A RENEWED FRIENDSHIP
One morning Gus was much astonished to receive a letter containing a
blank sheet of notepaper enfolding a postal order for £1. This was
properly filled in, payable to A.V.R. Todd at St. Amory's Post-office,
but there was not the slightest clue as to the sender. Gus looked at the
blue and white slip in an ecstasy of astonishment. Now, Gus knew that no
one was aware of his bankrupt exchequer save Cotton, and he knew that
Jim was not likely to have said anything about it for one or two very
good reasons, and would now keep it darker than ever. If it were known
that Gus had been practically pilloried for being penniless by the
fellow who had lifted his cash, Cotton would have heard a few fancy
remarks on his own conduct which would have made his ears tingle. Gus
pondered over this problem of the sender until he felt giddy, but he
finally came to the conclusion that Cotton had regretted his polite
attentions to an old friend, and had sent the order as a kind of _amende
honorable_. Gus instantly regretted the fervent wishes about the boiling
oil and the public kicking for Jim Cotton, and he also determined to go
and thank his old patron for what he was sure was his anonymous gift.
So, after breakfast, he cashed the order and, with pockets heavier with
coin than they had been for some time, he went to Jim Cotton's room. Jim
received him with an odd mixture of anger and shame, and when Gus handed
over to him two half-crowns, Cotton in some confusion, told him to hand
them over to Philips, who had initiated the subscription for the Penfold
tablet.
"Thought you were the secretary?" said Gus.
"No! I'm out of the boat now. Philips is the man," said Cotton, sulkily.
"And, by the way, Jim, it wasn't half bad of you to send me that order.
It was no end brickish, especially after I had left you more or less in
the lurch."
"What order?" said Jim, looking curiously at Gus.
"What's the good of trying to pass it off like that, old man? It could
only be you."
"I don't know what you're driving at. You seem to be talking rot," said
Cotton, angrily, for he fancied that Gus was fooling him in some way.
"Well, I've got an order for £1 this morning, envelope stamped St.
Amory, and it could only come from some one who knew I was stumped, and
you're the only fellow who knew that, unless, indeed, you've been kind
enough to tell some of the fellows."
"I've told no one; and anyway, I didn't send the order."
"Oh, rot!"
"Thanks! I don't tell lies as a rule, and I say I know nothing whatever
about your order. I think you'd better cut now, instead of wasting my
time with this rotten foolery."
"You didn't send it?" said Gus, finally, with more than a dash of
irritation in his voice at the continued boorishness of Cotton.
"No, I tell you! Shall I get a foghorn and let you have it that way?"
"Then, look here, Cotton. If you didn't send it, your underscoring of my
name on the house list because I couldn't subscribe was the act of an
arrant cad."
Cotton winced at Gus's concise definition, but he said, "Oh, get out,
you fool!"
"Fool, or not," said Gus, becoming more angry every moment as he thought
of his wrongs, "I'm not an underbred loafer who cleans a fellow out of
his cash and then rounds on him because he can't pay his way. Why, a
Whitechapel guttersnipe----"
"Can't appreciate the allusion," said Jim; "I've never been to
Whitechapel. But anyhow, Todd, there's the door. I think you had really
better go."
"Not till I've said you're the biggest bounder in St. Amory's."
"Now you've said it you really must go, or I'll throw you out!"
Gus was too taken up with his own passion to notice that Cotton was also
at about the limit of his patience, and that Jim's lips had set into a
grim and ugly sneer. Todd was furiously trying to find some clinching
expression which would quite define Jim's conduct, when that gentleman
took one stride forward and caught him by the collar. The grip, the very
touch of Cotton's fingers maddened Gus beyond all bearing. His anger
broke loose from all control; he wrenched himself out of Cotton's grasp
and passionately struck him on the mouth.
Cotton turned grey with passion as bitter as Todd's and repaid Gus's
blow with interest. Gus dropped to the floor, bleeding villainously.
Cotton thereupon jerked him to his feet, and threw him out of the room.
Gus picked himself up from the corridor floor and went to his own room,
his face as white as a sheet and his heart as black as ink. What Gus
suffered from his passion, his shame, his hatred, and the pain of his
old friend's blow, for the next few hours words will not tell. He
attended morning school, his head in a whirl of thought. Cotton was
there too, and, could looks have killed, Jim Cotton would not have been
in the land of the living for very long. When Merishall went, Gus waited
until all the form had filed out, and, still dizzy and sick, he wearily
followed suit and turned in at his own door. As Gus came into the room
some one rose up and faced round to meet him, and Todd found himself
once more face to face with Cotton.
Now, the blow which had tumbled down Gus so heartily had, so to speak,
tumbled down the striker in his own mind just as thoroughly. Jim
Cotton's mind was not a subtle one, but the minute after he had floored
Gus and shut the door on him, his better mind told him distinctly that
he was a cad. Why? Because when he struck Gus the feeling was as though
he had struck a cripple. Gus had doubled up under the weight of his hand
as though he had been a leaf. Cotton dimly felt that for a fellow of his
build and weight to let Gus have the full benefit of both was not fair.
"That is how it must feel, I suppose, to strike a girl. My fist seems
unclean," he said, in huge disgust. "I'd give Todd his three sovs. back
if I could recall that blow. I wish I'd left the fool alone, and anyhow,
it's my opinion I don't shine much in our little squabble. Todd has been
playing the man since his Perry cropper, and I've been playing the cad
just because he was once useful to me and I did not want to let him go."
Cotton devoted the next few hours to a little honest unselfish thinking,
and the result was that he came pretty near to despising himself. "I'll
go and apologize to Gus, and if he shies the poker at my head I'm hanged
if I dodge it."
That is why Gus was received in his own room by the fellow who had so
lately knocked him down. Gus stared at Jim, his swollen lip trembling
with anger and his eyes blazing with indignation.
"I say, Gus, old man, I am an utter out-and-out cad, and I've come to
apologize."
Gus murmured something indistinctly.
"When I knocked you down I did the most blackguardly thing that even I
have ever done, and, you may believe me or not, I am now about disgusted
with myself. I felt that there was only one thing that I could do, and
that was to apologize."
Jim was so obviously cut up by remorse that Gus thereupon buried the
hatchet. He did not throw the poker at Jim's head, and you may be
surprised to hear--or you may not--that Gus and Jim Cotton took their
after-dinner coffee at Hooper's, as in the old time. The conversation
was _staccato_ at first, but interesting.
"But who sent the order?" said Gus.
"Dunno, really; but I could almost bet my boots that Taylor is the
criminal."
"Taylor! What does he know of my affairs?"
"Well, that beastly house list with your red raw agony column made him
most suspicious, and I believe he knows to a hair exactly how big a cad
I've been."
"Go on, old man; leave that."
"He sucked Philips dry about the Penfold tombstone, and although he said
nothing to me personally, Philips gave me to understand that I'm not in
favour with the parson. Taylor is the man who's provided your sub. for
the Penfold, take my word for it."
"He's not half such a bad fellow, Jim."
"No," said Jim, with an uneasy laugh; "Taylor's all right, but he'll
make me squirm when he has the chance."
The friendship of Cotton and Todd was thus renewed and cemented--with
Gus's bluest blood. Gus gave Jim some good advice about the schools,
which made Jim feel a bit dubious.
"Chuck your Bohn's cribs and your keys under the grate, and show up
your own work."
"Footle, you mean, Gus."
"All right, footle, then. I know all our own private personal beaks
would rather have a fellow's own work, if of fair quality, than all the
weirdest screeds from any crib whatsoever."
Jim made the experiment, very gingerly, be it said, but did show up his
own work, and from Corker to Merishall all the beaks were civil to him.
Gus's reputation as a prophet was established, for Corker himself seemed
pleased with the Cottonian version of Herodotus.
"Rather rough in parts, Cotton," said the old man, beaming on the
shrinking Jim; "but at least you've not been ploughing Herodotus with
the help of your old ass, Bohn."
Jim's effort, however, came too late to affect in any degree his
position in the Fifth. When the lists of the Easter term were published,
Cotton was the last, deservedly, of the form, but A.V.R. Todd was the
seventh. This was an eye-opener to many in the form, but the result sent
Gus into the seventh heaven of delight. Taylor came specially into
Todd's modest sanctum to congratulate him, and Corker sent an extra
special letter to Todd senior, saying all manner of sweet things about
Gus. He put the highest mark of his favour upon the delighted Gus by
asking him to dinner--a very great honour, but a dreadful ordeal. Gus
was wonderfully nervous as he commenced his soup. How do I know? Well, I
had been asked, I believe, to give the bewildered Gus a little
countenance. Gus went home, a day or two later, to the bosom of his
family, where he was treated with the utmost honour. He redeemed the
watch from the jeweller, and fulfilled his own promise to that worthy
man. All through the holidays he basked in the smiles of his proud
father, and rode that gentleman's pedigree hack. Corker's highest mark
of appreciation was to give you a dinner; with Gus's father it was to
let you ride his own horse.