"Don't take any notice, Jim; it's only the 'Dandy' and his gang."
This was an unfortunate remark, as it would have been safer just then to
wave a red flag before a bull than to mention Braithwaite's name to Jim.
He was hot and tired and cross, angry with himself and the world in
general, and with Braithwaite in particular. The incident of the morning
had upset him, and this mocking laughter was, as Dick afterwards said,
"the last straw that broke the camel's back."
"Want a hextry, sir? Take the last one!"
Simpson was fairly earning another bull's-eye.
Jim's face was white with passion as he strode over to the group, in the
midst of which Braithwaite stood laughing. Blinded by anger, he did not
stay to ask questions, but crying, "You beastly cad!" let out straight
from the shoulder.
The Angel, though rather alarmed, could not resist the chance of a joke.
"That's a drop of _hextry speshul_ claret!" he sang out, as the blood
spurted from Braithwaite's nose.
Instantly there arose a babel of voices.
"Give him one back, Dandy!"
"Off with your coat; I'll hold it!"
"Who has a spare handkerchief?"
I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight,
because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the
hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson
leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained
handkerchief.
The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once
attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened.
"If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the
gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose."
"Is this correct, Hartland?"
"He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And
I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me."
"I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly.
"Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.--Boden, take
that boy to the lavatory."
"Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too
tenderly, by the arm.
Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid
mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely
tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the
interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a
martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for
Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum.
"Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle.
I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of
the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"
Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply.
"Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be marked _dangerous_, like a
magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer.
But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me
if I thought his nose was broken."
"I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.
The Angel clapped him on the back.
"There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it,"
he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after
dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into
a fit."
Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but
happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he
was almost himself again.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you
needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will
save time, Mr. Broad says."
"Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down
the street.
"No, I shall be home by eight."
"That doesn't leave you much time."
"Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school,
and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."
As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without
his book.
At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk.
"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather
surprised.
"Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my
rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I
was in a bad temper."
"It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said
Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn
to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief.
How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can
help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so."
"Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good
fight for it."
He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the
playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town.
"'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through.
I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till
half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That
ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to
mother."
"Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop.
"I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've
finished I've something here for you to do."
"Yes, sir," said Jim.
Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a
favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and
that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a
treasure.
"You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't
forget that new brooms sweep clean."
Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the
proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.
Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work.
To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it
would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a
paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him.
"I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.
This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every
minute of his spare time to study.
"Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday
evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig
you up again."
"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy.
I've made a big move this week."
"Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that
bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think
history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know
about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who
their grandfathers were?"
"Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn
roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.
Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the
"Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at
such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of
Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of
vegetables, poultry, fish--" And he only pulled up when the suppressed
titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter.
"Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his
breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it
at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I
shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See
you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away
whistling.
That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do
a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the
evening."
"Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own
time.
"But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his
master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till
tea-time."
"Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once
resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the
Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got
home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs.
Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper.
"This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm
as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages,
mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the
air of a millionaire.
"There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the
coins. "Your master has made a mistake."
"It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra
sixpence for doing my work so well."
"O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that
money!"
"It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able
to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold.
Sit down mother. You look tired to death."
"Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes,"
observed Susie.
"I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh,
"and my eyes feel the strain more."
"When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who
meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."
They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his
mother to carry Susie to her bedroom.
"I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim
kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest."
"I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more
time to yourself."
*CHAPTER VI.*
*THE EXAMINATION.*
It really seemed as if fate was dead against Jim Hartland's winning the
Gayton Scholarship For some time his mother, though saying nothing to
the children, had not felt well. The shock of her husband's death, and
the consequent change in circumstances, had done much to depress her,
and the hard struggle to earn a scanty living had made her worse. She
had done her best to keep up as long as possible; but on the Monday
morning she was too ill even to get Jim's breakfast.
"Never mind, mother," said he cheerfully; "you stay in bed. I'll see to
things. The lessons must go for a bit."
Being a handy sort of fellow, he made breakfast, carried some up to his
mother and Susie, straightened things a bit downstairs, and then ran off
to his work.
There still remained three weeks till the day of the examination; but,
unfortunately for Jim, his mother's illness lasted two-thirds of that
time. Mrs. Boden went in as often as she could, and a kindly neighbour
did several odd jobs; but there were so many things to be done that Jim
found all his time occupied.
"I should chuck the 'Gayton' if I were you," said the Angel one morning.
"It will be no good to you if you win it, and with all these upsets you
can't expect to be at your best."
"The fellows would think I was afraid of being beaten."
"What's the odds? Who cares what they think? There's no sense in
working yourself half to death for nothing."
"Not a bit; but I'm going in all the same."
"Well, you are a stubborn beggar, and no mistake," said his chum, who
usually spoke his mind.
The examination was to be held in one of the rooms at the Gayton School,
and on the Monday morning the candidates assembled in the big
playground.
Jim, who had been granted leave for the day by Mr. Broad, went down with
Dick and Tom Moon, who was one of the Magpies. He was feeling
wretchedly ill; his head ached, and his brains were all at sixes and
sevens. He had worked like a horse all the week to make up for lost
time, and was paying the penalty. He had lost all sense of proportion,
and it seemed to him that life would be worth nothing if he failed to
win this scholarship.
"Hullo!" cried Dick suddenly; "there's Dandy Braithwaite!--Morning,
Dandy! Why, you look as pleased as if you'd won the scholarship
already!"
"I'm going to have a good shot at it, anyhow."
"Bravo, my boy!--Hullo, Temple! You here?"
"Why not?" asked Temple in surprise.
"I thought you'd more sense, 'pon my word! Now what is the use of you
fellows wasting your time when there are three of the Deaneryites in the
running?"
The boys who knew the Angel's little ways greeted his remark with
good-humoured laughter; the others thought he was a conceited donkey,
and some said as much.
"Much plague in India just now, Dicky?" asked Temple mischievously.
"Wait till I've seen the geography questions."
"What's the joke?" asked Tom Moon.
"Haven't you heard of the Angel's little dodge? Why, they fairly
screamed over it at the Deanery."
"Look here, Moon," said Dick, without a twinkle in his big blue eyes;
"it was a beastly shame, and they treated me most unfairly. We had to
write an account of a trip up the Ganges and a visit to Benares. Well,
you know there was a horrible plague at Benares just then, and I
couldn't afford to risk my valuable life in the town, so I skipped it,
stating my reasons. And what do you think they said?"
"Can't guess."
"Why, that 'twas a fake, because I didn't know anything about the
blessed old town." And he looked so solemn that Moon was half inclined
to think he had been badly treated.
"Did you really put that down?" asked one of the boys in the group.
"Of course I did!" answered Dicky, in a tone of surprise. "They
couldn't expect me to go to a plague-spot like that!"
"Didn't I hear some yarn, too, about a dead passenger?" asked Temple.
"Very likely," said the Angel calmly; "that was another misfortune. You
see, we had to describe a voyage from London to Odessa, and a very nice
little trip, too. Well, my passenger started in a yacht, and had a
jolly good time, jotting down his descriptions every night. At last he
got into the Adriatic, and the poor fellow fell overboard. The skipper
fished him out, but he was quite dead; and so, of course, the trip
ended. Now, what do you think the inspector had the conscience to ask
me? 'Boden,' said he, 'couldn't you remember any more of the
coast-line?' Just as if I'd play a trick like that!"
"Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as
well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a
question"--an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.
Jim did not join in the chaff--in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole
mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited
impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the
others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence.
"What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of
the Magpies, as they entered the building.
"Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he
breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's
loss came."
"Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."
The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered
a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates
for the Gayton Scholarship."
"Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk.
"Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."
They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just
behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at
the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read
the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the
questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only
sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.
After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant
smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing
well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while
Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.
The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His
face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears;
letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his
eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank.
Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but
for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single
word.
That gentleman, seeing something was amiss, went over, and laying one
hand on the boy's shoulder, said kindly, "Are you ill, my lad?"
The sympathetic tone seemed to break the spell, and looking up, Jim
answered, "My head aches a bit, sir, but it's getting better now. I
think I can make a start."
"That's right, my boy. Time's flying; but you must do your best."
"Yes, sir," said Jim gratefully, and by a great effort he managed to
concentrate his attention on the questions. Once started, he worked
feverishly to make up for the lost half-hour; but at one o'clock he had
to hand in his papers without having gone over them a second time.
Fortunately the interval was too short for comparing notes. There was
scarcely time for more than a rush home, a hurried meal, and a run back
to be ready for the opening of the doors.
At the gate Jim overtook Braithwaite, who, much to his surprise, said in
quite a friendly way, "Done pretty well, Hartland?"
"Pretty well, thanks; how did you get on?"
"Prime! The questions were just made for me."
Just then the Angel came along.
"I say, Dandy," he cried, "how came you to be doing Euclid this
morning?"
"Euclid? I wasn't!"
"What were you drawing, then?"
"Why, a map of the United States!"
"Oh!" The blue eyes opened wide with assumed wonder. "I thought 'twas
a figure in Euclid."
"Don't be such a fool!" said Braithwaite testily, while the others
laughed.
"Wasn't the arithmetic beastly stiff?" grumbled Tom Moon. "Did anybody
do that thing about the two trains passing each other?"
"Oh, that was easy enough!" laughed Temple. "It worked out to
thirty-seven seconds and a half."
"I got that," said Braithwaite.
"So did I," cried Dick, throwing up his hat. "Well done, Boden, my boy;
you'll pull this scholarship off yet!"
Jim said nothing, but his skin burned like fire as he remembered that
his answer was more than an hour and twenty minutes.
Just then the doors were opened and the boys trooped into their places.
While waiting for the papers to be given out he recalled the sum in
question, and soon found what a ridiculous mess he had made of it.
"It's no use," he thought to himself bitterly; "as likely as not I've
made as big a hash of the rest."
Once he thought of pleading illness and giving up the struggle. The
excuse would not have been without a backing of truth; but, after all,
Jim was no coward, and he thrust the idea aside.
"No," muttered he, "I'll see the thing through."
The first subject in the afternoon was history, for which he had always
a liking; and when the paper was finished he felt that he had at last
done himself justice. Encouraged by this success, he worked away at the
others, feeling more and more cheerful at the end of each subject.
"Well," said the examiner, when he came to collect the papers, "are you
satisfied?"
"With this afternoon's work, sir," said Jim; "but I'm afraid I lost my
chance this morning."
"Oh, you mustn't worry about that. 'Never despair!'--that's the motto,
you know!" And the gentleman gave him a good-natured smile as he passed
to the next desk.
Outside, the boys clustered together, comparing notes and talking over
their doings. Some smiled complacently, others looked rather miserable
as they discovered their mistakes.
"The algebra paper was a teaser," remarked Temple, "and as for the last
equation, I couldn't do it at all.'
"I don't believe it comes out," said Braithwaite, while Dick admitted
with a grin that he had left it untouched.
"Did you have a shot at it, Hartland?" asked Temple.
"Yes," said Jim; "it seemed easy enough, unless I misunderstood it."
And with paper and pencil he proceeded to work it out.
"O my aunt!" cried Dick, who was very fond of bringing that worthy
person into his conversation "I believe you've got it, Jimmy!"
"Yes," said Temple, "it certainly looks right. That will give you a
lift, Hartland; it counts twenty marks."
"Well," replied Jim, thinking of the morning's work, "I shall need them
all."
Presently the groups began to break up, and the boys to disperse. Jim
still seemed very gloomy, and even his lively little chum found it
difficult to bring a smile to his face.
"You haven't to go to the shop, have you?" he asked.
"Not to-night."
"That's jolly; we'll have a good game down at the Old Fort. It's ages
since you were down, and the fellows will be glad to see you. Say
you'll come, just to please me."
After a good deal of hesitation Jim promised, and the Angel went off
whistling merrily. He little guessed what a terrible tragedy he was
thus, in an indirect way, helping to bring about.
*CHAPTER VII.*
*"IT'S ALL MY FAULT"*
The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally
crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay,
while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When
the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of
the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort.
This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at
low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea. The
width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking
abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action
of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet.
The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute
among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse;
others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its
original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The
Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously
voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.
Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive,
especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at
dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to
trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was
proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer
served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.
Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact,
was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.
Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both
on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him
back.
"Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.
Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged
him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he
brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the
games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and
he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.
First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided
into two parties--one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led
by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed
prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a
desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the
garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his
battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the
battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the
sand was nice and soft.
After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to
which the others readily agreed.
As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's
Braithwaite!--Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after
all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!"
"All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough
sports; "where are you going?"
"Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off
he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of
head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that
the incident which I am about to relate occurred.
After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across
the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some
distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their
companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the
stone bridge for a chat.
Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal.
"I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide
it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it."
"It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite.
"Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit."
"The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here."
"Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him:
he's always showing the white feather!"
Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he
said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going
to the Fort."
"Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea
was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out
when you're ready."
Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and
presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"
Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but,
unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push
Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a
challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others
brought up the rear.
"Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread
yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property.
Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon,
I'm sure you'll find it very soon."
Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others
forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's
nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to
the grindstone, as it were, though without result.
"I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last,
stretching his cramped legs.
"You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your
pocket."
"I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run.
"Whoop!" And he was off like a shot.
"After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout
of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"
A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and
a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a
moment, he stood helpless and amazed.
The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the
sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge
and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were
racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained
safety.
"Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not.
I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a
boatman will take me off."
He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his
attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good
gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off
for certain.--Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear?
Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."
The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward.
It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was
overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not
swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of
following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to
move, though the peril increased every moment.
Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through,
but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim
yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear.
"He'll be drowned," groaned Jim--"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden
rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would
have been at home now."
Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come
back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had
lost all power to move.
It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out
his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and
put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them,
muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident."
"Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."
Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming
storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay
the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The
boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert
him.
Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were
breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee.
Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the
town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able
to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist,
and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by
Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not
quite despair.
"Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"
From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim
it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from
her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought
that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger.
Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."
Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a
piercing cry--a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is
never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had
happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had
been swept into the water.
Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream
reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment
of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but
he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the
sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning
companion.
"Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the
advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not
realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the
throat.
Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in
unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he
rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt
water.
By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with
one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help,
but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an
encouraging shout in reply.
Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him.
He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down.
Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or
perish in the attempt.
The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with
heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his
open mouth.
"Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in
answer.
He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized
the words now--"Jim! Jim! where are you?"--and put all his remaining
strength into one last cry of despair.
Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was
failing, his mind wandering.
"It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll
stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter.
It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke
into loud laughter.
He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his
silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*"DID I SAVE HIM?"*
When Dick Boden ran from the Fort and raised the alarm, he waited till
his companions made their appearance; then, expecting they would all
follow, he dashed off across the stone bridge. In his opinion, as he
afterwards said, the worst that could happen for any one was a few
hours' imprisonment in the old tower.
No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed
that Braithwaite had stopped.
"Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and
they all began to shout.
"What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's
Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along."
"Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be
drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a
fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay.
"Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim
will have to stay in the Fort."
As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon
and Spencer ran down the beach.
"Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming
tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.--Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a
match. Are the oars there? Right you are!--Now--one, two, three, and
all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with
you!--Give me an oar, Spencer.--You steer, Tommy--straight for
Braithwaite."
"No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the
whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming
back. We should never reach there in a straight course."
"All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't
mind as long as he's saved."
The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide
strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta
mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's
Hartland going for him!--Well done, Jim!--Pull, you fellows!"
They tugged away desperately, but suddenly a piercing shriek startled
them, and they knew that Braithwaite was fighting for life in the water.
Dick groaned, and pulled till it seemed as if his arms must come out.
"They'll both be lost!" he cried, knowing well that Jim would not
hesitate a second in jumping to the rescue.
"There are some men on the shore," said Spencer; "they're getting out
another boat."
"Too late!" muttered Dick gloomily. "Listen! There's Jim calling for
help. Shout back. Now again, and all together."
The sweat poured down their faces, their muscles ached terribly, their
throats were dry and parched, but they pulled on without a second's
pause.
Again the cry for help rang out, this time much nearer, and soon they
discerned a dark object in the water.
"Keep her steady!" roared Spencer. "Grab the other fellow, Dick!" And
he himself caught Jim, and pulled him up so that he partly rested on the
gunwale.
The whole manoeuvre was full of danger, but they were taking risks that
night. By degrees, Spencer, who was fortunately strong as a horse,
managed to pull Jim into the boat, and then helped to drag in
Braithwaite, who displayed no sign of life.
"Let's put our coats over them, and that dry sail in the corner," said
Dick. "Now, a pull for the shore. Keep her head straight, Tommy!"
News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers
of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the
plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.
Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had
hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the
York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets.
"Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the
doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.
Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his
shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon
were doing the same for Braithwaite.
"That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me
to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead,
so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."
Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling
sure in his mind that Jim was dead.
Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on
one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head
meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor
exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to
breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub
his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!"
"Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth.
"Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."
As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by,
where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot
water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some
in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders.
"Now," said that gentleman, "there's nothing but a few hours' sleep
required. Let this youngster stay in the room. I'm going to see how
the other poor boy's getting on."
So Dick sat beside the bed on which his friend lay, and wondered what
was happening on the beach. After a time Jim stirred uneasily, opened
his eyes, and recognized his chum.
"Dick!" he whispered faintly.
"Don't try to talk, old chap. It's all right. Go to sleep."
There was an uneasy look in Jim's eyes, and his forehead puckered up as
if he were in thought. Then he said in a whisper, "Did I save him?"
Jim had asked a question difficult to answer, but his chum thought it
best to soothe him.
"Yes," said he; "you kept him afloat till the boat came up. Now go to
sleep--there's a good chap--or I shan't be allowed to stay with you."
Jim's lips moved as if in speech, but no words passed them, and in a
short time he was fast asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face.
Meantime, news of the accident had reached Mrs. Hartland, who, getting a
neighbour to stay with Susie, hurried to the hotel, where she was
permitted to go into the boy's room to satisfy herself that he was
really alive.
"I'm going to stay with him," said Dick, following her to the door, "and
the doctor says there's no need at all to worry. Does Susie know?"
"Yes; I couldn't keep it from her. How did it happen?"
Dick told the story briefly, and then, promising to bring Jim home in
the morning, he returned to the room. An hour later the doctor came to
have another look at his patient, who was still sleeping nicely.
"Hum!" said he, rubbing his hands, "one's better than none, though it is
a pity the other slipped past us."
"Is Braithwaite dead, sir?" asked Dick, sinking his voice to a whisper
lest Jim should hear him.
"Yes, my boy, I'm sorry to say he is. We've tried hard to restore
breathing, but it's no good. How came he to get into the water?"
Dick told him.
"And this lad jumped in to save him? Well, that was very plucky, but
none of you had any business there at all."
"No, sir," replied Dick humbly, "but I only thought to have a joke."
"Well, well, I don't suppose you're more to blame than the rest!"
exclaimed the doctor; and then, after making a note of Jim's name and
address, he said he would call at his house in a day or two.
That was a wretched night for Dick. The kind-hearted landlady brought
him in a good supper, and a servant made him a comfortable bed on the
floor, but he could not sleep.
"Poor old Dandy!" he murmured again and again, "but for me he would be
alive now."
Early in the morning Jim wakened, and in an instant Dick was by his
side.
"Feel better, old boy?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm all right. Where's Braithwaite? What's the matter? Why are
you looking like that? Is he--_dead_?"
"Yes," said Dick, and no one would have known it was the Angel speaking.
"Then I've killed him! He only went because I called him a coward."
"'Twas as much my fault as yours," said Dick. "I started it. Poor old
Dandy!"
Jim did not speak again; and even when, later in the day, he went home,
his mother could hardly get a word from him; but at the inquest he told
the story without hiding anything, and took all the blame on his own
shoulders.
"Braithwaite wouldn't have gone," he said; "only I laughed at him for
being afraid."
The whole incident was so plain that the jury at once brought in a
verdict of "accidental death," adding a rider that, in their opinion,
the Old Fort and the bridge should be destroyed.
The event, of course, caused a tremendous sensation in the town. Many
people spoke harshly of Jim, but all admired his courage both in
attempting to save the drowning boy and in frankly telling the truth
afterwards.
"The lad has grit," remarked the doctor who had brought him round. "I
hope he won't take it too much to heart."
He was a Scotsman named Stewart, a pleasant, cheery fellow, well known
in Beauleigh both for his ability and kindliness.
"I've a good mind to call and have a look at him," said he. "What's his
address?" pulling out his notebook. "Hum! Brook Street! Not very much
burdened with this world's goods, I expect."
That same evening Mrs. Hartland was startled by a loud rat-tat, and
going to the door, found the doctor there.
"Good-evening!" said he briskly; "are you Mrs. Hartland? I am the
doctor who attended your boy, and I've come to have a look at him. No,
no; don't make a fuss. I'll come straight through, if you don't mind."
And closing the door, he followed Mrs. Hartland into the sitting-room.
"Well, young shaver," said he, patting Jim on the back, "how do you feel
now?--better? That was a very plucky thing you did.--You ought to be
proud of him, ma'am; he deserves the Society's medal. And who is this
young lady?" stooping to touch Susie's hair. "Can't get up? Dear me!
that is sad. Any one attending her?"
"Not now, sir. You see, the doctors--"
"Quite so; I understand. Now, suppose I have a look at her in the
morning--eh? I've had some experience in these cases. I shan't call
professionally--just as a friend of this young gentleman's, you know."
"O sir, how can I thank you?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartland gratefully.
"No need of thanks to any one yet, ma'am; but if I can do the dear child
any good, she can thank her brother, because, but for him, I should not
be here to-night. Eh, Pussy?" And he pulled Susie's ear playfully.
"Jim tried to save the other boy," said Susie with tears in her eyes.
"Yes, I know, and nearly lost his own life. He was very silly in the
first place, but turned out a real hero after all.--Now, Jim, brighten
up and look cheerful. You've had a hard lesson; show the world you've
learned something from it. What's done can't be undone, and moping
won't make things a bit better. Well, I must go.--Good-night, Pussy.
Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning? That will suit me nicely."
And with a bright smile all round, and a last word of encouragement to
Jim, he took his leave.
"O mother," cried Susie, "isn't he a nice man?"
"He is, my dear, and wonderfully clever too, I've heard," replied Mrs.
Hartland. "Oh, what a good thing it will be if he can make you
stronger!"
They talked about it till bedtime, but Jim was very quiet. He was still
thinking of the boy who had gone so suddenly to his death.
*CHAPTER IX.*
*THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.*
There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning,
and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy
Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the
startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry
for the loss of their schoolmate.
As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied
him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for
being the cause of Braithwaite's death.
"He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very
well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into.
I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight."
"They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in,"
exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em
grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!"
"Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted
little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."
Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and
even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything
against his popular chum.
All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two
boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till
after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but
fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr.
Stewart would be able to do for Susie.
The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons
without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for
home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the
doctor was leaving.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you
are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it."
And stepping into his gig, he drove off.
Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face.
"O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't
promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here
nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him.
And what do you think he has offered to do?"
"I can't guess," replied the boy.
"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a
nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her
himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."
"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.
"And he thinks--though, of course, I haven't told Susie--that at the end
of six months she may be able to _walk_! He says there was a girl
suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But
there is only a chance, of course."
"What does Susie say about going?"
"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite
willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."
Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and
feeling rather weary after the medical examination.
"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.
"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come
to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose--suppose you should be able to
walk some day!"
There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk
about that, Jim--not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may
never happen."
"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not
say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."
"Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly.
"Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time.
Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."
At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick
before I go."
"So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening.
Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."
As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after
school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with
him.
"I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor
little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy
her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something.
Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm
gone when you get back."
True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the
next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of
his little patient.
"There," said he, "now you're comfortable--eh? Oh yes; mother's coming
too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have
our big brother to see how we're getting on--eh, my lassie?"
Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and
discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing
remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the
affairs of her neighbours.
"As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An'
her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a
carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"
Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room
containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland"
written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy
sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she
was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a
nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself
later on.
She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but
the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.
Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when
she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always
bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her
mother's grief.
The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and
kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky
accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was
extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only
in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut
himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick
off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely.
"You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's
the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save
Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry
as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good."
"Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly
speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's
just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned
myself."
"Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim,
'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have
been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows--why, half of them
think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!"
"I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily.
"What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward
than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"
This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two
chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better
balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted
they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their
best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted
not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no
reason why they should spoil their own lives.
It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for
an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.
One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr.
Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging
the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.
Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type--"The Gayton Scholarship."
His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther.
Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood
leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be
really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his
eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.
This is the announcement as it appeared in _The Beauleigh Evening
News_:--
"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.--The result of the examination for the Gayton
Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the
elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the
six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible
thousand:--