The six short weeks of holiday darted away only too quickly.
Dick, in the whirl of family life, a hero to his sisters, and a caution
to his young brothers, forgot all the troubles of the term, and all its
disappointments, all about the "Select Sociables," and all about Tom
White's boat, in one glorious burst of holiday freedom.
He even forgot about his irregular verbs; and the good resolutions with
which he had returned, he left packed up in his trunk until the time
came to take them back to Templeton.
Still, it wasn't a bad time, on the whole, for Dick. Like some small
boat that gets out of the rushing tide for a little into some quiet
creek, he had time to overhaul himself and pull himself together, ready
for another voyage. He was able, in the home harbour, to take some
little fresh ballast on board and to rearrange what he at present had.
He was able to stow away some of his useless tackle and bale out some of
the water he had shipped in the last few rapids. Altogether, though
Dick was not exactly a boy given to self-examination, or self-
dedication, and although he would have scouted the notion that he was
going in for being a reformed character, his little cruise in calm water
did him good, and steadied him for his next venture on the tide, when
the time should come.
It was not so with George Heathcote. He was a craft of flimsier build
than his leader, and the tide had gone harder with him. There was a
leak somewhere, and the tackle was a-twist, and the ballast rolled to
one side. And, for him, the home harbour was no place for repairs.
Heathcote had neither father nor mother, and though his old relative did
her best for him, the boy was more or less at a loose end at home, with
no better guide than his own whims. The wonder was, considering his
surroundings, that Heathcote was not utterly spoiled, that he was still
honest and amiable, and amenable to good influence when he came across
it.
He did not, however, come across much these holidays. For four weeks he
kicked his heels about in any way that suited him, and began to long for
Templeton again, and the face of a friend.
Then one day a letter came to him from Pledge.
"Dear Youngster,--You said something about wanting to see London these
holidays. What do you say to coming here on a visit? My father and
mother would be glad to see you, and we can go back to Templeton
together. If you come to-morrow, you'll be in time for the last day of
the Australian match at the Oval--Yours truly,--
"P. Pledge."
Heathcote jumped at the invitation. An invitation from anybody would
have been welcome just then, but to be asked by his own senior, in this
unexpected way, was both tempting and flattering.
So he took the letter to his grandmother, and indulged in a glowing
account of Pledge's virtues and merits. The good lady, of course, gave
her consent, and the very next day Georgie was in London.
The week slipped by in a round of pleasures for Heathcote. Pledge, the
spoiled child of wealthy parents, was pretty much his own master, and
spared no pains to make his young protege at home, and gratify his every
inclination. To Georgie, the life in which he found himself was
bewildering in its novelty.
Pledge showed him London. They saw public buildings, and they saw the
great streets; they went to theatrical entertainments, and concerts, and
parties. They met friends, good and bad, and heard talk, good and bad.
No one thought of making any distinction; no one seemed to admit that
there was much distinction. It was all life. If some went in for the
good, well, let them; if others went in for the bad, what right had any
one to interfere? and if any went in for a little of both, well, wasn't
the balance about straight, and who was any the worse for it?
Heathcote felt that he was in Liberty Hall--that he might do exactly as
he liked without the awkwardness of feeling that any one was surprised,
or that any one was shocked. Pledge did not distinctly tempt him to do
anything; and yet, during that one short week, the boy's moral sense was
more deeply undermined than during the whole of the term that had
passed. The clear line between good and evil vanished. And, seeing the
two side by side, and hearing his companion's constant sneers at
"sanctity," it became natural to him to suspect the good and, of the
two, prefer the evil.
So Georgie Heathcote went back to Templeton the worse for his holidays,
and snared faster than ever in the "Spider's" web.
But the sight of Dick on the Templeton platform drove all his unhealthy
philosophy for a time from his mind, and when, an hour later, the train
from G--- came in and discharged Coote and Coote's hat-box and
travelling-bag, there was joy in the hearts of those three old Mountjoy
boys, which could not find vent in mere smiles or words of greeting.
Coote was in a horrible flutter, despite the countenance of his two
protectors. He could not trust himself out of their sight. As they
walked up from the station and crossed the Quadrangle, he suspected a
snare everywhere, and sniffed an enemy at every corner.
"Come on, old fellow," said Dick, in all the glory of an old hand,
"stick your hat on the back of your head, and make a face at everybody
you meet, and nobody will humbug you."
Coote had his doubts of this advice; but, it occurred to him, if it
should be good, he had better make the experiment while his friends were
there to protect him.
So he tilted his hat cautiously back, and timidly protruded his tongue
at Culver, whom they met staggering under the weight of a carpet bag,
near the housekeeper's door.
Culver regarded the demonstration with a certain amount of bewildered
disfavour, and, to Coote's terror, looked for a moment like putting down
his carpet bag. But the presence of Dick and Heathcote deterred him for
the present, and he contented himself with a promise that tilted the new
boy's hat back into its proper elevation with wonderful celerity.
"Never mind him," said Heathcote, "he always doubles up after five or
six rounds."
"Do you mean he will fight me?" asked Coote.
"Bless you, yes!"
"To-day, do you think?"
"Don't know. Depends on what he's got in his bag. If it's a cargo, he
won't be out for a couple of nights."
All this was very alarming to Coote, who devoutly hoped Culver's "cargo"
might be big enough to keep him many nights in unloading it.
Dick and Heathcote led their junior partner rejoicing to the
housekeeper, and assisted in counting out his shirts and socks. They
then took him to show him off in the lobbies, deserting him once or
twice, to his consternation, in order to greet some crony or take part
in a mild shindy in the studies.
The presence of their "new kid" inspired them with a wonderful fund of
humour and audacity. His astonishment flattered them and his panics
delighted them. With a lively recollection of their own experiences
last term, they took care he should be wandering in the Quad when the
"dredger" came its rounds; and, for fear he should miss the warm
consolations of a lower third "Scrunch," they organised one for his
special benefit, and had the happiness of seeing him rising in the
middle, scared and puffing, with cheeks the colour of a peony. All the
while they tried to figure as his protectors, and demanded credit for
getting him through his ordeals in a way he would by no means have got,
if left, as they had been, to his own resources.
Nor were they wholly unoriginal in their endeavours to make him feel at
home in his new surroundings.
"By George! it's ten minutes to dinner-time," said Dick, looking at the
clock. "There'll be a frightful row if you are late first day, and
you've barely time to dress."
"Dress! I am dressed," said Coote, in alarm.
"You muff, you're not in your flannels. Think of a new fellow turning
up to Hall first day not in his flannels, eh, Georgie?"
"My eye!" said Georgie; "what a row there'd be!"
"Cut as hard as ever you can, and put them on. Better not show up till
just as the clock strikes, in case fellows humbug you. We'll be near
the door and show you where to sit."
"Whatever should I have done," thought the grateful Coote to himself, as
he rushed off to don his brand-new flannels, "if it hadn't been for
those two bricks?"
The "two bricks" waited somewhat anxiously near the door of the Hall for
their "new kid," and as the clock began to strike they had the joy of
seeing him dart resplendent across the Quad, keeping in the shade as
much as possible, and looking nervously up at the clock.
"Lamm it on!" called Heathcote, as the bell ceased and the breathless
athlete ran into their arms.
"Am I all right?" asked the victim.
"So-so," said they, surveying him critically, "but you'd better carry
your coat over your arm. Look out, Winter will be coming in. You've
got to sit up there at the top table, in that empty chair. Look alive,
or he'll catch you."
And as the blushing innocent walked up the room, the observed of all
observers, and made straight for the Head Master's table, our heroes
became absorbed in admiration of the plates in front of them, and
positively trembled with the emotion their beauty evoked.
Every one was most polite to the abashed new boy on his journey up the
room. They ceased talking as they beheld him, and respectfully made
room for him. Some even were good enough to assist his progress by word
and gesture.
"Where are you going, my pretty maid?" asked Birket of the rosy youth,
as he neared his destination.
The poetical suggestion was too much for the Fifth, who caught up the
pastoral ditty, and accompanied the measured tread of the wanderer with
an undertone chorus of--
"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?'
'I'm going to dinner, sir,' she said.
'May I go with you, my pretty maid?'
'Not if I know it, sir,' she said."
Coote got used to the pretty melody before the term was over, but just
now his sense of music was deadened by the apparition of Dr Winter, who
entered by a door at the upper end of the Hall, and walked straight for
the chair which the modest novice had looked upon as the goal of his
tedious journey.
"Cut back!" said Birket, coming to the rescue just in time, and turning
the unhappy boy to the rightabout. "They've been making a fool of you."
Then might have been seen a spotless white figure flying like the wind
down the Hall of Templeton, making the place rosy with his blushes, and
merry with his hot haste.
Dick and Heathcote caught their brother as he made for the door, and
squeezed him in between them at their table, where roast beef and good
cheer restored some of his drooping spirits, while the applause of his
patrons and the success of the whole adventure went far to reduce the
tension which otherwise might have threatened the stability of the
"Firm."
But after that, Coote felt his confidence in the "two bricks," on whom
he had hitherto relied so implicitly, a trifle shaken, and was not quite
sure whether, after all, a new boy might not get through his first few
days as comfortably without the protection of two bosom friends as with
it.
There being very few new boys this term compared with last, he found
himself by no means neglected in his walks abroad, and it required all
his wariness to elude the gins and pitfalls prepared for him. Indeed,
his very wariness got him into trouble.