon he spent in
consequence.
"Youngster," said the 'Spider,' "I want you to go to Webster's in High
Street and get a book for me."
"Afraid I can't, Pledge," said Heathcote. "I must swot this afternoon."
"What have you got to do?"
"There's thirty lines of Cicero, and I haven't looked at them."
"I'll do it for you before you come back."
"And there are some Latin verses for Westover, too."
"Leave them with me, too."
Heathcote felt uncomfortable, and it occurred to him it was not right to
accept another's help.
"I think I ought to do them myself," said he, "I don't like having them
done for me."
"Quite right, my dear young friend. You're beginning to find out it
pays to be a good little boy, are you? I always said you would. I only
hope you'll make a good thing of it."
Heathcote coloured up violently.
"It's not that at all," said he, "it's only-- would it do if I went
after preparation this evening?"
"What! Saint George propose to break rules? Well, I am shocked; after
all my pains, too. No, my child, I couldn't let you do this wicked
thing."
"What book am I to ask for?" said Heathcote, giving it up.
"Thanks, old man. There's something better than the saint in you, after
all. Tell Webster it's the book I ordered last week. It is paid for."
Heathcote started on his mission with a heavy heart. He had lost caste,
he feared, with Pledge, and he was running into the enemy's country and
perilling not only himself, but Dick, in the venture.
He made fearful and wonderful detours to avoid a few straggling
policemen, or any figure which in the distance looked remotely like a
British seaman. The sight of a shopkeeper sitting at his door and
reading the _Templeton Observer_ scared him, and the bill offering a
reward for his discovery all but drove him headlong back to the school
without accomplishing his mission.
At length, after an anxious voyage, he ran into Mr Webster's harbour,
and for a little while breathed again.
The bookseller knew quite well what book Pledge had ordered.
"Here it is," said he, handing over a small parcel, "and I'd advise you
to get rid of it as soon as you can. It would do you no good to be
found in your pocket, or Mr Pledge either," he added.
"He says it's paid for," said Heathcote.
"Quite right." Then, noticing that the boy still seemed reluctant to
launch forth once more into the High Street, he said--
"Perhaps you'd like to look round the shop, Mr Heathcote?"
Heathcote thought he would, and spent a quarter of an hour in
investigating Mr Webster's shelves of books.
Just as he was about to leave, Duffield and the "sociable" Raggles
entered the shop.
"Hullo, Georgie!" said the latter; "who'd have thought of seeing you in
the town? Everyone says you're keeping out of the way of the police,
don't they, Duff?"
"Yes," said Duffield, perceiving the joke, "for some burglary, or
something like that."
Heathcote breathed again at the word burglary, and made an heroic effort
to smile.
"Not at all," said Raggles, nudging his ally; "not a burglary, but boat-
stealing, isn't it, Webster?"
"Ah," said Mr Webster, who was a good man of business and fond of his
joke, "they never did find that young party, certainly."
"Shut up and don't be a fool!" said Heathcote, feeling the colour coming
to his face, and longing to be out in the open air.
"What's this the description was?" said Duffield, perching himself on
the corner of the counter and reading off the unhappy Heathcote's
personal appearance. "Good-looking boy of fourteen, with fair hair and
a slight moustache. Dressed in a grey tweed suit, masher collar, and
two tin sleeve-links. Not very intelligent, and usually wears a smudge
of ink under his right eye. Isn't that it?"
"That's something about the mark," said Mr Webster, laughing.
"Think of offering two pounds reward for a chap like that!" said
Raggles. "They must be hard up."
"Look here," said Heathcote, seeing that his only refuge lay in swagger,
"I'm not going to have any of your cheek, Raggles. Shut up, or I'll
lick you!"
"No fighting here, young gentlemen, please," said the affable
bookseller.
"Ha! ha!" said Raggles, enjoying himself under the security of
Duffield's alliance; "he's in a wax because we said it was only a
_slight_ moustache. He thinks we ought to have said a heavy one!"
"He may think it ought to be, but it ain't," said Duffield. "I never
saw such a slight one in all my days!"
It is rarely that any one sees reason to bless his own moustache, but on
this particular occasion, when he perceived the welcome controversy to
which it was giving rise, Georgie was very near calling down
benedictions on his youthful hairs. With great presence of mind he
recovered his good-humour, and diverted the talk further and further
into its capillary course. He backed his moustache against Duffield's
and Raggles' spliced together, he upbraided them with envy, and called
Webster to witness that the pimple on Raggles' lip, which he claimed as
the forerunner of his crop, had been there for the last six months with
never a sign of harvest.
Altogether, under shelter of his moustache, Georgie crept out of a very
awkward hobble, and finally out of Webster's shop, greatly to the relief
of his palpitating heart.
But his trials were not quite over. As he was running headlong round
the corner of High Street, determined that no pretext should detain him
a moment longer than necessary in this perilous territory, he found
himself, to his horror, suddenly confronted with the form of the very
British seaman whom, of all others, he hoped to avoid; and, before he
could slacken speed or fetch a compass, he had plunged full into Tom
White's arms.
Tom White, as usual, I am sorry to say, was half-seas-over. Never
steady in his best days, he had, ever since the loss of the _Martha_
made his headquarters at the bar of the "Dolphin." Not that the loss of
the _Martha_ was exactly ruin to her late owner. On the contrary, since
her disappearance, Tom had had more pocket-money than ever he had when
she was his.
For sympathetic neighbours, pitying his loss, had contributed trifles
towards his solace; the Templeton boys, with many of whom he had been a
favourite, had tipped him handsomely in his distress, and it was even
rumoured that half of a collection for the poor at the parish church a
few Sundays ago had been awarded to poor destitute Tom White.
On the whole, Tom felt that if he could lose a _Martha_ twice a year, he
might yet sup off tripe and gin-toddy seven times a week.
The "Dolphin" became his banker, and took very particular care of his
money.
All this the boy, of course, did not know. All he knew was that the
waistcoat into which he had run belonged to the man he had wronged, who,
if he only suspected his wronger, could make the coming summer holidays
decidedly tedious for Georgie and his friend.
"Belay there!" hiccupped Tom, reeling back from the collision and
catching Heathcote by the arm. "Got yer, young gem'n! and I'll bash
yer!"
"I beg your pardon," said Georgie, terribly scared, and seeing already,
in his mind's eye, the narrowest cell of the county jail.
Tom blinked at him stupidly, holding him at arm's length and cruising
round him.
"Bust me if it ain't a schollard!" said he. "What cheer, my hearty?
Don't forget, the poor mariner that's lost his _Martha_. It's very 'ard
on a honest Jack tar."
How Heathcote's soul went out to the poor British seaman as soon as he
discovered that he did not recognise him! He gave him his all--two
shillings and one penny--and deemed it a mite to offer to so deserving a
cause. He hoped from his heart Tom would find his boat, or, if not,
would get a pension from the Government, or be made an Inspector of
Coast-guards. Nothing was too good for the sweet, delectable creature,
and he told him as much.
Whereat Tom, with the 2 shillings 1 penny in his hand and all the boy's
blandishments in his ears, retired to the "Dolphin" to digest both; and
once more Heathcote, with the perspiration on his brow and his chest
positively sore with the thumping of his heart, sped like a truant shade
from the fangs of Cerberus.
After that, neither threats, entreaties, or taunts could induce
Heathcote to venture either alone or in company into Templeton.
Fortunately for him and his leader, the approaching close of the term
gave every one at Templeton an excuse for keeping bounds, and sticking
steadily to work. Pledge, among others, was in for a scholarship, which
five out of six of those who knew him prophesied he would get, if he
took a fortnight's hard work before the examination.
A fortnight before the examination, to the day, Pledge began to work,
and Templeton put down the Bishop's scholarship to him, without further
parley. Only two men were against him--Cartwright, who, fine fellow as
he was, could not desert the cricket field and gymnasium even in the
throes of an examination, and Freckleton, the hermit, whom half of
Templeton didn't know by sight, and the other half put down as a
harmless lunatic, who divided his time between theological exercises and
plodding, but not always successful, study.
Our heroes, being new boys, were exempt from the general school
examinations--their guerdon of reward being the general proficiency
prize for new boys, a vague term, in which good conduct, study, and
progress, were all taken into account. Dick sadly admitted that he was
out of it. Still he vaguely hoped he might "pull off his remove," as
the phrase went--that is, get raised next term to the serene atmosphere
of the lower Fourth, along with the faithful Heathcote.
But nowhere was the studious fit more serious than in the upper Fifth,
where Birket, Swinstead, Wrangham and one or two others, cast longing
eyes on the vacant desk in the Sixth, and strained every nerve to win
it. Cricket flagged, and it was hard during that fortnight to make up a
set at tennis. The early "Tub" alone retained its attractions, and
indeed was never more crowded than when Templeton was heart and soul in
study.
One fellow regarded the whole scene half sadly, and that was Ponty.
Indolent as he seemed to be, he loved the old school, and hated the
thought of leaving it. He had friends there that were like brothers to
him. There were nooks here and there where he had lounged and enjoyed
life, which seemed like so many homes. He knew he had not done anything
great for Templeton. He knew he had let the tares grow side by side
with the wheat, and made no effort to uproot them. He knew that there
were boys there whom he ought to have befriended, and others he ought to
have scathed; and it made him sad now to think of all he might have
done.
"I don't think they'll erect a statue to me in the Quad, old man," said
he to Mansfield at the end of the examination.
"I know there isn't a fellow that won't be sorry to lose you," said
Mansfield.
"Ah! no doubt. They've had quiet times under easy-going old Saturn, and
don't fancy the prospect of Jove, with his thunderbolts, ruling in his
stead. Eh?"
"If I could be sure of fellows being as fond of me as they are of you, I
should--well, I should get something I don't expect," said Mansfield.
"Don't be too sure, old man," said Ponty. "But, I say, will you take a
hint from a failure like me?" added the old captain, digging deep into
his pockets, and looking a trifle nervous.
"Rather. I'd only be too thankful," said Mansfield.
"Go easy with them at first. Only have one hand in an iron glove. Keep
the other for some of those juniors who may turn out all right, if they
get a little encouragement and aren't snuffed out all at once. You'll
have plenty of work for the iron hand with one or two hornet's nests we
know of. Give the little chaps a chance."
This was dear old Ponty's last will and testament. Templeton looked
back upon him after he had gone, as an easy-going, good-natured, let-
alone, loveable fellow; but it didn't know all of what it owed him.
The examinations came at length. The new boys having been the last to
come, were naturally the first to be examined; and once more the
portraits in the long hall looked down upon Basil Richardson and Georgie
Heathcote, gnawing at the ends of their pens, and gazing at the ceiling
for an inspiration.
It was rather a sad spectacle for those portraits. Possibly they barely
recognised in the reckless, jaunty, fair boy, and his baffled, almost
wrathful companion, the Heathcote and Richardson who four months ago had
sat there, fresh, and simple, and rosy, with the world of Templeton
before them.
It had not been a good term for either. Thank heaven, as they sat
there, they had honesty enough left to know it, and hope enough left to
feel there might still be a chance. They were not to jump by one leap
into the perfect schoolboy; still, with honesty and hope left, who shall
say they had lost all?
As to their immediate care, the examination--their last lingering
expectation of getting their remove slowly vanished before those
ruthless questions, all of which they knew they ought to know, but many
of which they discovered they knew nothing about.
Other boys, like Aspinall, who, with all his tears and terrors, had
struggled through the term more of a hero than either of his doughty
protectors, found the time only too short to answer all they had to
answer; and our two dejected ones, as they looked round, and saw the
fluency of every one else, felt themselves, like sediment, gradually
sinking to their level. As long as the stir of term life had lasted,
they had imagined themselves as well up, even better than most of their
contemporaries; but now they began to find out it was not so.
The suspense, if they felt any, was not long. Two days after the
examination, at the time when the Sixth and Fifth were passing through
their ordeal, the new boys' list came out.
Aspinall was first, and got his well-deserved remove, with a compliment
from the Doctor into the bargain, which made his pale face glow with
pleasure. Dick, with a sturdy effort to look cheerful, waved his
congratulations across the Hall, and then settled down to hear the
almost interminable string of names before his or Georgie's broke the
monotony.
In their own minds, and in the modesty of their own self-abasement, they
had fixed on the twentieth place, or thereabouts, for Heathcote, and
about the twenty-fifth for Dick. Alas! the singles grew into the teens,
and the teens into the twenties, and the twenties into the thirties
before the break came. After eighteen every one knew that the removes
were exhausted, and that the list which followed was, if not a list of
reproach, at any rate one neither of honour nor profit.
"31--Richardson," read the Doctor, making a pause on the announcement
which cut the penitent Dick to the quick; "32--Fox; 33--Sumpter; 34--
Whiles; 35--Heathcote; 36--Hooker, junior. That is all."
Poor Heathcote! He had buoyed himself up to the last. He had reminded
himself that he was not a prig or a saint, that he didn't go in for
conduct that "paid," that he called a spade a spade, and that he didn't
profess to be what he wasn't; and yet all this failed to place him
higher than last but one of thirty-six boys, among whom, only four
months ago, he stood fifteenth! Even Dick had beaten him now, although
Dick himself had fallen ten places down the list.
The two friends had a dreary walk round the deserted Fields that
afternoon.
"I can't make it out," said Heathcote. "I knew I hadn't done well, but
I expected to be higher than that. I wonder if Winter's got a spite
against me."
"More likely got one against me. Did you hear the way he read out my
name?"
"Yes; he may have been surprised you came out so high."
"It's nothing to joke about," said Dick. "We've both made a mess of
it."
"I really thought I'd done my lessons pretty steadily," said Heathcote,
loth to part with the idea that there must be a mistake somewhere.
"You mean Pledge did them for you. I tell you what, old man--I've had
enough of this sort of mess. I don't like it."
"No more do I," said Heathcote, very truly.
"I mean to get my remove at Christmas, if I get brain-fever over it."
"Rather; so do I," said Heathcote.
"I shall have a go in at the irregular verbs during the holidays."
"Eh--will you?" asked Georgie, beginning to stagger a little at the new
programme. "All serene; so will I."
"We might begin to-night, perhaps."
"Awfully sorry--I've an engagement to-night," said Heathcote.
"Where?"
This was the first occasion on which Dick had asked this very awkward
question. It was the wind-up supper of the "Select Sociables" for the
present term, and to Heathcote one of the chief attractions of the
prospect had been that Dick, being a member, would be there too. He
was, therefore, startled somewhat at the inquiry.
"Oh, you know. We don't talk about it," said he.
"So it seems," said Dick; "but it happens I don't know."
"Don't you? Then the fellows must have told me a cram."
"What fellows?"
"Why, do you mean to say you don't know, Dick?"
"How should I?"
"Haven't they asked you, too? Aren't you a-- I mean, don't you know?"
At this particular moment, Cresswell came across the Quadrangle with a
bundle of books in his hands, which he told Dick to take to his study.
And before Dick had time to perform his task and return to the Quad,
Braider had pounced on Heathcote, and borne him away, in hot haste, to
the orgy of the "Select Sociables," where he spent a very unprofitable
evening in trying to square his conscience with all he saw and heard,
and in trying to ascertain from every member of the Club he could get
hold of, why Dick wasn't there, too. He was not released without a
renewal of his promise of secrecy, and spent a very uncomfortable half-
hour in the dormitory that evening, trying, as best he could, to parry
the questions of his friend, into whose head it had never entered that
the "Select Sociables," after ejecting him, should dream of such a thing
as electing Heathcote. They might have quarrelled over the mystery, had
not the approaching holidays, and an opportune note from Coote,
announcing that he had just scraped through the pass examination for
"second chances," and would be at Templeton after the recess, driven all
other thoughts, for the time being, out of their heads. And the few
remaining days of the term were devoted, not to irregular verbs, but to
the devising of glorious schemes of welcome to old Coote, and
anticipations of the joys of their reformed triple alliance.
The great result day found Templeton, as it always did, in the chaos of
packing up. At the summons of the great bell, to come and hear the
lists read in the Hall, fellows dropped collars and coats, rackets and
rods, boots and bookstand rushed for a front seat.
Every one turned up to the summer list--even the housekeepers and the
school porter. The masters were there in caps and gowns, and the Sixth,
in solemn array, occupied the benches on the dais. The rest of the Hall
was left to the first comers; and, as all Templeton, on this occasion,
arrived first in a body, the scene was usually animated.
Dr Winter read the list himself, and every name rang through the Hall,
being followed with cheers which made all the more striking the silence
with which the next name was listened for.
"The Bishop's Scholarship has been won by Freckleton," said the Doctor.
Amazement, as well as approval, mingled with the applause which followed
this most unexpected announcement.
"Which _is_ Freckleton?" asked Dick of Swinstead, who sat in front.
"That dark fellow, talking to Mansfield."
"Silence! Pledge was second, and within a few marks. Cartwright was
third."
"How pleased Winter must have been to find those marks the right way!"
whispered Pledge, with the red spots on his cheeks, to Bull. "It's a
funny thing that Freckleton should be a nephew of Winter's and yet just
get the scholarship, isn't it? So very unusual, eh?"
"The Fifth-form remove has been gained by Swinstead," said the Doctor
(loud cheers). "Wrangham was second, but not very close, and Birket was
a few marks below Wrangham."
These announcements were the most interesting on the Doctor's list, and
Templeton listened impatiently to the rest. It waited, however, in its
place, in order to give a final cheer for Ponty at the close.
Which it did. And the dear old fellow, though he seemed very sleepy,
and longed for his arm-chair, couldn't help hearing it and looking round
at the old school, nodding his kindly head. When, however, somebody
called out "Speech," he stretched himself comfortably and shrugged his
shoulders; and they knew what that meant, and gave it up.
Twenty-four hours later, Templeton was scattered to the four winds, and
our heroes' first term had become a chapter of ancient history.