COTTON AND HIS JACKAL
As I said before, the victory of the despised Biffenites over the Fifth
Form eleven--a moderate one, it is true--caused quite a little breeze of
surprise to circulate around the other houses, which had by process of
time come to regard that slack house as hopeless in the fields or in the
schools. Over all the tea-tables that afternoon the news was commented on
with full details; how Chalmers had gained in deadliness just as much as
he had lost in selfishness, and how Raven and Worcester had worked like
horses, and mown down the opposition--"Fifth Form opposition!" said the
fags, with a lift of the eyebrows--like grass, and as for Biffen's new
captain, well, if there was one player who could hold a candle to him it
must be Phil Bourne, and he only.
In the Rev. E. Taylor's house, Cotton senior, who answered to the name of
"Jim" among his familiars, and was "Bully Cotton" to his enemies--every
Amorian below the Fifth, and a good sprinkling elsewhere--and Augustus
Vernon Robert Todd, who was "Gus" to every one, sat at tea together in
Todd's room. Cotton had been one of the slain that afternoon on the Acres,
and was still in his footer clothes, plus a sweater, which almost came up
to his ears. There was a bright fire in the grate, and though Todd's room
was not decorative compared with most of the other fellows' dens, yet it
was cheerful enough. Cotton had come back from the match hungry and a
trifle bruised from a smart upset, only to find his own fire out, and
preparations for tea invisible. Having uttered dire threats against his
absent, erring fag, he moved into his friend's room, and the two clubbed
together their resources, and the result was a square meal, towards which
Cotton contributed something like 19/20, A.V.R. Todd's share being limited
to the kettle, the water, and the fire. When Cotton had satisfied his
footer appetite, he turned down his stocking and proceeded vigorously to
anoint with embrocation his damaged leg, the pungent scent of the liniment
being almost ornamental in its strength.
"How did you get that, Jim?" said Gus, surveying the brawny limb with
interest.
"Acton brought me down like a house, my boy."
"Fair?"
"Oh yes; but you've got to go down if he catches you in his swing."
"You fellows must have played beautifully to let Biffen's mob maul you to
that extent."
"Gus, my boy, instead of frowsing up here all the afternoon with your
books, you should have been on the touch-line watching those Biffenites at
their new tricks. Your opinion then would have a little avoirdupois. As it
is, you Perry Exhibit, it is worth exactly nothing."
"You're deucedly classical to-night, Jim."
"Oh, I'm sick of this forsaken match and all the compliments we've had
over it. I'm going now to have a tub, and then we'll get that Latin paper
through, and, thirdly, I'll have the chessmen out."
"Sorry, I can't, Jim," said Todd, discontentedly. "There is that beastly
Perry Scholarship--I must really do something for that!"
"Thomas Rot, Esq.!" said Cotton. "Haven't you been a-cramming and
a-guzzling for that all this afternoon? You've a duty towards your chums,
Toddy, so I tell you."
"That's all very well, Jim, for you, who are going to break some crammer's
heart, and then crawl into the Army through the Militia, but my pater
wants me to do something in the Perry, I tell you."
"Chess!" said Cotton, disregarding Todd's bleat, and then, with a sly
smile, he added, "Shilling a game, Gus, and you know you always pull off
the odd one."
"All right," said Todd, swallowing the bait with forlorn eagerness; "I'll
have the board set out if you must come in."
"Oh, I must!" said Cotton, with a half-sneer at Todd's anxiety to pick up
a small sum. "Clear the table, and we'll make a snug evening of it."
Todd's method of clearing a table was novel, if not original. He carried
it bodily into Cotton's room, and then returned with his friend's
mahogany, which was undoubtedly more ornamental than his own.
Acton was absolutely right when he sneeringly called Gus "Cotton's
jackal." Todd was exactly of the material which makes a good jackal,
though he never became quite Jim Cotton's toady. He was a sharp, selfish
individual, good-looking in an aimless kind of way, with a slack, feeble
mouth, and a wandering, indecisive glance. He had a quick, shallow
cleverness, which could get up pretty easily enough of inexact knowledge
to pass muster in the schools. Old Corker knew his capabilities to a hair,
and would now and then, when Gus offered up some hazy, specious
guess-work, blister him with a little biting sarcasm. Todd feared the
Doctor as he feared no one else. Todd's chief private moan was that he
never had any money. His father was a rich man, but had some ideas which
were rather rough on his weak-kneed son. He tipped poor Gus as though he
were some thrifty hairdresser's son, and Todd had to try to ruffle it with
young Amorians on as many shillings as they had crowns. Not a lad who ever
had naturally any large amount of self-respect, the little he had soon
went, and he became, while still a fag, a hewer of wood and drawer of
water to his better-tipped cronies. His destiny finished when, on his
entry into the Fifth, Jim Cotton claimed him, and subsidized him as his
man.
At the beginning of the term his father had told him that if he could make
a good show in the Perry Exhibition there need not be any more grumbling
about his tip. Gus came back to St. Amory's hysterically anxious to cut
out all competitors for the Perry, but the shackles of his old serfdom
were still about him. When he showed signs of being restive to the old
claims, and recommended Cotton to do his own classics and mathematics,
Cotton coolly and calmly demanded repayment of sundry loans contracted of
old. Todd had not the pluck to face a term of plain living and high
thinking by paying his former patron all he owed him and exhausting all
his present tip by so doing, but flabbily, though discontentedly, caved
in, and became Cotton's jackal as before.
Cotton was by no means as bad as his endearing name might make you think.
He was a tall, heavy fellow, with a large, determined-looking face. He was
wonderfully stupid in the schools, but was quite clever enough to know it.
He had some good qualities. He was straight enough in all extra-school
affairs, did not lie, nor fear any one; kept his word, and expected you to
keep yours.
"You can't beat Hodgson of the Sixth, Gus, so what is the good of sweating
all the term? Hodgson's got the deuce of a pull over you to start with."
"I'm not frightened of Hodgson if you wouldn't bother, Jim."
"Can't do without you, old cock. You're just the fellow to lift my Latin
and those filthy mathematics high enough out of the mud to keep the beaks
from worrying me to death. I tried Philips for a week, but he did such
weird screeds in the 'unseens' that Merishall smelt a rat, and was most
particular attentive to me, but your leverage is just about my fighting
weight."
Gus had sniffed discontentedly at this dubious compliment; but Cotton had
smiled stolidly, and continued to use Gus as his classical and
mathematical hack. Besides, there was something about Gus's easy-going
lackadaisical temperament which exactly suited Cotton, and he felt for his
grumbling jackal a friendliness apart from Gus's usefulness to him.
This afternoon had been a fair sample of Todd's usual half-holiday.
Feeling no heart for any serious work for the Perry, he had spent it in
reading half a worthless novel, and skimming through a magazine, and
feeling muddled and discontented in consequence. He had the uneasy feeling
that he was an arrant ass in thus fooling time away, but had not
sufficient self-denial to seize upon a quiet afternoon for a little
genuine work.
Cotton soon returned from his bath, and the two cronies spent about an
hour in getting up the least modicum of their classics which would satisfy
Merishall; and then they played chess, by which Gus was one florin richer.
A third game was in progress, but Todd managed to tip over the board when
he was "going to mate in five moves." Cotton thereupon said he had had
enough, but Gus avariciously tried to reconstruct the positions. He failed
dismally, and Cotton laughed sweetly. Now Cotton's laugh would almost make
his chum's hair curl, so he retorted pretty sweetly himself, "I say, Jim.
I can't get out of my head that awful hammering you fellows got this
afternoon. Think Biffen's lot likely to shape well in the House matches?"
"There's no telling, old man. But if they get moderate luck they'll be
waltzing about in the final."
"That's absolute blazing idiocy!" said Todd, knocking over more chessmen
in his astonishment.
"All right, Gus. To talk absolute blazing idiocy is my usual habit, of
course. They may carry off the final even, but that, perhaps, is a tall
order."
Todd nursed his astonishment for a full five minutes, whistling
occasionally, as at some very fantastic idea. At last he said more
seriously: "Aren't you now, Jim, really pulling my leg?"
"No, honour bright! Biffen's are really eye-openers."
Gus said with infinite slyness: "Look here, I'll bet you evens Biffen's
_don't_ pull off the final."
"Oh, that is rot, Gus, to talk about betting, for you can't pay if you
lose."
Gus had not too much sensitiveness in his character, but this unmeant
insult stung him.
"You've no right to say that. I've paid all I've ever betted with you."
Cotton considered heavily in his own mind for a moment. "That is almost
true, but--"
"Well, what do you mean--" began Todd, in a paddy.
"All right," said Cotton; "shut up, confound you! I'll take you."
"Three quid Biffen's are not cock-house at 'footer.'"
"Done," said Cotton, unwillingly pulling out his note-book; "and straight,
Todd, I shall expect you to pay if you lose."
"Oh, shut up, Cotton, you cad! I shall pay if I lose, man. What do you
want to keep on insulting me like that for?"
"Steady, Gus. You'll have Taylor up if you howl like that. I meant
nothing."
"Nothing!" said Gus in a fury, seeking for something particularly sweet to
say to his patron. "I jolly well hope, then, that if our house should meet
'em in the rounds you will do your little best to put a stopper on their
career. Don't, for the sake of pulling off your bet, present 'em with a
few goals. You 'keep' for our house, you know."
"Oh, dash it all, Todd," said Cotton, in a white rage, "you are a bounder!
Think I'd sell my side?" he demanded furiously.
"Ah!" said Gus, delighted at having got through Cotton's skin. "You don't
stomach insults any more than I do. Then why do you ladle them out so
jolly freely to me?"
"That was a particularly low one," said Cotton angrily; "and anyway, you
avaricious beggar, you've got thundering good terms, for it is hardly
likely that Biffen's can really be cock-house. There's Corker's house,
with Bourne and Hodgson and a few more good men. You're a sight more
likely to see my three sovs, that I am yours."
"I hope so," said Gus, with some relief at the anticipation of this
pleasant prospect.
Then the anger of the two simmered down, each having given and received
some very choice compliments, and as these little breezes were usual
between the two, ten minutes afterwards they were amiably entertaining
each other. Cotton was putting up a pair of dumb-bells three hundred
times, and his crony was counting and criticising his form. The Perry
Exhibition did not enter Todd's head, but his bet--"such a gilt-edged
one," he chuckled--was never once out of it. And Todd's bet had some
momentous consequences for him, too.