The railroad station at Flatville was a large and central one, two or
three branches converging at that point and joining the main line. A
train from London was due before that by which the Colvilles were to
proceed would start. Almost at the moment our little party arrived it
made its appearance, the engine snorting and puffing, as though it were
about to burst with spite at having been forced to draw so heavy a train
at the rate of fifty miles-an hour.
“This is the train by which our cousin, Wilfred Goldsmith, was to
arrive; but it is so long since I last saw him, that I scarcely expect
to recognise him,” observed Percy.
“Oh! I hope we shall not miss him, for he will take care that they don’t
put us into a wrong carriage, and carry us off to some desolate island,
where we shall never be heard of any more till we have been eaten by
the savages like Captain Cook; and then you know it will be too late,”
suggested Hugh.
“I will ensure you against that catastrophe,” observed Ernest, “even
if your cousin should not make his appearance; for I am going as far
as Tickletown, and we will travel in the came carriage; see, they are
bringing them up now--follow me.”
So saying, and having committed the important trunk to the care of an
amiable and intelligent porter, Ernest selected a carriage, and the
trio took their seats. Just before the train was about to start, an
individual bustled up, followed by a porter carrying a writing-desk and
a railway-rug glowing with all the colours of the rainbow. The moment
the door was opened, he sprang in with such energy as nearly to overturn
poor Hugh.
“Beg your pardon, little boy, but ’pon my word I didn’t see you--you
ought to grow a couple of sizes larger to travel safe by rail; it was
nearly a case of infanticide--a _spoilt_ child, as somebody calls it.
That’ll do, Velveteens” (this was addressed to the porter); “gently with
that writing-desk, if you please; there’s all my personal jewellery, and
several £500 notes in it. That’s the time of day! Sorry the directors
set their faces against tipping; but the first occasion on which we meet
in private life, half-a-crown awaits you; till then, Velveteens, as the
Archbishop says in the play, ‘Accept my blessing.’”
The speaker was either a very small man, or a large boy dressed in adult
clothing--at first sight it was not easy to determine which--till closer
observation detected, in the breaking-voice, now hoarse, now shrill,
the youthful complexion, and straggling, unformed figure, sufficient
evidence that the latter hypothesis was the correct one. His outer
boy was encased in a rough, very loose pea-jacket, with preternatural
buttons, a. pair of the very “loudest” checked trousers, _real_
Wellington boots, with heels not above three inches high, a shawl round
his neck, in regard to which Emily’s perfidious shopman might have been
believed, had he declared the colours to be indisputably _fast_; while
a velvet travelling-cap, with a bullion tassel, completed his costume.
Having wrapped his rug round his lower limbs, and gone through a most
elaborate pantomime of making himself comfortable, he condescended to
favour his companions with a glance of patronising scrutiny; apparently
satisfying himself, by this means, that they were sufficiently
respectable to be honoured by his conversation, he turned to Ernest,
saying,--
“Fine open weather this, sir--jolly for the hunting--none-of your
confounded frosts to-day--regular break up yesterday evening, and been
thawing like bricks ever since--fond of hunting, sir?”
“I consider it a fine, manly sport, but too dangerous for little boys to
be allowed to indulge in,” returned Ernest, drily.
Either not detecting, or more probably purposely ignoring, the covert
satire of his speech, the fast young gentleman appeared to agree in the
sentiment. .
“Yes, that’s true enough,” he said; “for instance, I wouldn’t advise
this small shaver” (indicating with a motion of the eyelid Hugh, who
sat watching him with breathless astonishment) “to trust himself across
country outside a horse; but when one has come to--ahem! years of
discretion, and learned how to take care of oneself,--the purpose for
which divines tell us we are sent into the world,--why the more hunting
one gets the jollier, I say.”
“Have you ever been out hunting yourself, may I ask?” inquired Ernest,
fixing his penetrating glance full on the boy’s countenance; who,
despite his fastness, was not, when asked a straightforward question,
prepared to tell an actual lie, though to adhere to the exact truth
would have made his previous remarks appear singularly inconsistent and
uncalled for; accordingly he answered--
“Ar--well--yes--oh! of course I’ve been out hunting--ah--not exactly
on horseback, perhaps, but it’s just the same thing, you know;--what
a shocking slow train this is, to be sure!----they hardly do their
five-and-thirty miles an hour; I shall certainly write to the _Times_
about it, if they don’t mind what they’re at.”
During this speech Hugh’s sharp eyes had deciphered the direction on the
important writing-desk, containing the jewellery and the incalculable
number of £500 notes, and he promulgated the result of his discovery
thus:--
“‘Wilfred J. Goldsmith, Esquire:’ what! are _you_ our cousin Wilfred?
why I took you for a gentleman!”
“Oh, Hugh!” exclaimed Percy, scandalised at his brother’s rudeness.
“No, I don’t mean that,” continued Hugh quickly, while-Ernest turned
away his head to hide an irrepressible smile; “I mean, I took you for a
grown up gentleman, and not a boy like Percy, you know.”
This involuntary tribute to the man-about-town-like adultness-of his
manners and appearance delighted Wilfred Jacob more than the most
elaborate compliment courtier could have devised; at length he had found
some one to believe in him, and to take him at his own valuation, and he
adopted and steadily patronised Hugh from that time forth. He was
much too wide awake, however, to allow this to appear; replying in the
off-hand; manner which he affected--
“Rather an equivocal compliment that, young’un; but I expect it was
better meant than expressed: so I’ll take the will for the deed, as the
lawyer’s clerk did after he’d mixed the ‘dog’s-nose’ rather too still
at his early dinner. ‘Always give credit for good intentions,’ is a
copy old Splitnib (so called from an analogy between his professional
avocations, and the fact of his having, in by-gone hours, fallen over a
form, and divided the bridge of his own proboscis) will set you writing
before you are many days older; and in me you behold a living embodiment
of the precept.”
“How was it we did not see you at the station, Cousin: Wilfred?”
inquired Percy; “we waited as long as we dared, till we thought we
should lose the train looking for you.”
“Why, you see, my dear boy,” began Wilfred, stretching out a boot beyond
the rainbow-coloured wrapper, for the purpose of tapping it admiringly
with a dandyfied little cane, “leaving the modern Babylon by the seven
o’clock a.m., I necessarily breakfasted early; and as, according to
Cocker, the interval between six a.m. and one p.m. embraces seven
hours, I experienced, on my arrival at the Flatville station, the very
uncomfortable sensation of nature abhorring a vacuum in my breadbasket;
and, as even Curtius himself could scarcely have contrived to fill up
a similar gulf by jumping down his own throat, I walked first into the
refreshment-room, and then into a basin of mock-turtle soup. A deucedly
pretty gal it was who handed it to me, too; uncommon attentive she was,
to be sure: in fact, _entre nous_,” he continued, leaning confidently
towards Ernest, “it strikes me she wasn’t altogether insensible to the
personal attractions of ‘yours truly’--do you twig?” Ernest smiled as he
replied, “Of course she charged for the admiration as well as for your
luncheon.”
“Real turtle as well as mock, eh? I hope you don’t mean any insinuation
about a calf’s head too I But, now you mention it, I _do_ think
seven-and-sixpence was rather high for a basin of soup. Ah! the women,
they make sad fools of us youth; but as the old lady piously remarked,
when her pet dog died of repletion, ‘Such is life, which is the end of
all things:’--heigh-ho!”
Having relieved his feelings by venting a deep sigh, Master (he would
have annihilated us for so calling him) Wilfred Jacob, who appeared
gifted with an interminable flow of conversation, and an insatiable
delight in listening to his own voice, again addressed his companions,
exclaiming--
“I tell you what it is, gentlemen: the cares of existence, and the
heartlessness of that deluding mock-turtle soup gal, ar weighing upon my
spirits to such a degree, that nothing short of a mild cigar can bring
me round again: that is, always supposing you, none of you, entertain
a _rooted_ aversion (you perceive the pun?) to the leaves of the Indian
herb.”
“I presume you are aware that smoking in a first-class carriage is
against the rules of the railway company,” suggested Ernest.
“I know that some such prejudice exists in their feeble minds,” was the
rejoinder; “but they are not obliged to learn anything about it, are
they? ‘Where ignorance is bliss,’ you know.”
“The first porter who opens the door is certain to perceive the smell;
and of course, if he inquires whence it proceeds, I shall not attempt to
disguise the truth,” returned Ernest.
“Never fear,” was the reply; “even if such an alarming contingency were
to accrue, I know a safe dodge to throw him off the scent.”
“If I possessed any authority over you, I should strongly remonstrate
against your violating such a wise and useful regulation,” observed
Ernest, gravely.
“That fearful moral responsibility not resting upon your conscience--for
which, as a philanthropist, I feel humbly thankful--I shall, with your
leave, waste no more precious time, but go ahead at once.” So saying the
young pickle drew from his pocket a small neatly finished leather ease,
well filled with cigars; having politely offered it in turn to each
of his companions, who were unanimous in their refusal, he selected a
cigar, lighted it by means of a piece of German tinder, and, placing it
in his mouth, began puffing away with equal zest and science.
Having set it going to his satisfaction, he removed it for a moment,
and, emitting a graceful wreath of smoke, resumed--“Capital good cigars
these--came from Fribourg and Pontet’s--I never smoke any others--better
change your mind and take one, Mr.------, ‘pon my word your name has
escaped me.”
“Are you quite certain you ever knew it?” inquired Ernest, whilst a
smile of quiet intelligence curled his handsome mouth.
In no degree disconcerted, Master Wilfred took another long pull at his
cigar ere he replied, “Not to be done, eh, sir? Well, I respect a man
all the more for being unpumpable; dodginess, in all its branches, is
the virtue I most venerate.”
“And what _is_ dodginess, please, Cousin Wilfred?” inquired Hugh, upon
whose youthful intelligence slang was, for the first time, dawning with
all its fascinating eloquence.
“Dodginess, my verdant young relative, is a psychological attribute
compounded of equal portions of presence of mind and fertility of
resource, which enables every ‘cove’ (cove is a generic appellation for
indiscriminate male humanity) thus happily endowed, to rise superior to
all the minor obstacles of existence; as, for example, when I, trying
to pump the gentleman opposite in regard to his patronymic, was by him
foiled in my attempt, and convicted of the logical absurdity of having
declared myself to have forgotten that which I had never known; or,
again,--when, this morning, my governor, your venerable uncle, who,
benighted innocent that he is, hopes to coerce me into giving up
smoking, took from me my cigar-case, but allowed me to regain it by
picking his pocket thereof, while squabbling with the cabman for an
extra sixpence;--mind you recollect all this; for, in these days slag
is completely the language of fashionable life. Were I that epitome of
slowness, ‘the father of a family,’ I should have the young idea taught
to clothe itself in slang from the cradle upwards. And now, as I’ve a
notion the train is approaching a station, and my cigar has arrived at
its terminus, you shall witness a specimen of dodginess with your own
eyes;--be silent, and observe me attentively--ahem!”
He then flung the end of his cigar out of window, and, assuming an air
of great consequence, waited till the train stopped; the moment he did
so, he summoned a porter.
“Porter, open the door!” The man obeyed. “Put your head in and tell me
what this carriage smells of.”
The porter, looking surprised at the request, complied--“It smells
tobaccer-efied like to me,” he observed, after a minute’s investigation.
“Tobaccer-efied, indeed!” repeated Wilfred Jacob, in a tone of the
deepest indignation; “some brute has been smoking in this carriage, I’m
certain of it! a first-class carriage, too. I tell you what, porter,
when gentlemen pay for the comfort and convenience of a first-class
carriage, they expect to enjoy what they pay for, and not to be poisoned
alive with the odour of tobacco.”
“Smoking ain’t never allowed in the fust class, sir,” pleaded the
embarrassed porter.
“It may not be allowed, but _it has been done_,” was the captious reply:
“I’ll take my oath some one has been smoking in this carriage; I’m
as certain of it as if I’d seen them myself; my nose never deceives
me;--what’s your name?”
“My name be Johnson; but I’ll call the station-master to speak to you,
sir.”
“By no means; it’s no fault of his,” replied Wilfred, hastily, feeling
anything but desirous that a more enlightened intellect should be
brought to bear upon the question: “no, I shall write to the directors,
to complain, and call you to witness that I mentioned the fact at the
first station we stopped at. It’s absurd to pretend to make rules,
and then suffer them to be broken in this way. Shut the door. I shall
remember your name--Johnson!” and as he uttered the last word, the train
started.
His companions exchanged glances: Percy’s expressed disapproval; Hugh’s,
mingled surprise and delight; while Ernest was so much amused at the
boy’s ready wit and cool impudence, that, for the life of him, he could
not reprove him for the deception.
When the recollection of this little incident had, in some degree, worn
off, Percy asked his cousin how he liked Doctor Donkiestir’s school; and
begged him to tell them a little about the manners and customs of the
place to which they were going.
“Put you up to a thing or two, eh? Give you some small insight into
the time of day? Well, I suppose, as it’s all in the family, and you’re
Tickletonians yourselves, or about to become so, it’s no breach of
confidence. _You_ won’t split, sir?” he continued, appealingly, to
Ernest. “Honour amongst thieves, eh?”
“You may trust me,” was the concise reply.
“First promise me, upon your honour, that you will not tell any of the
masters, then,” stipulated Wilfred.
“Upon my honour I will not tell any of them,” was the slightly
Jesuitical reply; “nor will I make an unfair use of any information you
may please to communicate to my young friend.”
“That’s all right, then. You look like a brick (I’m a bit of a
physiognomist, you see), so I’ll trust you. In the first place, masters:
there’s the Doctor, _alias_ old Donkey, _alias_ (his name is John)
Jackass, with sundry other derivatives, more caustic than complimentary.
Well, he’s not altogether a bad sort of fellow, only he makes a fuss
about trifles, and is especially jealous if he fancies that any one
appears likely to interfere with what he calls his prerogative; in fact,
he would be a stunner if his temper did not stand in his way: but, on
the whole the boys like him, and so look over his little failings. Then,
there’s a sort of second master, ‘Mat. and Clat.’ we call him, which is
short for mathematical and classical; but we are changing horses in that
quarter, so, till we have tried the new animal (pretty well tried he
will be, too, before we’ve done with him, I expect), it’s impossible to
say how he may suit us; only, if he ain’t a tolerably wide-awake cove,
I pity him; for, between master and boys, he’ll have a sweet time of
it, poor devil! Then there are two ushers--Hexameter and Pentameter
(familiarly Hex. and Pen.) so termed because one is six feet high and
the other scarcely above five: they are not gentlemen, therefore they
don’t act as _sich_, so of course we ‘chouse’ and bully them as much
as we dare. Then there’s old Splitnib, a coach of the most unmitigated
slowness, but who writes a wonderful hand; and, finally and lastly,
Monsieur Beaugentil, the French master, who is more involuntarily comic
than all the rest of his frog-devouring nation put together. These
worthies rule, and are ruled by, a floating capital of some two hundred
boys, more or less, of whom the eldest may be about seventeen or
eighteen, and the youngest on a par with this juvenile shaver here.”
“And do you work very hard?” inquired Percy.
“Not we,” was the reply. “Of course, for decency’s sake, we do
something. It don’t pay for a fellow to be quite an ignoramus in these
days, unless he happens to have been born a lord, or experienced some
such jolly dispensation at starting; but as for hard work,--no, thank
ye. What’s the use of having a fag, if you can’t get your exercises done
for you, I should like to know?”
“What’s a fag?” inquired Hugh.
The first effect of this apparently simple question was to throw
the person to whom it was addressed into a state of the most violent
laughter. As soon as he could recover breath, he gasped out, “Oh,
lor! it’s very fatiguing; you’ll be the death of me with your blessed
innocence, that you will.”
After a less severe relapse, he continued, “You’ll soon know what
fagging means, you poor, unfortunate, green little warmint; though I
think I shall honour you by taking you myself. I’ve a right to a fag now
I’m in the fifth form; and the chap I had last half has left. You seem a
jolly, good-tempered little beggar, and I shouldn’t like to see you made
miserable.”
“He shall never be ill-used while I am alive,” exclaimed Percy, with
flashing eyes.
“That’s a very proper and plucky sentiment on your part, my dear boy,”
returned Wilfred; “but it’s a precious deal easier to talk about than to
act upon. You can’t thrash a whole school, especially when some of them
are almost men grown. Such chaps as Biggington or Thwackings, who can
polish off a coalheaver sporting style, for instance; your namesake
Hotspur himself would have found such fellows as them tough customers.
All you can do with them is to keep ’em in good humour while you can,
and get out of their way when you can’t.”
“But all this time you have not told me what a fag is,” interrupted
Hugh.
“Well, a fag is a small boy, taken possession of by a larger boy,
according to an old established precedent, against which the masters set
their faces in vain. The small boy thus enslaved is termed a fag, and
his duties are to do everything the larger boy finds it impossible
or disagreeable to do himself. If the small boy performs these duties
zealously and good-humouredly, he is only kicked and driven about like
a dog, and survives to become a fifth, and eventually a sixth form boy,
and takes his change out of fags of his own. If he sulks, or neglects
orders, he is either half or three-quarters murdered, according to
the hands he falls into, and is usually taken away from the school, or
otherwise expended, before he reaches hobble-de-hoy’s estate. And now,
have I made that clear to your juvenile capacity?--Yes?--Then mind you
profit by it, or I shall have to show you practically how Tickletonians
tickle,” and as he spoke, he pointed suggestively to his cane, though a
good-natured twinkle in his eye contradicted the threat.
Having thus broken ground, he favoured the company with a series of
dissolving views, illustrating various episodes of Tickletonian life,
wherein were vividly portrayed scrapes got into and out of with much
ability, and more impudence, by certain scholastic heroes, past and
present; but the gist of each anecdote lying in the discomfiture or
mystification of one or more of the masters, it is scarcely to be
supposed, giving Wilfred Jacob credit for the most open disposition
imaginable, that he would have been quite so communicative, had he
divined the capacity in which Ernest Carrington was then journeying to
Tickletown.
When they reached the station at which they were to alight, an omnibus,
provided by Doctor Donkiestir, was in waiting to convey any of his
scholars who might arrive by that train. Ernest, who was not to present
himself till the following morning, and had availed himself of the
opportunity to accept the invitation of an old college friend, from whom
he had originally heard of the vacancy, here took leave of his young
companions, saying, as he did so--
“Good-bye. As I should not much wonder if we were to meet again sooner
than you at all expect, I wish you to remember, that if at any time
you require advice or assistance you will find a friend in Ernest
Carrington.”
He then touched Wilfred’s arm, and drawing him aside, observed,--“I
have allowed you to run on in a way which I am sure you would have
endeavoured to avoid had you known who I was. I did so, not from any
mean wish to entrap you into confessions of which I might afterwards
make use to your disadvantage, but simply in order to gain some insight
into your true character; and now I will make a compact with you: as
long as you behave kindly towards your two cousins, who interest me
exceedingly, and befriend them as your superior knowledge of the world”
(the slightly ironical emphasis with which he pronounced the last few
words was not lost upon his auditor, who, for once in his life, felt
conscious that he had made-himself ridiculous), “and especially of the
little world comprised in a boys’ school, will enable you to do, I shall
forget anything peculiar I may have heard this morning. I will only add,
that I have misjudged your character if you consider the condition I
have proposed a hard one.”
“Before I attempt to make a suitable reply to your mysterious and
startling communication, allow me, sir, to inquire, in the most
respectful manner possible, first, _who_ you are? secondly, _what_ you
are?” returned Wilfred-Jacob, in a quieter tone than he had yet made use
of.
“The Rev. Ernest Carrington, classical and mathematical master (or,
familiarly, Clat. and Mat.) in Dr. Donkiestir’s school at Tickletown, at
your service,” was the reply.
The first effect of this announcement was to elicit from the “fast
young gentleman” a prolonged and expressive whistle; next came
an aside, “Well, if I haven’t gone and put my foot into it
deepish _rather_, it’s a pity.” Then, turning to Ernest, he asked,
abruptly,--“’Pon your honour as a gentleman, Mr. Carrington, if I
stick to the young Colvilles like a trump, you won’t peach?”
“Upon my honour,” was the frank reply.
“It’s a bargain, then,” rejoined Wilfred. “And now, sir, before we sink
the amenities of social life in the less jovial relationship of master
and pupil, allow me the honour of shaking hands with you, while at the
same time you must permit me to express my opinion, that your conduct
has been brickish in the extreme.”
With a smile called forth by the peculiar school-boy phraseology, and
strange admixture of good feeling and never-failing impudence, of his
new ally, Ernest shook hands with him good-naturedly, and turned to
depart; but Wilfred Jacob detained him.
“One slight additional favour would oblige,” he said. “A discreet
silence in regard to the cigar episode would be a desirable addenda to
our compact. Our friend Donkiestir has prejudices--_verbum sat_--a nod
is as good as a wink. Farewell we meet again at Philippi.’”
So saying, he bowed low, removing a very shining new hat, wherewith he
had replaced the gorgeous travelling cap, and hurried after his cousins,
who were by this time seated in, and sole tenants of, the omnibus, where
they presented, so to speak, a very forlorn and cast-away appearance.