Roger returns to Brighter Skies
Immediately after breakfast the Head called the boys together in the
hall and gave them a graphic account of the recovery of his collection,
praising the blushing captain sky-high. Then he gave the school a
holiday, and topped it by declaring that "some very special dainties"
would be provided for supper that night.
It was a red-letter day all round. Robin Hood and his Merry Men held
high revelry in the Forest, and even called a truce with the Squirms so
that there might be no shadow on the day's sunshine.
They were not tempted from grace, either, by the red-rag irritation of
Peter Mawdster's presence. That sick and sorry youth took advantage of
the holiday to slip down home, and, for some reason never publicly
explained, he was seen at Foxenby no more. Possibly his doting parents
decided to remove him to a less robust and more genteel atmosphere than
that which Foxenby afforded. Anyhow, his disappearance had no more
effect on the school than the swift death of a midge in a summer
thunderstorm.
Dick took his fifty-pound cheque to the head-master's bank and withdrew
thirty-five pounds of it, leaving the remainder on deposit in his own
name. Then he hunted up "Chuck" Smithies, who was amusing himself by
turning over a portfolio of old sporting prints.
"Hallo, sonny! Come to tell me how you ticked off that jelly-fish,
Aaron Mawdster, yesterday afternoon? I can see by your face that you
wrung the low-down animal's withers for him!"
"Thanks to you, I metaphorically mopped him up," said Dick.
The bookmaker roared with laughter over Dick's unvarnished account of
the printing-office interview, in which the captain had seen nothing
particularly funny at the time.
"You rattled the hypocrite's teeth with a rasping upper-cut there,
lad," said Smithies. "Oh, I'll laugh till I cry! Threatening to
expose him as a blackmailer got right through his sanctimonious guard.
He'd dread that. You could have bowled him out with it, whether you'd
paid him or not."
"I paid him, though. He took all you lent me and some odd shillings
besides."
"Exactly what he would do, the dirty blighter! But here, I say, what
are you trying on, youngster? Repaying me already?" He stared almost
resentfully at the thirty-five pounds which Dick laid before him.
"Been picking paper-money off trees, kid, or what is it? Pardon me if I
seem dazed, but----"
"Please take it, Smithies. I'd the luck of a lifetime yesterday."
Briefly Dick described his moonlit trip to the hills with Fluffy Jim,
and what came of it. "So, you see, I can repay your kind loan with a
balance in hand."
What seemed distinctly like a shade of annoyance crossed the
bookmaker's face. "Sonny, we parted on good terms yesterday--don't
strew tacks under the wheel of friendship to-day. Am I Shylock, that
you should plunk down a fiver for a day's interest on thirty pounds?
I'll take back what I lent you and not a penny more."
Dick felt rather foolish. "But you said it was a business
transaction," he replied, defensively. "I'm most awfully sorry if I've
unwittingly hurt your feelings--do please forgive me for being such a
clown. I--I only thought it would be rather nice to make you a little
friendly acknowledgment of your great kindness."
"Well, you've put it on the wrong footing, youngster, that's all.
'Business transaction' was my camouflage for it. Just a loan to oblige
a pal--which it did, thank goodness, in putting you top-side of Aaron
Mawdster yesterday. There, now, take no notice of my bluster--I'm only
kidding. Take back your fiver and give me instead a little souvenir of
the occasion--one I rather fancy."
"Whatever it is, it's yours, Smithies," Dick eagerly agreed.
"A photograph of yourself in football togs--this size--to fit into my
portfolio of sporting cracks."
"The honour's mine there," said Dick. He bethought himself of Robin
Arkness's autograph-book, and smiled. "You're putting me early into
the gallery of Fame! I hate being photographed, Smithies, but you
shall have the picture. Mr. Rooke will take it--he's a wizard with a
camera."
"That'll suit me down to the ground, sonny. It'll be a nice memento to
put beside a photograph of the football cup, which you're sure to win
next time.
"For," added the bookmaker inwardly, as Dick left the office, "I'm
taking no bets on that replay from Ike Doccan's dirty paw. If he
wasn't acting for a few schoolboys who meant Foxenby no good, I'll eat
my go-to-meeting suit of clothes."
Dick had swung happily half-way back to school when he observed Robin
Arkness running towards him breathlessly. The Junior waved at him an
orange-coloured envelope.
"A telegram for you, Forge," he announced. "I saw you come down here,
so I risked bringing it along."
"Jolly decent of you, youngster--thanks," said Dick, trying to behave
as though telegrams were an everyday event with him, though his pulse
was rapid as he opened the envelope and read its contents.
"Kid, what splendid news you've brought me! Cayton is coming back to
school by the midday train, and wants me to meet him. We've just time
to celebrate it. Come and have a lemonade or something."
The "something" spread itself out into quite a classy midday feed for
Robin, who, having done himself proud at the smiling captain's expense,
hurried back to school to scatter envy among his less fortunate
comrades. It was then time for the train, which brought with it a
paler but much-happier-looking Roger than the anxious prefect who left
Foxenby in December.
"Why, Roger, old boy," said Dick, when they had treated themselves to a
very fervent handshake, "I expected to see you a limping crock, looking
justifiably sorry for yourself, yet you're laughing all across your
face and half-way down your back. Does being feverishly ill buck a
chap up so much as all that?"
"Dear old Dick, I meant to keep it dark till we were locked in our
study to-night, but I simply can't hold it in. It's ripping tidings
I've got for you--top-hole!"
"Judging by your beaming countenance, it must be."
"Laddie, it's great! I'm no longer a 'deadhead', financially speaking,
in the _Rooke's House Rag_ partnership. I can go shares in the cost,
whatever it is. I've made money--I'm a professional author!"
"No, never! Get away with your nonsense, Roger!"
"It's sober truth, old Doubting Thomas. I've a savings-bank book in my
pocket, showing that twenty guineas is standing to my credit. And
every penny of that was made by writing--I've the proofs of the series
of sketches in my pocket, and you and I are going to correct them
together to-night!"
He had an enraptured and admiring auditor in Dick as he explained how,
determined to do his bit towards making good the loss of the _Rag's_
subscription-money, he had conceived the idea of writing a dialect
sketch descriptive of the quaint customs and mannerisms of his own
village. By great good fortune the simple humour of it had caught the
fancy of the first editor to whom he offered it. "Send me eleven more
brief sketches in the same vein," wrote the editor, "and I'll pay you
twenty guineas for the dozen."
It was, Roger admitted, a staggering commission, and ultimately it
overweighted him. What with tramping about in search of "local colour"
in the daytime, and then sitting up secretly at nights in order to
transfer his thoughts to paper, he broke down, and only just finished
the job in time--indeed, he had no recollection of actually posting the
series, and was only certain he had done so when, a few days before
returning to school, he had received the promised cheque in payment.
"There was absolutely nothing in them, old chap--the simplest stuff you
could imagine. I said as much to the editor-chap, who replied that
their simplicity was their charm. I just jotted down the fairy-stories
of the district, and described the funny folk who told them, and it
clicked."
"You're a wise old bird, Roger," said Dick, almost worshipping this
revelation of his chum's intellect. "I shall put a special paragraph
in the new _Rag_ about all this--yes, I shall--I'm editor-in-chief, so
you can't stop me. Now, it's _your_ turn to listen to _me_, and I
think my tale about even beats yours, old lad!"
An opinion which Roger emphatically confirmed when, despite many
excited interruptions from him, Dick had completed the yarn.
"Great!" commented Roger. "A thrill from beginning to end. Isn't it
strange how things work out? Grand bit of compensation that Fluffy
Jim, after spoiling your goal, should put that fifty-pound reward right
under your nose. Rough gratitude for your services in snatching him
from Juddy Stockgill's clutches, though he only meant to show you his
'cottage musical-box'."
They spent a happy afternoon in their study, exchanging confidences
over the fire concerning almost everything that had happened during
their enforced separation. One thing, and one thing only, did Dick
keep from Roger, and that was his suspicion that Luke Harwood had had
some hand in messing up the final tie. He wanted to bring an
unprejudiced mind to that subject when he discussed it with Luke, which
he fully intended to do at the first opportunity.
By dusk Roger knew nearly as much about Foxenby's affairs as if illness
had not kept him away. He was sympathetic about the misfortune that
had overtaken Dick's aunt, but rather thought that he would personally
be able to make up for any loss of pocket-money in that direction by
writing more sketches for the Press. Which shows how little success is
needed to make an amateur author vain.
"The _Rag_ must come out again," he said, "and that right speedily.
The firm that prints the _Foxonian_ shall do it for us this
time--they're clean and above reproach."
"Right you are," said Dick. "I'm game. In an hour the fellows will be
trooping in to supper which the Old Man is making a toothsome event
to-night. On their way they'll pass the notice-board."
And thus it happened that, after a happy day of unexpected liberty, the
Foxes were able to read more sympathetically than they would have done
a day or two before, the following intimation on the hall
notice-board:--
_THE ROOKE'S HOUSE RAG_
The Editors of the above Magazine have pleasure in informing its
readers that its publication will be resumed within the course of a
few weeks.
It is hoped to introduce some new features of special interest in
the forthcoming number.
Richard Forge, }
Roger Cayton, } Editors.