“Come here, Colville. How is your cat this morning?” inquired Norman,
as Hugh approached, a good deal puzzled, and rather alarmed, at his
summons, by reason of the fact that when a sixth-form boy sent for one
of the little fellows, the interview, however it might begin, generally
ended by the juvenile coming in for a thrashing.
“Thank you, sir, she is very well,” replied Hugh; then, judging from
Norman’s face that no very adverse fate awaited him, he continued,
“If you please, sir, she caught a rat to-day all her own self; such a
monster, sir.”
“Indeed! she must be a most meritorious and praiseworthy animal,”
returned Norman; then, anxious to set the little fellow at his ease
before he began to pump him, he continued--“How did you like the play
yesterday? were you very much charmed?”
“I did not go, if you please, sir.”
“Ha! how was that? Did the Doctor keep you in for a punishment, or don’t
you care about such things?” inquired Norman, pretty well foreseeing the
answer.
“No, it was not that, sir,” returned Hugh. “I should have been delighted
to go; but I had spent all my pocket money, and so could not pay for
entrance.”
“Unlucky for you--very,” rejoined Norman; “I wish I’d known it ‘sooner,
I’d have tipped you the half-crown; more particularly as I want you to
do something for me. You know the loft well?”
Hugh grinned, as he replied, “Every inch of it, sir.”
“So used I when I was your age. Is not there a little square window, or
trap door, by which one can get on the top of the school-room, near the
part of the skylight which opens? and which can be reached by standing
on the doctor’s desk?” inquired Norman.
“Yes, sir,” was the reply; “I often get up that way if the boys are
plaguing me; and they don’t dare to follow me because it is dark inside
that part of the loft, and they are afraid of a ghost; but I’m sure
there’s no ghost, or else Puss would not leave her kittens there: if the
kittens are safe, why should not I be?”
Norman smiled at this specimen of juvenile logic
“That’s right,” he said, stroking Hugh’s curly pate, “you’re plucky
little fellow; and now show me this window. I want to see if I have
forgotten the way.”
“I’ll show it to you, and willingly, sir,” returned Hugh, whose
affections were easily won, more especially when one of the sixth
condescended to lay siege to them; “but you won’t be able to get through
yourself, now. You were a little fellow’ like me, I suppose, when you
used to do so.”
This information was what the immortal Dick Swiveller would have termed
“a staggerer,” and for a moment, Norman began to fear his scheme was
knocked on the head; but possessing two main elements of greatness,
namely--presence of mind and fertility of resource, an alternative
occurred to him, which, although by no means so safe or easy as his
original plan, might yet be practicable. Everything depended on the
character of the child before him: of its strong points he had already
some experience, and felt satisfied that he might rely on them. The boy
possessed pluck enough for his purpose: he had now to test his weakness.
“Suppose,” he begun--“mind, I only say suppose--there were yet a chance
of your going to the theatre, what should you think of it?”
“Think! why I should be ready to jump out of my skin for joy, to be
sure!” returned Hugh, his eyes sparkling, and his cheeks flushing at the
bare idea.
Norman had gained a step: he perceived the strength of the temptation he
had to offer.
“Well,” he said, after keeping Hugh in an agony of expectation for a
minute or two, “there _is_ a chance; but it must depend on whether you
do exactly as I wish and approve. In the first place, promise me not to
say a word to anybody about this conversation, or even mention that
I have been talking to you;--in the second place, come to me in
Biggington’s room, as soon as dinner is over.”
“Please, sir, may not I tell Percy? I always tell him everything,”
pleaded Hugh.
“Did you tell him who broke the Doctor’s inkglass?” inquired Norman,
sarcastically.
Now this inquiry referred to a little affair which had occurred within
a week of Hugh’s first arrival at school. Indulging in what propensity
common alike to boys and monkeys, viz., of examining everything with
their fingers’ ends, Hugh had allowed to fall, and thus broken, Dr.
Donkiestir’s own peculiar inkglass. Overwhelmed with the awful nature
of the offence he had committed, and expecting, at the very least, to
be flogged for the same, the poor child sat down by the side of the
devastation he had caused, and commenced the uncomfortable operation of
crying his-eyes out.
In this forlorn condition he was discovered by Norman, who, without
being really kind-hearted, possessed that not uncommon species of
negatively selfish good-nature, which leads people to dislike to look
on distress, physical or mental. Moreover, the fact of Hugh being a very
pretty boy pleased his taste; and therefore interested him. Accordingly,
he first inquired the cause of his grief, and then devised a remedy.
It so happened that Norman’s own inkbottle and the one which Hugh had
just broken, were, as nearly as possible, similar. He knew, moreover,
that the Doctor was by no means observant of such minor particulars. He,
accordingly, substituted his bottle for the broken one, assisted Hugh to
clear away all traces of the accident, and, advising him to keep his own
counsel, left him greatly consoled. But Hugh felt a consciousness
that there was something in this transaction of which Percy would not
approve; and, fearful lest, in his strict sense of honour, he should
pronounce it necessary to acquaint the Doctor with his delinquency, his
moral courage failed him, and, up to the moment in which Norman asked
him the question, he had never revealed the misdeed to his brother.
It was the first time he had ever been guilty of that mildest form of
lying--suppression of the truth; but the stone of dissimulation, once
set rolling, soon gathers force, which the feeble hand that sufficed to
put it in motion is powerless to restrain.
Nor was Hugh’s first “little sin” fated to prove an exception to the
rule. Of course he was obliged to confess to Norman that he had not told
his brother, and of course Norman replied that what he had done once he
could do again: and that if he cared to go to the play, he must not
tell Percy or any one; and Hugh, not having a word to say in denial, the
discussion ended by his promising to preserve a strict silence on the
subject, and to come to Norman in Biggington’s room.
In that same apartment was assembled, that afternoon, a solemn conclave.
Biggington took _the_ chair (there was but one); Stradwick drew a box
from under the bed, and seated himself upon it, in an attitude exactly
copied from that of Biggington.
Norman, resting his elbow on the chimney-piece, remained standing;
while Terry turned a wash-hand basin topsy-turvy, and perched himself,
monkey-like, on the apex of the semi-cone thus created. After a moment’s
silence, Biggington exclaimed--“Well, Norman, how are we going on? have
you brought your plan to perfection yet?”
“Unforeseen difficulties have sprung up,” was the reply, “but none
which the three Ps--patience, perseverance, and pluck--will not carry us
through.”
“Difficulties be hanged!” rejoined Biggington, impetuously. “I tell you
one thing, go _I will_, by fair means or foul; the fact is, Trevanion”
(“Jack Spratty,” murmured Norman. “With a great pair of dyed moustachios
on him,” urged Terry) “has been here, and promised to take us behind the
scenes, and to come and sup with us at the Bull afterwards, and induce
Coralie and the other girl to come too.”
“Ay! and Coralie’s a stunner, and no mistake,” observed Terry; “such a
pair of black eyes, by Jove! they go through a fellow like--like----”
“Bradawls,” suggested Stradwick, complacently.
“A _pointed_ illustration, decidedly,” resumed Terry; “but I was walking
the day before yesterday with old Beaugentil, when we met this said
Coralie, taking a constitutional for the benefit of her complexion;
the moment Beaugentil set eyes upon her, he went off into an ecstacy,
throwing up his arms and capering about like a bear on hot bricks.
‘_Mais, ce n’est pas possible!_’ he exclaimed, ‘vot shall I be ’old?
_Est-ce toi, Coralie?_ Am it thou, Coreliar, zie daugtaire of thy mama,
zie beloafed _de ma premiere jeunesse! et quelle ange!_ vot an angle!
_vrai ange du ciel_, a right angle of ’eaven! _Voyez donc, Monsieur
Terrie; permettez que je vous présente mon cher élève, Monsieur Terrie,
june homme charmant; mais n’est-ce pas que Mademoiselle est jolie_; ees
not Mees superbe, beautifu, _magnifique_, pretty vell!’ and so the old
boy ran on till I was in fits.”
“What is your confounded difficulty, Norman?” inquired Biggington,
abruptly.
“Why, the window in the loft turns out to be too small for anything
bigger than a boy to get through,” was the reply.
Biggington muttered something unintelligible, which it would be the
height of charity to consider a good word, as he continued--“What do you
mean to do, then?”
“Put a small boy through it, who shall open the back door into the
school-room for us, whereby we shall enter and walk up to bed,” returned
Norman, stroking the raven down on his upper lip, where the “cavalry
moustache” was just beginning to show itself.
“And what chance is there of finding a boy whom you can trust to do such
a thing?” asked Biggington, gloomily.
“He is already found, or I am much mistaken,” was the answer. “Moreover,
properly handled, he’ll do the thing well, and _con amore_; I’d sooner
work with _one_ willing agent than with twenty forced ones.”
“And his name?”
“The younger Colville.”
Biggington mused. “He might do it; but his brother will not allow him,”
he said after a pause.
“His brother will have no voice in the matter, for he will know nothing
about it,” returned Norman; “but you shall judge for yourselves, for I
have appointed the boy to come to me here. Only leave me to talk to him,
and don’t bully or frighten the little fellow, else you will defeat your
own object. If, when you have seen him, you wish me to persevere with
the plan, Biggington, stroke your chin thus.”
As Norman raised his hand to indicate the appointed signal, a modest tap
at the door was audible, and, on the bolt being withdrawn, Hugh made his
appearance, and, at a sign from Norman, entered. The door was closed and
fastened by Terry, who resumed his scat on the inverted wash-hand basin,
with the air of a monarch ascending his throne. Hugh bore the scrutiny
to which all the plotters, Biggington in particular, subjected him,
unflinchingly; he looked rather more grave and anxious than was his
wont, but did not appear intimidated or abashed, though he stood in the
awful presence of the cock of the school.
“Come here, Colville,” began Norman; then, as the boy approached, he
continued, fixing his piercing glance upon him, “have you mentioned what
we were talking about this morning to anybody?”
“No, sir,” was the unhesitating reply.
“Not to your brother, eyen? don’t attempt to deceive me!”
“No, indeed, sir, I would not tell a lie; if I had mentioned it to
Percy, I’d say so at once,” returned Hugh, colouring at his assertion
being doubted.
“I believe you,” replied Norman, glancing towards Biggington as he spoke
to attract his attention. “I am sure you are a brave, honourable boy,
who would neither tell a lie nor betray a secret, which is worse, if
anything.”
At this commendation, Hugh’s eyes sparkled, and a bright, honest smile
lit up his innocent, childish face, which ought to have touched the
hearts and disarmed the purpose of those who, for their own selfish
ends, were thus deliberately leading him into evil; it probably would
have done so, were it not a well-established fact in pathology, that,
during the phase of public schoolboyhood, the human heart remains in a
torpid or chrysalis state; the animal, at that period, consisting of a
head, a stomach, and (fortunately for those who have the control of it,
as well for its future chance of developing into a reasonable mortal) a
tail also. Not being actuated by any such tender feelings, or indeed by
an feelings at all, except selfish ones, Biggington replied to Norman’s
look by stroking his chin. Stradwick stroked his at the same moment,
giving involuntarily a slight shudder at the alarming future to which
he was thus committing himself. Terry only grinned, which indeed was his
invariable custom on all occasions, solemn or comic.
“As I am now convinced that you are trustworthy,” resumed Norman, “I am
going to tell you a secret; _the_ secret, in fact, upon the safe keeping
of which depends your going to the play.”
“Or getting every bone in your skin broken,” muttered Biggington in
an aside, which was, however, sufficiently audible to convey to Hugh a
knowledge of the alternative which awaited him.
“Mr. Biggington, these other gentlemen, and myself,” continued Norman,
“mean to go to the theatre this evening, and if you will do exactly as
we tell you, we will take you with us.”
“But the Doctor!” exclaimed Hugh, aghast.
“That is the very point I was about to touch upon,” rejoined Norman, in
no way discomposed: “the Doctor not approving of the younger boys being
out at night, thought himself obliged to give a general order to the
whole school; but at the same time he contrived to have it hinted
privately to _us_, that if the elder members of the sixth form chose
to go, he should not make any inquiries about it; the only point he
insisted on being, that such an expedition must be managed privately,
and without his being supposed to know anything about it. Now in order
to contrive this, we had thought of making our way in at night (we can
easily get out unobserved after five o’clock school), through the window
in the loft; but, as you say, and as I now remember, it is too small to
render that possible,--we want you to get through the sky-light into the
school-room (as we were talking about this morning), and unfasten the
little door which opens into the playground; it is only secured by one
bolt, which is not above your reach, so you can easily undo it. If you
will undertake this, and promise faithfully not to breathe a word about
it to anybody, you shall go with us to the play.” Poor Hugh was sorely
puzzled; and his sense of right and wrong entirely confused; one idea,
however, soon extricating itself from the chaos, he immediately gave it
utterance. “The Doctor,” he said, “will be angry with _me_, sir, though
he may not be so with you, for I am only a little fellow, and a long way
off the sixth form.”
Norman hesitated; he knew that if they were discovered he should be
quite unable to protect the child from punishment, and a sense of
self-respect made him adverse to pledge himself to anything which he
could not perform.
Biggington was trammelled by no such scruples. “Never fear, young’un,”
he said; “if the Doctor should by any chance speak to you on the
subject, just refer, him quietly to me; merely say,--Biggington desired
me to go; Biggington will explain everything;--and you’ll have no more
trouble from the Doctor. Don’t you think so, Stradwick?”
“Oh! certainly,” was the reply: “refer him to Biggington, by all means;
say--Biggington desired me to go; Biggington will----”
“That will do,” interrupted Terry, grinning. “Shut up, Slow-coach,
we didn’t _encore_ the sentiment; moreover, I can perceive by the
expression of our young friend’s optics, that he is awake to a sense of
his sitiwation. The play, a jolly good supper, and immortal honour
and renown on one hand; and an awful thrashing from Biggington, with
a gentle refresher from myself appended, on the other; between such
a Scylla and Charybdis he will hardly be inclined to forestall Jack
Sprattly by singing, ‘How happy could I be with either.’ So now,
young’un, favour us with your sentiments.”
“If I might but tell Percy!” pleaded Hugh, glancing appealingly towards
Norman.
That individual shook his head.
“If you do,” he said, “you will have broken the trust reposed in you,
and proved yourself a mean-spirited, cowardly child, quite unfit for
the service we require of you, or the pleasure with which we propose to
reward you;--tell your brother, and you lose the play.”
Poor Hugh! his better nature made one final struggle, but he had
dallied with the temptation till it had obtained too firm a hold on his
imagination to be shaken off; and so, like many folks older and wiser
than himself, who have indulged in a reprehensible longing for some
forbidden fruit till the appetite has grown too strong to be resisted,
he fell.
“I _will_ promise,” he said. “I do so want to see the play, and you will
take care of me if the Doctor is angry, Mr. Biggington?”
“Oh, decidedly; both myself and Stradwick,” was the reply. “Stradwick
and the Doctor are hand and glove just now, because Straddy’s such a dab
at Euripides.”
This insinuation referred to the uncomfortable fact, that the
head-master had that morning informed Stradwick, in consequence of his
total inability to construe the works of the ancient Greek in
question, that if after another week he did not perceive a very decided
improvement, he should be under the disagreeable necessity of degrading
him to the fifth form. Stradwick, therefore, hung his head sheepishly
as he echoed--
“Oh yes, decidedly.”
“We understand each other, then, and had better agree to meet here,
prepared to start, at a quarter to six,” observed Norman.
A general assent was given, and the conspirators separated. Norman
glanced at his victim; there was a determined look in the boy’s face,
which gave assurance that he would go through with the task he had
undertaken. Resolution was one of the few qualities Norman reverenced,
and for the moment he repented the evil into which he was leading
the child; but the two strongest passions of his nature, ambition and
revenge, were linked with his scheme for that evening, and he could not
relinquish it.
“Courage, little one,” he said, laying his hand on Hugh’s curly pate;
“if you and I live, and, as something here”--and he touched his forehead
as he spoke--“tells me will be the case, I achieve greatness, I will not
forget this evening. Silence and courage!”