The Plea of Peter Mawdster
The complete failure of the first number of their _Rooke's House Rag_
gave Dick and Roger rather a wretched night. But with the morning-time
there came a ray of hope.
Luke Harwood brought in a whole sheaf of subscriptions which he had
voluntarily collected from Holbeck's House. There was a fine spirit of
sportsmanship about his unsought assistance, which almost betrayed the
grateful Captain into a display of emotion. O'er Roger Cayton's head
it heaped coals of fire indeed!
"'Pon my word, Harwood, you're real jannock," Dick managed to stammer.
"What hours you must have spent on this collecting stunt! It--it's
downright brickish of you."
"Oh, cut that out," said Harwood, with a laugh. "To be honest, it was
a jolly good excuse for dodging 'prep.'. I didn't feel like swotting
last night."
"But I say, you know, you shame me. I never thought of doing anything
like this for you, Harwood!"
"The cases don't run on all fours, old man. I took over _The Foxonian_
as a going concern. Generations of Foxonians had edited it before me.
It was almost as old and venerable as Nelson's monument. You had
competition to face--your _Rag_ was an infant in arms. I love
rivalry--it stimulates me. Let nothing discourage you, old boy--keep
right on making each number better than the last."
He faded away with his customary grace, leaving behind him a completely
captivated Dick and a non-plussed and sour-visaged Roger.
"How now, Stormy Petrel!" cried Dick. "It's amusing to what extremes
you carry your prejudice against Luke Harwood, Roger. Bears you no
malice whatever for the hard knocks you gave him in your 'Sauce for the
Gander' column. Now, Roger, knuckle under, old man! He's our Good
Samaritan."
"Who appointed him our collector, anyway?" said Roger. "Sly
impertinence, I call it. Well," he added, relenting at sight of Dick's
crestfallen face, "perhaps I am rather a graceless churl to-night.
I'll put this bagful of money safely away in the locker, and then start
raking the subscriptions in myself before some other voluntary helper
queers my pitch!"
Harwood's "sly impertinence" had gingered Roger up, at any rate. By
nightfall he had wheedled "subs" out of the majority of Rooke's House,
and when they visited Moston with "copy" for the second number of the
_Rag_, they carried with them funds ample enough to defray the cost of
publication for months ahead.
"Gentlemen, do you mind holdin' over the matter of payment a week or
two?" said the Manager of the Moston Fairtype Press, almost
plaintively. "I'm just now neck-deep in arrears of work--never a spare
moment for book-keepin' do I get."
"Oh, but we'd rather pay, really, and get it off our minds," said Dick.
"Then we shall know exactly where we stand," Roger supplemented.
The manager spread out his ink-stained hands imploringly.
"It's all right, Mr. Forge--carry on, Mr. Cayton. I know you both--we
can trust one another. I'll make out a bill to-morrow and you can pay
me next time you're in town. I'd much rather!"
So the co-editors went away again with the money in their pockets,
excusably touched by this further proof of confidence in their honesty.
Number two of the _Rag_ came out in all its glory, irreproachably
printed on fine-quality paper, and so far they hadn't been permitted to
pay a farthing towards its cost! It seemed almost like philanthropy.
It was gratifying, too, to see how much better the second issue went
down than the first had done. Probably because they had paid for it
this time, the boys did not chuck it about, and it appeared to be read
with even closer attention than was the monthly _Foxonian_, brought out
simultaneously. In truth, the rival papers lashed out at each other,
though with perfect fairness, and the contents of both were voted
"particularly spicy".
"Roger, old man, shake!" cried Dick, after tea. "This is my life's
happiest day, I really think. Thanks, as much as anything, to your
pungent 'Sauce for the Gander', we are in this pleasant position----
Now, kid, why are you nosing about here? Clear off!"
He broke into his congratulatory speech to turn irritably on a
flabby-faced, unhealthily fat youngster, who had had the amazing cheek
to draw his attention by plucking at his sleeve.
"Oh, please, Forge, I'd rather not go until I've spoken to you
privately," the Junior said.
"Privately! Well, of all the nerve! You can say anything you've got
to say in front of my friend here, and look slippery, too. Doubt if I
ought to let you speak at all--butting into our conversation like that."
"Sorry, Forge, but I don't think you'll mind when I've told you
everything. I've come to you for protection."
"Protection! From me? I'm honoured--overwhelmed! Take a square look
at this young genius, Roger. Is he quite 'all there', do you consider?"
"Nothing balmy about me, Forge," said the youngster, with
self-possession. "I merely called to lay a complaint----"
"Well, don't lay it as heavily as a foundation-stone," interrupted
Dick. "That'll do for the first part of your speech, youngster. Hurry
up with the second. I'll give you a couple of minutes."
He took out his watch.
"I'm Mawdster, from Holbeck's House--the boy who stuck up for the
_Rooke's House Rag_ when all my chums were slating it."
"Ah, to be sure!" said Roger. "One of the Squirms, and looks it, too."
The Junior gave Roger a quick glance which seemed to say, "It's none of
your business, anyhow." Then he made his moan.
"Ever since that day, Forge, I've caught it hot from both sides--my own
and Robin Hood's. And all because I said your mag. was better got-up
than _The Foxonian_."
Dick and Roger exchanged half-amused glances. Then Dick looked back at
his watch.
"One minute," he chuckled. "Any more of this, kid?"
"A lot, Forge! They blackguard me all the time--I've a dog's life
between the two gangs--and yesterday they held my head down ever so
long in the fountain."
"Did you report that to your prefect?"
"Yes--to Harwood. But he only laughed and said it would save me the
trouble of washing myself--or some such rot. I know why he did
nothing--because he'd heard I'd been running _The Foxonian_ down and
praising your _Rag_, Forge. He'll always have his knife into me for
that."
"Oh, rather!" said the Captain, ironically. "Quite a natural
assumption that Harwood will lie awake o' nights wondering how to get
even with you. Don't be an idiot, young Mudster."
"Mawdster, if you please, Forge," the Junior corrected, not too
respectfully.
"Mawdster, then! Don't snap! I think I understand you now. You
belong to Holbeck's House, whose prefect snubs you. Then, because you
once praised my magazine, you expect me to slip across and break a
stick over the backs of a score of youngsters who are ragging you. If
there's a more brazen little bounder in the whole of Foxenby, I've yet
to hear of him. Quit!"
"But please, Forge----"
"Quit, you little ass!" put in Roger. "Don't you know how hard the
Captain can kick?"
The flabby youth, realizing that his audacious appeal had failed, got
quickly out of the range of Dick's boot. But he paused long enough to
get in a parting shot--a stinger, too.
"After all," he said, "it's putrid to be bullied for praising the
_contents_ of a magazine, when all you really fancied was the paper and
print!"
Both laughed ruefully at this when Mawdster had vanished.
"That's a backhander for us, straight between the eyes," said Roger.
"Rather!" Dick agreed. "The oily maggot! I only wish I'd taken your
tip, Roger, and driven my uninjured foot into his fat carcase!"