The Squirms in the Forest
On a dull Saturday afternoon Robin Arkness and his Merry Men, rigged
out for football, passed through the school-yard.
Their voices were raised eagerly as they discussed, in a friendly way,
who should play on Robin's side and who should form a team under the
captaincy of Little John. Almost all they said was, therefore, audible
to Osbody and his Squirms, who, from the windows of the dining-hall,
contemptuously watched them depart.
"Silly asses, booting a ball about with only themselves to score
against," scoffed Grain, cracking a walnut between his teeth.
"Going by the fuss they make, you'd think it was a match for the
World's Championship," said Niblo, a boy who never wasted pocket-money
on regular haircutting.
Practically every Squirm had some skittish comment of this character to
make. As a body they hated football. Much more in their line was it
to go marching about the premises, annoying the servants and "ragging"
inoffensive youngsters. In this way they missed a lot of fresh Foxenby
air, which would have done them a world of good.
Osbody, leader of the Squirms, had outdoor ambitions this afternoon,
however. The departure of Robin and his Merry Men in the direction of
the football field had given him an idea.
"Boys," he said, "is there any reason why one gang of Foxes, more than
any other, should have the Shrubbery all to itself?"
"Not a bit!"
"Confounded cheek on their part!"
"Old Man Wykeham ought to stop it!"
"Ours as much as theirs!"
"We're all in one mind about it," said Osbody. "So, as Arkness and his
band of bounders are off leather-chasing, what's to prevent us having a
bit of sport ourselves under the greenwood tree?"
With one accord they tumbled to the notion. Such a jolly sight less
"fag" to walk right into the Shrubbery without the painful necessity of
fighting their way through its outskirts--a plan of campaign which,
with disastrous results, they had twice tried before, on each occasion
retiring as a routed and damaged rabble.
Singing and shouting and skitting, they slouched in straggling array to
the Shrubbery. That morning gardeners had been busy lopping the tree
branches, many of which were strewn on the ground. Some were green and
damp, but others crackled crisply when trodden on.
"They'd burn like--like blazes," said Grain, not very brilliantly.
"What say you, chaps, to lighting a fire where they've had theirs?"
"That'll be clinking," agreed Osbody. "Not on the spot they last used,
though. I guess our squirts made that wet for the winter. A ripping
score to make off them, wasn't it, boys?"
"Rather!" said Niblo, gleefully. "Some of them were coughing and
rubbing their eyes all next day."
"True. Mr. Rooke looked in and asked if any of them wanted cough
mixture, but they didn't bite!"
"Ha, ha! Buzz round, boys, and rake up the fuel. If I can't beat
Robin Arkness at fire-making, I'll chew my boot-protectors for a week!"
Bold words. But there are days when fires simply will not burn as they
should. Match after match was struck and thrust vainly into the
newspapers which formed the foundation of the pile. Some black smoke
rose in a languid way, but again and again a fitful breeze blew out the
tiny flame.
"Somebody must be breathing hard," said Osbody, trying to hide his
vexation beneath a show of humour. "Get round, boys, and fan it with
your caps."
"Funny thing, this bad luck," Grain remarked. "When Arkness lights a
fire it blazes up like billy-o inside half a minute."
"Go on, Grain, skit," growled Osbody. "'Spose you think of me as Guy
Fawkes, unable to set the fireworks going? Come and have a whack at it
yourself, then, Mr. Clever!"
Grain swaggered nearer. "Don't mind if I do," he said. "Couldn't very
well make a worse boggle of it, could I?"
He knelt beside the fire and drew from his overcoat pocket a
brown-paper parcel, through which grease was oozing slightly. This was
a bad investment in ham sandwiches, which Grain (almost always eating)
had found far too fat for his liking.
Without opening the package, he scooped a hole for it amongst the
newspapers and dry twigs, covered it with spreading boughs, and
restarted the fire. It crackled, spluttered, and burst into a blaze,
flinging off an unpleasant odour of rancid fat.
Still, as a warming spectacle its success was immediate. Grain had
scored over Osbody, the established leader of the Squirms, and made but
a poor effort to conceal his satisfaction.
"Smart!" sneered Osbody. "Since when did you start out hawking lard
and dripping, Grain?"
This was the sort of bickering which was always going on between the
two leading spirits of the Squirms. You never get a pleasant
atmosphere where fellows are always trying to score off one another.
For a moment there was a waspish interchange of sarcastic remarks all
round. Then Niblo, less peevish than the rest, started them off round
the fire in a mock Indian war-dance, which warmed their blood and put
them in a better temper.
"Rather a jolly stunt, Niblo, old boy," said Osbody. "Gives me a
rattling good idea for a new band--one that should chew the ears off
Robin Hood and his Merry Men."
"Out with it, 'Body, my bantam," Niblo said.
"It's this--why shouldn't we all be Wild West cowboys, with Buffalo
Bill as the head of the band?"
"Bravo! Hurrah!" cried some of the Squirms.
"I reckon it would be tophole," went on Osbody, flushing with
excitement. "We'd have such fun as never was. I'd be Buffalo Bill----"
"Of course!" Grain dryly commented.
"And we'd go on the trail and hunt buffaloes and scalp Red Indians,
and--and--well, do all those topping things you see 'em perform at the
picture-shows. Now, boys, all in favour of a Buffalo Bill band, hands
up!"
Shouts of approval signified an almost unanimous consent.
"Then squat round the fire, my cowboys, and we'll talk over the
details," said Osbody.
"Fire's too low," Grain said. "Gone down while we were doing the
tomahawk crawl. Wants something on it to make a rattling good flare.
What price the fibre-matting which is chucking about over yonder?
Jove, it wouldn't half burn."
"So would our ears when the masters had finished clouting them," Osbody
observed. "Matting doesn't grow on trees. The gardeners have left it
there."
"Shows they've no use for it, then," Grain persisted. "Come on, boys,
bring it to the fire."
"No, no," Osbody said. "It's there for a purpose. Covering up
saplings from the frost, perhaps."
"Covering up fiddlesticks!" scoffed Grain. "They've chucked it there
to get rid of it. Christmas, won't it blaze! Who'll join me in
fetching it?"
"It means a furious swishing for whoever does," was Osbody's warning.
"Pooh, 'Body, old man, you're afraid!" Grain jeered.
The taunt reddened Osbody's cheeks still more, but he had the courage
to stick to his guns.
"Rotto!" he exclaimed. "I like a lark, but this is sheer
fatheadedness. Don't we get hidings enough without seeking them?"
"Who'll get a hiding?" argued Grain. "Not us, if anybody. Every
master and prefect in Foxenby knows who prowls round this shrubbery.
Supposing the matting is missed, then who'll 'click' the blame for it?"
"Robin Hood and his Merry Men," said Niblo. "I see your drift, Grain."
"Come, Osbody, be a man," Grain urged. "You can see there's no risk.
Robin's 'put it across you' more than once lately. What a fine chance
of getting your own back!"
Osbody hesitated. His sporting instincts were not altogether dead. In
better company he would have realized that Grain's proposal savoured of
a dirty trick. But he lived always in hopes of "doing down" Robin
Arkness, whose successful rivalry had lately thrown him very much in
the shade. Temptation assailed him strongly: he wavered and fell!
"In for a lamb, in for a sheep, chaps," he said. "Come along! We'll
fire the matting."
Without giving his conscience any further time to prick, he darted
across to the huge sheets of fibre-matting, clutched one, and dragged
it towards him.
Then up before his astonished sight there sprang suddenly a bunch of
sturdy young figures in football costumes, while from under other
similar coverlets emerged the remainder of Robin Hood's Merry Men, with
challenging cries that struck terror to the hearts of the dumbfounded
Squirms.
"Caught!" cried Robin, leaping straight at Osbody. "Have at them, my
Merry Men."
"You rotten sneaks, skulking about in there after pretending to start
for footer," cried Osbody, in mortified fury. "Stand your ground,
chaps, and slug 'em!"
He certainly set them a gallant example. Whatever his failings, funk
was not one of them, and he gave Robin measure for measure in a
rough-and-tumble encounter, more like a wrestling-match than a bout of
fisticuffs.
Old enemies amongst the rest picked each other out and came to grips,
but not more than half of the Squirms faced the music. The remainder
ran from the sudden appearance of the Merry Men as they would have
galloped from ghosts, and their judgment was good, for those of their
gang whom they left behind were in for a sorry time indeed.
A dozen of them were collared and held captive almost at the first
attempt. "I yield, I yield!" they cried, in craven chorus.
Not that they lacked reason for giving in so soon on this occasion,
because the flight of the majority left them hopelessly outnumbered.
Their arms were pinned behind them, and they were unceremoniously
bustled out of the way of the very much severer bouts which were taking
place between Robin and Osbody, and between Grain and Little John.
Osbody and Grain had far more "ginger" in their natures than any of the
other Squirms, and the Merry Men gave them every chance to fight it
out, confident that Robin and Little John would sooner or later prove
themselves the victors.
Twigs snapped sharply beneath the combatants' feet as they pushed one
another to and fro in determined efforts to bring about a fall. But
with Arkness and Flenton there rested all the moral advantage that
comes of fighting in the presence of friends, and slowly but surely the
tide of battle turned in their favour.
"You've got him this time, Robin!" somebody shouted. "His back's
bending; he'll be down in a second."
Osbody made a last gallant effort to prove that this prophecy was all
wrong, and managed to spin out the struggle half a minute longer. Then
over he went with Robin on top of him, and almost simultaneously Little
John succeeded in putting Grain flat on his back.
"Hurrah!" cried the Merry Men, rushing to the spot to relieve Robin and
Little John of the custody of the vanquished Squirms.
"By Jove, that was a tough job," Robin panted. Then, remembering the
part it was his delight to play, he continued:
"Chins up, foemen, for I would have speech with ye. Little did ye
guess, when ye talked of burning the matting and letting the blame fall
on me and my Merry Men, that beneath it I and they lay snugly hidden,
ready to pounce out upon ye, and drub ye soundly for such villainous
behaviour."
"Villain yourself!" snapped Osbody. "Who pretended to go footballing,
and sneaked round here instead? You and your dirty dogs of Men!"
"Bandy not such words with me, caitiff, or it shall go hard with thee
and thy crawling Squirms. Fair as the day was the trick we played on
ye--a stratagem to draw ye to the Forest, whither ye would have been
too chicken-hearted to venture had ye thought to meet us there. Yet ye
and Grain have fought a good fight to-day, and I am minded to treat ye
well."
"I don't want any of your favours," said Osbody, sulkily.
"I will give thee the chance, nevertheless," said Robin. "Tell me the
names of those who put out our fire with garden-syringes, and all but
choked us into the bargain."
"Shan't!" said Osbody.
"Thou flatly refuseth, then, to hand the miscreants over to justice?"
"What miscreants? What justice?"
"A murrain on thee for thy saucy back-talk! There will be more trouble
than thou wottest of if thou dost not speedily humble thy pride."
Osbody could see that Robin was in a mighty passion at the recollection
of the quenched fire, and the heart of the leader of the Squirms sank
within him. He was just about to make a clean breast of it when,
glancing at Grain, he saw that youth looking at him with contemptuous
eyes, as much as to say: "I know you're going to blab to save your
precious skin." For it was Grain who had planned and carried out the
squirting scheme, besides insisting on mixing chemicals with the fluid,
a notion which Osbody had condemned as dangerous.
Grain's sneering gaze stiffened Osbody's back.
"You can save your breath, Arkness," he said. "You know as much about
it as you ever will."
"All right, you chump!" answered Robin, dropping back into modern
speech. "If you will ask for it, you shall have it, and not only you,
but every one of your gang that we've got trussed up to-day, innocent
and guilty alike. Boys, bring the master Squirm to the old bonfire."
Laughing in gleeful anticipation of what was to come, the two Merry Men
who held Osbody fast dragged him, kicking and struggling, to the ashes
of the bonfire which the Squirms had previously extinguished with
squirts. Beside this Robin knelt, scooping up a generous handful of
black ashes.
With a quick inkling of what was coming, Osbody redoubled his efforts
to get free. Finding himself too well held, he panted:
"Here, what's the game? None of your dirty tricks on me, now!"
"You sing loudly," said Robin, "so I'll make a nigger minstrel of you.
Hold him tight, my Merry Men!"
Thereupon he rubbed upon Osbody's neck and face the whole handful of
bonfire ash, smelling pungently as it did of mingled wood and acid.
Osbody yelled furiously at first, but was compelled to close his mouth
to prevent his tongue being coated with the ash. Very soon his grey
eyes shone comically out of a coal-black face, and the ludicrous sight
he presented made the Merry Men laugh so much that they were in some
danger of releasing their captives.
"You filthy brutes, you shall suffer for this," Osbody howled, with
difficulty suppressing tears of mortification.
[Illustration: "YOU FILTHY BRUTES, YOU SHALL SUFFER FOR THIS"]
"Why, knave, what ailest thee? Art thou not being adorned by the
lovely chemical dye which thee and thy henchmen made? I have changed
thy mealy countenance into a glossy black one, and yet thou slingest
abuse at me. A plague on thee for thy ingratitude!"
"He looks just like a shoe-polish advertisement!" gurgled Will Scarlet,
between his paroxysms of mirth.
"I'll knock the face off you, when I get at you, Ponder!" stormed
Osbody.
"You'll have to wash your own better than usual first," Ponder smartly
retorted.
"Six paces to the rear with him," commanded Robin. "Prithee, Grain, if
thou mindest not my chaff, step forward to receive thy new complexion."
Grain did no stepping forward--he was forcibly propelled by merciless
knees from behind. Ash there was in plenty, and Robin did not stint
it. In generous measure he smeared it all over Grain's features, being
quick enough to save his fingers from the snapping teeth which
viciously strove to bite them.
"Now there are two little nigger boys," said Robin, giving a final deft
touch to Grain's chin. "Bring along another eight Squirms, and then
there'll be ten."
What aching ribs the Merry Men acquired as the wriggling Squirms, one
after another, had their faces well blackened by the charcoal of the
fire! No revenge could have been more deliciously sweet. In vain did
the wailing victims threaten to inform their respective housemasters if
the performance did not cease. There was not a Merry Man who believed
that they would dare to peach, nor, for the matter of that, was there
one who would not have taken a swishing in preference to missing a lark
such as this.
"Now," said Robin, "every mother's son of you would make an excellent
Man Friday to Robinson Crusoe."
"Perhaps they'd rather think of themselves as the cannibals of Monkey
Island," David of Doncaster suggested.
"Whichever they like," said Robin. "Oh, I can't laugh any longer--I'm
positively weak with it! Rush them to the Forest edge, Merry Men, and
give them a flying send-off. Good-bye, you gentlemen of colour!"
Knowing themselves to be fearful figures of fun, the limp and groaning
Squirms allowed their rivals to push them out of the shrubbery and send
them flying into the school-yard. Not even Osbody and Grain had any
fighting spirit left. Holding their caps over their faces to hide
themselves as best they could, they made a bee-line for the kitchens,
where soap and hot water would be plentiful.
"Oh, what a scream!" cried Will Scarlet. "I believe I've cracked a rib
with laughing. They'll never forget this as long as they live!"
"I'm not so sure that we haven't done them rather a good turn than a
bad one," said Robin. "They _will_ have to wash themselves to-day, if
never before!"