THE END OF TERM
The two worthies, Grim and Wilson, after seeing Acton, began to get out
their programme. Here it is:--
BIFFEN'S JUNIORS' CONCERT.
_Cock House, December, 1898._
(1) Epilogue.
B.A.M. CHERRY.
(2) Poem on the subject of Cock House.
B. SHARPE.
(3) Bar Act.
(4) First Round Junior Boxing Competition.
PRINCE RUNJIT MEHTAH and RAM SINGH.
(5) SONG. "My First Cigar."
R.E. THURSTON.
(6) PIANOFORTE SOLO. "Oh! listen to the band."
O. BROWN.
(7) Second Round Boxing.
(8) SONG. "Jim."
J. ACTON, ESQ.
(9) Third and Concluding Rounds Boxing.
(10) SONG. "Well, suppose you did?"
R.E. THURSTON.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
ACCOMPANIST O.E. BROWN.
_Trinity College (by Examination)._
STAGE MANAGER W.E. GRIM.
N.B.--The Manager begs to state that there will be no Latin
or classical allusions throughout the evening. No waits. No
charge for programmes. No antediluvian jokes.
This was printed on paper blushing pink--Biffen's colours--and Grim and
Wilson, when they got the advance proof last thing on Saturday night,
almost embraced in their jubilation. There was such a swagger look about
the "N.B."
Meanwhile B.A.M. Cherry had consulted his dictionary, and therein found
that an "epilogue" was defined as "a concluding speech in an oration or
play." He broke into a cold sweat of horror. That was an epilogue, then!
Where could he find one? What would be the good of one if he did find it?
And supposing he had one and could recite it, it was at the wrong end of
the programme--the programme which had already been printed in such hot
haste? It was too late to tell Grim, who would have instantly summoned all
the strength of Biffen's to scrag him. The wretched Cherry shuddered at
his awful plight.
Nothing could he do or dare he do. In desperation he determined to fall
ill on the concert night. B.A.M. Cherry hadn't the heroic soul, and when
Grim asked him cheerfully how the epilogue was going on, he said
"spiffing," in the tone of a martyr at the stake.
On the Monday Grim scuttled about all day--now on the stage, listening to
Thurston going over his songs with Brown, now getting entries for his
boxing competition, now encouraging Sharpe, who was in the throes of
composition, and now criticizing the Dervishes with much force. Acton put
in an appearance in the concert-room, and gave Brown the accompaniment to
"Jim;" and, after hearing him play it through, went and read his novel the
rest of his spare time.
At 7.30 the juniors of St. Amory's began to stroll in, Biffen's lot
collaring the front seats as per custom. The programmes were distributed
to each one as he came in, and created no end of sensation, and W.E. Grim
was allowed to have come out very strong in the programme line. St.
Amory's fags did not spot anything wrong about item one, but the older
fellows chuckled a little and said "the manager was a funny ass." This
opinion was instantly conveyed to Grim by one of his cronies, and made
that young gentleman think himself no end of a sly dog.
Punctually to the minute Grim rang his bell, and, darting into the
dressing-room, said, "Now, Cherry, come along with your epilogue, They're
all waiting. Where is that ass?"
"Cherry has not turned up yet, Grim."
"What?" he said in horror.
"Not turned up yet!"
"I'll go and fetch the beggar at once."
Grim darted out of the room, tore along the street, and was hammering at
Cherry's door within the minute.
"Fruity, hurry up, they're all waiting."
"I'm not well, Grim."
"What?"
"I'm not well--I'm in bed."
"You miserable beast!" shouted Grim. "I'll massacre you. You'll make us
the laughing stock of the whole school. Get up, man, Be a man."
"I'm ill," moaned Cherry from within.
"You miserable beast! You'll be dead to-morrow." He shook the door
violently, but Cherry was not quite the utter fool Grim took him for, for
he had locked the door. Grim stood outside on the corridor for some
seconds, petrified with rage and disgust, and then flew like a madman back
to the concert-room. He cannoned up against some one leisurely strolling
up to the dressing-room, and was darting on again _sans_ apology. A
hand gently closed upon his collar and pulled him back.
"Hallo, young shaver! Little boys used to apologize when they--Why,
it's Grim! What in the name----"
Grim, almost blubbing with anger and shame, poured out his tale, and Acton
listened with an amused smile. "Sheer funk, Grim. Well, go on, and tell
'em their Cherry has rotted, but that I'll come and tell 'em a little tale
instead."
Grim would have embraced Acton if he'd been a little taller, but he
gurgled, "Acton, you _are_ a brick," and darted on to the stage.
He was received with deafening cheers, and shrieks of "No waits!"
"Manager!" "Don't hurry, Grim!" "We'll send out for supper!" "We want
Cherry!" "Go off," etc.
When Grim could get a word in he panted, "Gentlemen, I am sorry to say
B.A.M. Cherry is indisposed and cannot favour you with the epilogue."
"Funked it!" roared all the delighted juniors.
"He says he is unwell," said Grim, anger getting the better of him, "but
he'll be a jolly sight worse in the morning."
There was a hurricane of thunderous cheers at this sally, but Grim managed
to shout above the laughing, "I have great pleasure in announcing that
John Acton, Esq., will take Fruity's--I mean Cherry's--place and tell you
a little tale; even Corker fags will understand it," added Grim,
viciously.
Acton came on and received his hearty welcome with easy good nature. He
plunged right into his contribution: "A London cabby's account of his
different fares"--from the double-superfine gilt-edged individual to the
fat old dowager who _will_ have the parrot inside with her. Acton
gave it perfectly. Grim, who had his ears glued to the exit door, vowed he
could almost hear the swell drop his eyeglass.
Sharpe stepped on to the stage amid the polite attentions of his natural
enemies. "Be a man, Sharpe." "Don't cry." "You'll see mamma soon." "Speak
up." "He did it all alone, remember." "No help." "Oh, dear no!"
"When on the bosom of the sleeping pool,
That's shaded o'er by trees in greenest dress,
Upon its breast of snow its gem of gold
The water lily swims--"
The juniors howled with dismay at this commencement, and Corker juniors
instantly began to keep time to Sharpe's delivery in the organ-grinder's
fashion. But Sharpe toiled remorselessly on. He compared Biffen's house to
a water lily growing in a muddy pond, and again as a Phoenix risen from
the ashes; and he gave us, with circumstantial details, every round of the
footer housers, their two eleven caps, and the Perry Exhibition, and
darkly hinted at Acton's exclusion from the eleven.
He wound up his awful farrago in one glorious burst of solemn fury--
"And even Fate girds on her sword, and her right arm she stiffens,
As thunders to the icy pole the glorious name of Biffen's."
When Sharpe finally made his bow, according to the invariable custom,
every junior except a Biffenite imitated with rare fidelity the mixed
sensations of channel passengers after a stormy passage.
Sharpe, cheered to the echo by the Biffenites on the front row, went
proudly off.
The Dervishes were received with enthusiasm, and went through their
performance to the shouts of "Well wriggled, Java!" "Why don't you oil!"
"Do it again--orang-outang!" They amiably smiled acknowledgments as they
backed away.
Then I myself stepped on to the stage, prepared to judge the two-minutes'
rounds. Grim had whipped up sixteen fags, each willing to do battle for
the honour of his house. The rounds proceeded to the accompaniment of
ear-splitting encouragement, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that
not a solitary one of the defeated heroes thought he had really been
beaten on points.
No mistake about it, Biffen's had a fag who could sing. Thurston's "My
First Cigar" only lacked one thing--it should have lasted a little longer
to suit the audience.
"She called it an Intimidad,
It had spots of a yellowish hue,
She said the best brands always had,
And I firmly believed it was true."
A good number of the fellows knew "The Soldiers in the Park," and Brown
hammered it out in a good old breezy style.
As he was racing home, and the jolly chorus was crashing out from the
piano, one fag started "Oh, listen to the band!"
Instantly the whole school, juniors and seniors as well, joined in the
chorus, keeping time with their feet.
"Oh, listen to the band!
Who doesn't love to hark
To the shout of 'Here they come'
And the banging of the drum--
Oh, listen to the soldiers in the park."
When the dust had settled, every one acknowledged that Biffen's concert
was going with a bang. I am not going to bore you with a longer account of
Biffen's concert. Thurston sang "Alice, where art thou?" the fellows
telling him between the verses that "She wasn't going to come," "Spoony
songs barred," etc., and Rogers carried off the fags' boxing competition
with a big rush in the final round, and Biffen's crew howled with delight.
Finally the bell rang for Acton's song. Brown rattled through the
preliminary bars, and the song commenced. The singer held himself slightly
forward, in a rather stiff and awkward fashion, and his eyes were staring
intently into vacancy. There was not the shadow of a shade of any
expression in his face. A feeling of pity for Acton was the universal
sensation when the first words fell from his lips. Acton had not the ghost
of a singing voice, and the school shuddered at the awful exhibition.
There was an icy silence, but Acton croaked remorselessly on. This is the
song:--
"Jim and I as children played together,
Best of chums for many years were we;
I had no luck--was, alas! a Jonah;
Jim, my chum, was lucky as could be.
Oh, lucky Jim! How I envied him!
"Years rolled by, and death took Jim away, boys,
Left his widow, and she married me;
Now we're married oft I think of Jim, boys,
Sleeping in that churchyard by the sea.
Oh, lucky Jim! How I envy him!"
As the words followed on there was a suggestion of oddity in that awful
voice singing a comic song, and there were a few suppressed laughs at the
idea. As the song progressed, the utter dreary weariness of the voice, and
the rather funny words, compelled the fellows to laugh in uncontrollable
bursts; but still Acton never turned a hair. When he arrived at the
churchyard lines there was one universal howl of delight. Brown stopped
dead at the end of the second last line, and Acton stopped dead too.
Instantly all the fellows became as mute as fish. The singer straightened
himself up, looked round the room with a mocking smile while one might
count a dozen, and then winked to Brown, who recommenced softly on the
piano. Then Acton _sang_ slowly and deliberately--sang with a voice
as clear and as tunable as a silver bell--
"Oh, lucky Jim! How I envy him!"
His croak was a pretence--he had hoaxed us all! Before we recovered from
our stupefaction he had vanished. The school clamoured for his return,
but though they cheered for three minutes on end Acton did not reappear,
and Brown struck up "God save the Queen!" Biffen's concert was at an end!
Grim held a five minutes' meeting among the Biffenites before bed.
"There's never been a fellow like Acton in St. Amory's. He goes away at
nine to-morrow. The Great Midland are going to stop their express to pick
up St. Amory fellows, and Acton goes up to his place by that. I vote we
all go in a body to the station and cheer him off. We keep it dark, of
course." This _staccato_ oration was agreed to with acclamation, and
Biffenites went to bed happy.
On the morrow Acton strolled into the station and espied the Biffenites,
who were scattered up and down the platform with careful carelessness.
The train came in, and at once the juniors crowded _en masse_ round
the carriage in which Acton had secured a corner seat, and stood talking
to Grim, who was in fine feather.
At that very moment Phil Bourne and young Jack Bourne bustled into the
station. An idea struck Rogers, and he said to all his chums, "Here's
Bourne, you fellows; let him know we see him."
The fags were delighted, and when Bourne entered the carriage next
Acton's there was a long-drawn-out hoot for his especial benefit.
"Another," said Rogers, whereat more soulful groans.
"The last," said Rogers, and Bourne took his seat to a chorus of hisses
and tortured howls. He smiled a little and opened his paper, while the
people in the carriage looked curiously at him.
The guard's whistle went and Acton sprang in. "Good-bye."
As the train moved, Grim said, "Three cheers for Acton!"
"Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!"
"A groan for Bourne!" Acton smiled good naturedly to his henchmen. As he
glided past he said to himself softly, "And yet I have not quite hoed all
my row out either, Bourne. Wait, my friend, wait!"
[Illustration: AS THE TRAIN MOVED, GRIM SAID, "THREE CHEERS!"]