A MEMORABLE FIGHT.
TOM did not go to school in the best of humours that Monday afternoon,
but plodded sulkily through his lessons. He did not try to please his
teacher by taking any great pains with his task, nor did he try to bear
more patiently the rude country curiosity of his school-mates.
When school was over, he dawdled along the road towards home, still
thinking rather bitterly of what his mother had said, and how little
she understood the difficulties in his way, when he was suddenly
confronted with a big stolid-looking boy, who said in an aggressive
tone:
"What be you coming here for, and putting the teacher up to getting
harder books for the little uns? I've been to that school, I have,
though I ain't no scholard now, and I tell you, you aren't going to do
just as you like along of us, so take that," and the big bully felled
Tom to the ground with one blow of his fist.
"What do you mean by that?" said Tom, springing to his feet again as
soon as he could, and following his antagonist, who seemed disposed to
walk off when he saw Tom on his feet again.
"Look here! if you want to fight, and ain't a coward as well as a
bully, I'm ready for you." And Tom threw off his jacket, while the boys
of the village gathered round to see the fun, and cheer their champion.
"Give it him, Bill. Knock the stuffing out of him this time," shouted
one boy, whom Tom recognised as a class-mate. And this lad danced with
glee when he saw the big boy turn and face Tom.
"If you want a hiding, you can have it," he said, speaking to Tom; and
he made another heavy lunge at Tom.
But he was prepared for it this time, and eluded his antagonist in such
a fashion that he managed to plant a well-aimed blow the next minute
between the other's eyes, which was so unexpected that he struck out
wildly and blindly in all directions, while Tom contrived to dodge
about in such a nimble manner that his heavier antagonist had very
little chance of dealing another blow like the first.
The boys shouted for their champion at first, but Tom's pluck and
clever dodging of his attempted blows compelled their admiration, so
that before the fight was over, only Bill's little brother was found
shouting,—
"Give it him, Bill. Go it again, Bill; give him another like the first!"
The fight was still in progress, though Tom was looking white and
exhausted, when one of the teachers came along, and seeing Tom was
ready to drop, though still parrying the blows of his foe, and getting
one in where he could, he stepped into the midst of the crowd of boys.
"Now, Crane, what does this mean?" he demanded, sharply.
"Please, sir, it's all fair," gasped Tom, and then a deadly whiteness
overspread his face, and to the consternation of the crowd, he dropped
as he spoke, and lay helpless and motionless at Bill's feet.
Every boy felt sure Tom was dead, and an audible groan went up from the
young rustics; and the redoubtable Bill took to his heels, and, roaring
like a bull, fled down the village street, closely followed by his
brother and the rest of the boys.
The teacher looked at Tom for a minute, as if debating what he had
better do, then picked him up in his arms and carried him to the
schoolmaster's house.
"Oh, is he dead? Is he dead?" groaned the invalid girl, when the
teacher staggered in with his burden. She had been reclining in an
easy-chair at the window, and had seen the whole fight. "Put him on the
couch there, Mr. Thompson, and go and fetch mother; father hasn't come
in from the church yet."
But Mr. Thompson fetched some water as soon as he could put Tom out
of his arms, and did what he could to bring the boy to consciousness
before running back to the school for Mrs. Murray. She had been there
teaching the sewing-class, and looking after some girls who were kept
in, while her husband went to the church to see the clergyman on some
business connected with the school.
Tom had so far revived by the time his teacher got back with Mrs.
Murray, that he was able to open his eyes and look at the girl by the
window, and wonder where he could be.
"Are you better, my boy?" said his teacher, as he came in.
Mrs. Murray's first care was for her daughter. "You should not have
brought him here, Mr. Thompson," she said, in a reproachful tone; "the
shock will be too great for my poor Mollie."
"Never mind me; I am sure he must be ill," said the girl.
"No, no; I am better," said Tom, trying to raise himself; but he turned
sick and faint when he attempted to move, and he closed his eyes in
great disgust with himself, because he was so much upset by this fight.
In the meanwhile, the news had spread through the village like
wild-fire, that big Bill Crane had beat the new chap till he dropped
down dead, and this was the tale that gossiping Betsy Gunn carried to
the cottage, where Mrs. Winn was setting the last stitches in Miss
Perceval's dress.
In a minute the work was thrown down, and the widow, closely followed
by Elsie, was on the way to the schoolmaster's house, where Betsy told
them Tom had been carried. By the time she got there, the village
constable had also arrived to know the exact truth of the matter before
going in search of Bill Crane. Others, too, had gathered round, so that
there was quite a commotion outside when Mr. Murray and the curate came
upon the scene.
"What is it; what is the matter?" asked the schoolmaster, seeing Mrs.
Winn's white, scared face as she came up to the door.
"My boy! My boy!" she panted, pushing her way in without ceremony.
Tom heard his mother's voice, and managed to gasp out, "Mother, mother,
I am sorry."
The revulsion of feeling on hearing Tom speak, although his voice was
faint and husky, was almost too much for the widow, and she sank down
upon a chair exclaiming, "Thank God, he is alive!"
Elsie was scarcely less overcome, but she managed to explain that it
was Betsy Gunn who had been to tell them that he was dead.
"It was all through that wicked Bill Crane," said Mary, from her place
near the window. "It was really only a boy's fight, you know; only your
brother fainted, and I was afraid he was dead at first."
Elsie went and kissed Tom to assure herself that he really was alive,
and not much hurt, and then she went over to the window to speak to the
invalid.
"I am so sorry Tom should have given you such a fright," she said, for
she had heard Mrs. Murray telling the curate that this shock would be
sure to make Mary worse. "I hope you will not really be ill through
it," she added.
"Oh, it does not much matter, a little more or less illness, when one
is so useless as I am," said the girl; but she allowed Elsie to hold
her thin, white hand in her strong, capable one, and the contact of the
warm fingers seemed to please her, and she said, "Let me hold your hand
a minute; I like to feel hands like yours—they seem to do me good."
"What a funny fancy," laughed Elsie; but she gave the girl both
her hands to hold, and for a minute or two the girls were left to
themselves, while the rest were busy around Tom, who was reviving
rapidly under the milk and brandy that was being given to him by Mrs.
Murray and his mother.
By the time the doctor came upon the scene, the boy was able to sit up,
and was preparing to walk home with his mother and sister.
"This should be a lesson to you against fighting," said the curate, as
he was leaving.
"But that big fellow knocked him down first," said Mary, who heard the
remark. "I think he did quite right to stand up and let Bill Crane know
he could not bully everybody."
"Mary, Mary, you must not get so excited over this," said her mother,
in some alarm.
But Elsie pressed the thin, nerveless fingers in thanks for the words
spoken on Tom's behalf.
And the understanding between the girls was so far established that
before Elsie went, Mary asked her to come and see her soon. "I am
generally alone in the afternoon, because mother has to go to her
sewing-class at the school, so if you could bring your sewing and sit
with me for an hour, I should be very glad."
Mrs. Murray made some remark about Mary being kept quiet, but she could
not second the girl's invitation. And so Elsie walked home feeling that
Tom's fight might have some consequences not altogether unpleasant to
herself, whatever they might bring to Tom.
For the present he was simply feeling a little weak and stiff, and he
readily promised to go to bed as soon as he got home, and let them
bring a meal to him after he had rested for an hour.
Beyond a few bruises, that were nothing to Tom, all the effects of
the fight were over by the next morning, so far as Tom's health was
concerned. And it would soon have been forgotten by Tom, or thought of
only as other schoolboy battles were, but for what followed some weeks
later.
Tom was working in the garden one Saturday afternoon about a month
afterwards, when he was startled all at once by a well-known whistle,
and looking up he saw to his delight and amazement his old friend Jack
Bond looking over the wall.
"Oh, Jack, where did you spring from?" exclaimed Tom, in eager welcome.
"Jump over, can't you?"
"Never fear but what I could do that, but my horse here won't take the
leap."
"Got a horse!" said Tom. "Go to the gate then, and I'll come and let
you in, though I don't know what we shall do with your nag."
"I'll stable him in the kitchen," said Jack, with a grin; and Tom ran
up the garden to announce to his mother and sister that Jack had come.
Arrived at the front garden gate, Tom saw that the "horse" was a very
high bicycle, which Jack proudly displayed to Tom.
"I couldn't have come all this way, you know, if I hadn't managed to
buy this; for though we ain't more than ten or twelve miles away from
you now, twelve miles there and back is too far for a walk. But with a
jolly 'bike' like this, I can do it easy," said Jack.
"It is a fine big 'bike!' Why, it must have cost a little fortune."
"No; I got it cheap, because you see this sort are going out of fashion
a bit. You see, I'm learning my father's trade, and can earn a little
on my own account by working overtime. So when I found the foreman of
our job had this 'bike' to sell, I stuck to it, and paid him a little
every week till I'd paid half, and then he let me have it. By that
time, I had found out that I could ride over to you on a Saturday
afternoon, and get back by dark on this 'jigger,' and so I've come."
"And I'm glad enough to see you; and so come in and see my mother, and
Elsie, and the baby."
After the "jigger" had been safely bestowed in the shed, Tom and Jack
went into the garden for a confab. "What are you doing, Tom?" was
Jack's first question when they were by themselves.
"Doing!" repeated Tom. "Why, I've done nearly all the garden; and you
can see how it looks," said Tom, with some pride.
"Ah, yes it looks pretty tidy," said Jack, with a cursory glance round
the neatly kept beds; "but look here, Tom, I've learned a thing or two
since I've been on my job; and if I could have my time over again at
school, I wouldn't play the fool there as I often did. I wonder the
master had so much patience with us. But that isn't what I'd come to
say. Do you know where my job is? Why, at a horticultural college,
where they teach fellows to be first-rate gardeners! Now I thought,
when I heard it, this is just the sort of place for Tom Winn, if he
could only get here. And—"
Tom groaned. "Don't, Jack; don't tell me again what a fool I've been, I
know it well enough."
"We were both fools, old fellow, in those days, and I was the worst,
for I persuaded you not to go to that scholarship class, and led you
into all the mischief. You've forgiven me, old fellow, I know, but I
haven't forgiven myself; and I never shall, unless I can do something
to make up for what I cost you that time. Well, now, I can see a
chance. Do you go to school, old fellow?"
"Yes; but it's such a measly old school, that I expect if I was to ask
about a scholarship they'd think it was something to eat."
"Never mind; where is it?" said Jack, impatiently.
"Why, here, to be sure, in Fairfield," answered Tom.
And then he thought that Jack must certainly have taken leave of
his senses, for he threw his cap in the air, and shouted "Hip, hip,
hurrah!" with such gusto that Elsie put her head out of the kitchen
door to see what had happened.
And Tom said, rather curiously, "Are you subject to fits now, Jack?"
"Oh, it's the jolliest thing I ever heard of," said Jack, clapping Tom
on the shoulder. "Why, my boy, if you only stick to your books, and let
'em see what you can do, it's as easy as pie to get a scholarship out
of that measly old school."
Tom's eyes opened very wide. "How do you make that out?" he asked.
"Well, you know, I've thought of you, and what you might have done
if you had only got a scholarship like your sister did, ever since I
knew what we were building, and one day I said to my foreman, I know a
bloke that would make a first-rate gardener if he could only come here
and work in these gardens. The gardens are there already, you see, and
they're just finishing the college, where there is to be lessons and
lectures."
"Well, what did he say?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"'Why,' he said, 'your friend can come here, I expect, if he happens
to go to one of the right schools. There's a list of 'em given, and
I'll find out if you like the names of those who have a right to send
a scholar here for a year or two. Somebody left a pot of money to this
place on purpose.' Well, old fellow, you might have knocked me down
with a feather when he read out the name of Fairfield.
"'That's it,' I said to him; 'and if Tom only goes to school again,
we've done the trick.' I wasn't long paying for the rest of my 'bike;'
and here I am, and there you are, a scholar of one of the schools who
can send a boy to this college."
And Jack indulged in such a string of his old grimaces that Tom laughed
as heartily as he had ever done in his life.
"Come in to tea," called Elsie at this point.
But instead of going in at once, Tom called her to come and hear the
news.
"I say, Elsie, Jack tells me there is a chance for me to get a
scholarship at this school, if I only like to try."
"Then that was what Mary meant the other evening when I was telling her
about my scholarship," said Elsie. "She said their school had something
like that, only nobody had ever won it, because the boys were slow and
dull, and did not like book learning, as they called it. Oh, Tom, go
and ask Mr. Murray about it directly after tea," said Elsie, excitedly.
And after some further talk, it was agreed that Jack should go with him
and see if his information was correct, before the matter was mentioned
to Mrs. Winn, who was not very well just now, and did not seem able to
bear much worry.
So after tea, the two boys went out for a walk. And by way of excuse
for calling upon the schoolmaster, Elsie gave her brother a book to
take to her friend Mary.
"Can I speak to Mr. Murray, please?" said Tom, when Mrs. Murray would
have taken the book without asking Tom to come in.
"You'll find him in the church, I think. Thank your sister for the
book," she added.
The boys turned into the churchyard, for Jack was too anxious to hear
that he had not wholly wrecked his friend's chances in life, to go
home without knowing just what Tom might expect if he applied for this
scholarship.
Anxiety lent them both courage; and so when they saw the schoolmaster
and curate coming down the churchyard path, they stepped forward and
met them.
"If you please, sir, is it true that there is a scholarship for our
school if anybody can get it?"
"Do you mean for the horticultural college?" said the clergyman.
"Yes, sir. Tom would make a tip-top gardener if he could only get
there," said bold Jack. And then he told them how he had spoiled
Tom's former chance, and had just heard that one more remained, as he
attended Fairfield village school.
"Why, we never thought of you wanting to be a gardener, Winn," said
the schoolmaster, with a smile. "Let me see; how long have you been at
school, my boy?"
"A little more than a month, sir," said Tom.
"Then he will have been here just about long enough to be nominated as
a candidate," said the clergyman. "I am very glad you came to speak
about it, for I was about to write and say we had no candidate ready.
Now, I can say, we shall claim our right to nominate one; only, if you
are not to disgrace us all, you will have to work very hard at your
books through the summer."
"Yes, sir; I shall not mind that," said Tom, in a tumult of delight,
that he could hardly speak.
"His sister won a scholarship before she came here," said Mr. Murray,
"so I daresay, he knows something of what will be required of him. That
will do, Winn; you can go and tell your mother I will do the best I can
for you."
The boys indulged in a few gambols at their success before they went
home, and then Jack suddenly grew grave, and said, "I had well-nigh
forgotten something I meant to tell you. Just before we moved, which
was a fortnight or three weeks after you had gone, I met Alfred Mearns
with a chap who had been asking about you,—where you lived, and where
you had gone.
"I didn't like the look of the chap, and so when he asked me to give
him your address, I told him to go for a walk, for he wouldn't get me
peaching on my friends. He told me a lot of blarney about something to
your advantage, like the newspapers have it, but I said he might take
that tale to the marines, for he wouldn't get anything out of me. I
could see what he was after, for he had money written all over him."
"Money," repeated Tom.
"Why, yes; don't you twig? I expect your mother left a few debts owing
at the shops. What else could be expected when you were ill so long,
and nobody earning a penny all the time. I know what things are when
father has been out of work for a week or too. So the next time I saw
Alf, I said, 'If ever you should hear where Tom Winn has gone to live,
forget it, for they won't want any of that sort of cattle after them
where they are—'"
"But—but I don't think my mother owed anything at the shops," said Tom,
thoughtfully.
"It isn't likely she'd let you know about it. Bless you, I know your
mother. She's one of the brave sort, who will carry the care herself
and let the children have the pleasure. But if you see her worrying,
tell her there's nothing to fear, for I never let out a word, though I
came to the station to see you off, and so she won't be pestered for
money down here."
Tom was puzzled, and felt somewhat hurt that his friend should think it
possible that they could leave the neighbourhood without paying their
debts.
"My mother would never do such a mean thing, however poor she might
be," he said.
"All right, I'm glad of it, old fellow; only I have heard of such
things being done, if you haven't. And I thought if your mother had
been driven to do it, she shouldn't be bothered about it. Perhaps
the fellow wanted to sell her a sewing machine," he added, by way of
changing the subject; for he could see that Tom was pained at the bare
suggestion of such a thing being done by his mother.