Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Doctor Jolliffe's Boys
by Lewis Hough
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This a very enjoyable book about life in a boy's boarding school in the
late nineteenth century. Despite school-rules, the boys get out of
bounds for a number of reasons, for instance visiting a forbidden tuck
shop; engaging in various cruel country sports, like rat baiting; going
skating on a frozen lake, especially near the thin ice; poaching on a
large nearby estate; and suchlike attractions.
Every scene is beautifully drawn, and I have wondered many times why the
author did not write more, and indeed why this book is not more well
known than it is. Until I found a copy in an old book shop I had never
heard of either the author or of the book.
The characters of the various principal actors in the story are very
well drawn, and one feels one knows them all quite well by the end of
the book.
There was in fact another contemporary author of the same name, who was
an expert in economic and currency affairs, and who also wrote using,
and about, a novel way of getting books printed. N.H.
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DOCTOR JOLLIFFE'S BOYS
BY LEWIS HOUGH
CHAPTER ONE.
A TALE OF WESTON SCHOOL.
WESTON _versus_ HILLSBOROUGH.
"Well cut, Saurin, well cut! Run it out! Four!" The ball was
delivered again to the bowler, who meditated a shooter, but being a
little tired, failed in his amiable intention, and gave the chance of a
half-volley, which the batsman timed accurately, and caught on the right
inch of the bat, with the whole swing of his arms and body thrown into
the drive, so that the ball went clean into the scorer's tent, as if
desirous of marking the runs for itself.
"Well hit indeed! Well hit!"
The Westonians roared with delight, and their voices were fresh, for
they had had little opportunity of exercising them hitherto. Crawley,
the captain of their eleven, the hero in whom they delighted, had been
declared out, leg before wicket, when he had only contributed five to
the score. Only two of the Westonians believed that the decision was
just, Crawley himself, and the youth who had taken his place, and was
now so triumphant. But he hated Crawley, and rejoiced in his
discomfiture, even though it told against his own side, so his opinion
went for nothing.
Well, no more did anybody's else except the umpire's, who after all is
the only person capable of judging.
"Saurin has got his eye in; we may put together a respectable score
yet."
"He is the best player we have got, when he only takes the trouble;
don't you think so?" said Edwards, who believed in Saurin with a faith
which would have been quite touching if it had not been so irritating.
"He thinks so himself at any rate," replied the boy addressed, "and we
are a shocking bad lot if he is right. Anyhow he seems to be in form
to-day, and I only hope that it will last."
The batsman under discussion hoped so too. If he could only make an
unprecedented score, restore the fortunes of the day, and show the world
what a mistake it was to think Crawley his superior in anything
whatever, it would be a glorious triumph. He was not of a patriotic
disposition, and did not care for the success of his school except as it
might minister to his own personal vanity and gain, for he had a bet of
half-a-crown on his own side. But his egotism was quite strong enough
to rival the public spirit of the others, and raise his interest to the
general pitch.
The match between Weston and Hillsborough was an annual affair, and
excited great emulation, being for each school the principal event of
the cricketing season. One year it was played at Weston and the next at
Hillsborough, and it was the Westonians' turn to play on their own
ground on this occasion.
Hillsborough went in first and put together 94 runs. Then Weston went
to the wickets and could make nothing of it. There was a certain left-
handed Hillsburian bowler who proved very fatal to them; it was one of
his twists which found Crawley's leg where his bat should have been.
Result, eight wickets down for twenty, and then Saurin went in and made
the 9 we have witnessed.
Between ourselves the cut was a fluke, but the half-volley was a genuine
well-played hit, which deserved the applause it got. The next ball came
straight for the middle stump, but was blocked back half-way between the
creases, and another run was stolen.
"Over!"
The new bowler went in for slows. The first, a very tempting ball,
Saurin played forward at, and hit it straight and hard into the hands of
long field on, who fumbled and dropped it, amidst groans and derisive
cheers.
Warned by this narrow shave he played back next time, and seemed to
himself to have missed a really good chance. This feeling induced
hesitation when the next ball was delivered, and the result of
hesitation was that the insidious missile curled in somehow over his bat
and toppled his bails off. Saurin was so much mortified as he walked
back to the tent that he could not even pretend to assume a jaunty
careless air, but scowled and carried his bat as if he would like to hit
someone over the head with it. Which, indeed, he would.
There was one consolation for him, he had made ten, and that proved to
be the top score.
For the first time within living memory Weston had to follow its
innings!
Now when you consider that the presidents of Oxford and Cambridge Clubs
kept an eye on this match with a view to promising colts, you may
imagine the elation of the Hillsburians and the dejection of the
Westonians when Crawley and Robarts walked once more to the wickets.
Their schoolmates clapped their hands vigorously indeed, and some of
them talked about the uncertainty of cricket, but the amount of hope
they had would not have taken the room of a pair of socks in Pandora's
box.
But Crawley was a bowler as well as a batsman, and Robarts was the
Westonian wicket-keeper, so that both were somewhat fagged when they
first went in, whereas they were now quite fresh. Again, the
Hillsburian bowling champion found his dangerous left arm a little
stiff, and his eyesight not so keen as it had been an hour before. One
is bound to find a cause for everything, so these may be the reasons why
the pair, after defending their wickets cautiously for an over or two,
began to knock the bowling about in great style.
"What a jealous brute that Crawley is!" said Saurin, sitting down by
Edwards.
"Awful!" replied Edwards, not at all knowing why, but following Saurin
blindfold, as he always did.
"I was the only one who made any stand in the first innings, and yet he
does not send me in early. He will keep me to the last, I daresay."
The wonderful stand spoken of had not lasted two overs, but Edwards only
observed:
"It's mean."
"Not that I care," said Saurin.
"Of course not."
"Only I do hate spite and jealousy."
"He ought not to be captain."
"Bah! the soft-spoken humbug; it's a wonder to me that fellows don't see
through him."
"It _is_ strange," echoed the complacent Edwards.
The number 30 went up amidst a storm of clapping, and Saurin relapsed
into prudent silence, but he thought "hapes," like the Irishman's dumb
parrot. The dinner-bell rang, the pair were not separated, and the
score stood at 50.
"It will be a match yet," was the general opinion on the Weston side,
and their opponents also thought that the affair did not look quite such
a certainty, and agreed that they must not throw a chance away, though
they hoped much from dinner, which sometimes puts a batsman off his
play, the process of digestion inducing, especially in hot weather, a
certain heaviness which impairs that clearness of brain necessary for
timing a ball accurately. At the same time the bowlers would get a good
rest, and the left-handed artist, who had been acting as long-stop,
might reasonably be expected to regain his cunning. True that the
midday meal tells most upon the field, which very generally grows
sluggish after eating: but the Hillsborough boys fancied that would not
matter so much, if they could only separate those two.
But "those two" had a due sense of their responsibilities, and ate a
very moderate meal, which they washed down with nothing stronger than
water. They also played very careful cricket on first going in again,
and risked nothing until they had got their hands in. _Item_, Crawley
had mastered the left-handed bowler's favourite ball, and by playing
very forward hit it away before it took the dangerous twist. It looked
very risky, and the Hillsborough wicket-keeper was in constant hope of
stumping him, but he never missed, and scored off every ball of that
sort which came to him. When the same twisters came to Robarts he
played back, contenting himself with simply guarding his wickets with an
upright bat.
Altogether the two put 85 together before Robarts was caught at point.
As they were going in to dinner Crawley had said to Saurin:
"You go in the first wicket down. You showed good form in the first
innings, and it was a very unlucky ball that settled you so soon. But
you will have a good chance again presently." Which speech had the
unintended effect of making Saurin more exasperated than ever.
"Confound his patronising!" he said to himself; but he could not find
any excuse for any audible utterance except the conventional "All
right," and he now drew on his gloves, took up his bat, and issued from
the tent.
"Play careful cricket, Saurin," said Robarts as he passed him; "the
great thing is to keep Crawley at the wicket as long as we can."
"A likely story!" he thought to himself as he strode across the turf,
"to make myself a mere foil and stop-gap for that conceited brute! Not
I." Far from practising the abstinence of the other two, he had eaten
as much as he could stuff and drunk all the beer he could get, and this,
combined with resentment at Robarts' words, caused him to go in for
slogging just to show that he was not to be dictated to.
The first ball he got he hit as hard as he could, and well on to the
ground, but it was cleverly stopped before a run could be made. The
second he sent into the hands of the fielder standing at mid-wicket, who
stuck to it, fast as it came, and threw it up amidst the cheers of his
friends. Saurin stalked away with his duck's egg.
Four more wickets fell before Crawley was run out, by which time he had
scored 90 off his own bat, the total standing at 150. Thirty more was
added before the Westonians were all out, and the score stood--first
innings, 40; second, 180; total, 220, against 94. So that Hillsborough
now had to make 126 to tie, and 127 to win.
It was a good match; anybody's game. During the remainder of the
afternoon Saurin behaved disgracefully. His temper had completely
mastered him, and he was sulky and careless to an extent which made even
Edwards ashamed for him. He let balls pass with hardly an attempt to
stop them, picked them up and threw them in in a leisurely manner, which
gave more than one run to the other side, and showed such indifference
that he was hissed.
For every run was of importance. The fact was that Weston that year was
decidedly weak in the bowling, Crawley being the only one to be depended
upon, and he could not be kept at it for ever; and, though the fielding
generally was good, the Hillsburians scored fast. At seven o'clock they
were 100 for seven wickets, and the excitement was very great when
Crawley, who had had an hour's interval, went on once more to bowl.
His first ball was cut for five. His second took the middle stump
clean. His third came back into his hands. His fourth, the nastiest of
shooters, glided under the bat into the wicket. Three wickets in three
consecutive balls--something like a sensational over!
The match was over, and Weston had won by 21 runs.
There could be no doubt to whom the victory was due, and Crawley was
pounced upon, hoisted, and carried home in triumph amidst the most
enthusiastic cheering.
"All right!" he said, colouring and laughing as they put him down; "I am
glad we won, but that last ball was the most awful fluke I ever made in
my life. I lost my balance as I delivered it, and nearly came down. To
tell the truth, I feared it would be wide, and could hardly believe my
eyes when I saw the bails off."
One would have imagined that Saurin's evil genius was taking part in the
events of the day, and piling success upon the rival he hated in order
to exasperate him to madness. His state of mind, indeed, was little
short of that as he went sullenly to his tutor's house, with the sight
of Crawley, raised on his comrades' shoulders, in his eyes, their cheers
ringing in his ears, and the thoughts of Cain in his heart.
"I shall give up cricket," he said to Edwards next day; "it's a beastly
game."
"I don't care for it myself," replied his friend; "only, what is one to
do?"
"Lots of things; you don't know Slam's. I tell you what--I'll take you
there."
"Thank you; that will be very jolly; only don't you think if one were
caught, you know--eh?"
"We should get into a jolly row, no doubt; but there is no fear of being
caught. And, as you say, if one does not play cricket, what is one to
do?"
One thing which induced Saurin to relinquish the game which he had at
one time practised with some hope of success, was that he shrewdly
suspected that, after what occurred, he would no longer be retained in
the eleven. And he was right, for at the very next meeting of the
committee it was unanimously agreed that a fellow who failed so utterly
to keep his temper was of no use at all, even if he were a much better
player than Saurin; and this opinion was intimated to him without any
squeamishness in the choice of terms. Had Weston lost the match his
conduct on the occasion might have resulted in his being sent to
Coventry; but success is the parent of magnanimity, and, since his lack
of public spirit had not proved fatal, it was condoned. But it
certainly did not increase his popularity. The whole affair was most
unfortunate. Saurin was a disappointing sort of fellow. He was rather
good-looking, and on ordinary occasions his manners were those of a
gentleman. His abilities were certainly above the average, and his eye
and hand worked together in a manner which was calculated to ensure
success in all games, especially as he was fleet of foot and muscular.
Thus he was always giving promise of distinguishing himself, and dying
away to nothing. The explanation is that he was very vain and very
indolent, and his vanity induced him to engage in different pursuits
which would excite admiration, while his indolence prevented him from
persevering long enough for success. Directly anything bored him he
dropped it. Self-indulgence seemed to him the only true wisdom. He
never resisted the whim of the moment except through fear of the
consequences, and unfortunately many of his propensities were vicious.
He had taken up cricket rather warmly, and seemed less inclined to get
tired of it than of most healthy and innocent diversions, and cricket
kept him out of mischief; so it was very unlucky, both for himself and
for those over whom he had influence, that his jealousy of Crawley had
led him to make such an idiot of himself.
CHAPTER TWO.
SLAM'S.
About a mile from Weston College there was a dilapidated old house with
a large yard and an orchard. There had been a farm attached to it once,
but the land had been taken into the next estate, and the old homestead
let separately many years before. The landlord would gladly have got
rid of the present tenant, but he had a long lease, and, while he paid
his rent, he was secure, and could snap his fingers at the squire, the
clergyman, the magistrates, and all other people who did not appreciate
him. Not that he ever did so snap his fingers; on the contrary, Mr
Slam, though practically defiant, was remarkably civil, not to say
obsequious, in his demeanour when he came into contact with the gentry.
By profession he was a rat-catcher, and he had an intimate knowledge of
the habits and frailties of all the small predatory animals of Great
Britain, and knew well how to lure them to their destruction. In a
game-preserving community such talents ought, one would imagine, to have
met with appreciative recognition; but unfortunately Slam was suspected
of being far more fatal to pheasants, hares, and rabbits than to all the
vermin he destroyed. He protested his innocence, and was never caught
in the act of taking game; but if anyone wanted to stock his preserves,
Slam could always procure him a supply of pheasants' eggs, and more than
one village offender who had been sent to expiate his depredations in
jail was known to have paid visits to Slam's yard.
Slam was a dog-fancier as well as a rat-catcher, and therefore doggy
boys were attracted to his premises, which, however, were sternly
interdicted. In the first place they were out of bounds, though this of
itself did not go for very much. There was no town very near Weston,
and so long as the boys made their appearance at the specified hours
they were not overmuch interfered with. Paper chases, or hare and
hounds as they are sometimes called, were openly arranged and
encouraged; and if boys liked to take walks in the country, they could
do so with a minimum of risk. If they were awkward enough to meet a
master face to face when out of bounds, he could hardly help turning
them back and giving them a slight imposition; but if they saw him
coming, and got out of his way, he would not look in their direction.
But to enter an inn, or to visit Slam's, was a serious offence,
entailing severe punishment, and even expulsion, if repeated.
Yet one beautiful warm summer's evening, when the birds were singing and
the grasshoppers chirruping, and all nature invited mankind to play
cricket or lawn-tennis, if there were no river handy for boating, four
youths might have been seen (but were not, luckily for them) approaching
the forbidden establishment. A lane with high banks, now covered with
ferns and wild flowers, and furrowed with ruts which were more like
crevasses, ran up to the house; but they left this and went round the
orchard to the back of the yard, in the wall of which there was a little
door with a bell-handle beside it. On this being pulled there was a
faint tinkle, followed by a canine uproar of the most miscellaneous
description, the deep-mouthed bay of the blood-hound, the sharp yap-yap
of the toy terrier, and a chorus of intermediate undistinguishable
barkings, some fierce, some frolicsome, some expectant, being mixed up
with the rattling of chains. Then an angry voice was heard amidst the
hubbub commanding silence, and a sudden whine or two seemed to imply
that he had shown some practical intention of being obeyed. A bolt was
drawn, the door opened, and a short wiry man, dressed in fustian and
velveteen, with a fur cap on his head and a short pipe in his mouth,
stood before them.
"Come in, gents," said he. "Your dawg's at the other end of the yard,
Mr Stubbs, that's why you don't see him. He's had an orkardness with
Sayres, Mr Robarts' dog, as was in the next kennel, and I thought
they'd have strangled themselves a-trying to get at one another, and so
I had to separate them."
"Will it be safe to let him loose?" asked Stubbs.
"No fear; he will never go near the other while he's loose and the other
one chained up; besides, he'll be took up with seeing you, he will."
It was very pleasant to the feelings of Stubbs that his dog knew him,
which he evidently did, for he danced on his hind-legs, and wagged his
tail, and whimpered, and did all that a bull-terrier can do in the way
of smiling, when his proprietor approached for the purpose of freeing
him from his chain. Their interviews were not as frequent as either dog
or boy would have desired, but then they were very pleasant, for they
brought the former a short spell of liberty, a meal of biscuit or
paunch, and sometimes--oh, ecstasy!--the worrying of a rat, while Stubbs
enjoyed the sense of proprietorship, and the knowledge that he was doing
what was forbidden. He had dreams of leaving school and taking Topper
home with him, and owning him as his friend before all the world, and he
talked to Topper of that happy prospect, and Topper really quite seemed
to understand that Stubbs was his master, who had paid money for him,
and was now put to considerable expense for his board and lodging, let
alone the danger he ran in coming to visit him. To an outsider, calmly
reflecting, it did not seem a very good bargain for Stubbs, but still
very much better than that of Perry, his friend and present companion,
who kept a hawk, and vainly endeavoured to teach the bird to know him
and perch on his wrist. But Perry was fond of hawks, and much regretted
that the days were gone by when hawking was a favourite pastime.
The other two visitors at Slam's that evening were Saurin and Edwards.
Edwards had never been there before, and consequently his feelings were
curiously compounded of fear and pleasurable expectation. He had looked
from a distance at the place, the entrance to which was so sternly
forbidden, and imagined all sorts of delightful wickedness--how
delightful or why wicked he had no idea--going on inside. He was
considerably disappointed to find himself in a dirty yard full of
kennels, to which dogs of all sorts and sizes were attached, none of
whom looked as if it would be safe to pat them. There were a good many
pigeons flying about, but he did not care for pigeons except in a pie.
Perry's hawk was only interesting to Perry. There was a monkey on a
pole in a corner, but he was a melancholy monkey, who did nothing but
raise and lower his eyebrows.
"Does the gentleman want a dawg?" asked Slam.
"He will see," replied Saurin; "if there is a real good one that takes
his fancy he may buy him. It's all right; he's a friend of mine. Have
you got that tobacco for me?"
"To be sure; you will find it in your drawer."
Saurin went to a little wooden outhouse which contained a table, a chest
of drawers, a cask of dog-biscuits, cages of rats, and other
miscellaneous articles, and opening a locker which seemed to be
appropriated to him, he took out a meerschaum pipe and a tobacco-pouch,
and came out presently, emitting columns of blue fragrant smoke from his
mouth. Edwards looked at his friend with increased respect, the idea of
being intimate with a fellow who could smoke like that made him feel an
inch taller.
"I think it's beginning to colour, eh?" asked Saurin.
"Beautifully, I should say," replied Edwards.
"Won't you try?"
"Thanks; I think I should rather like," said Edwards, who began to feel
ambitious, "but I have not got anything to smoke."
"Oh, Slam will let you have a pipe, or a cigar if you like it better."
Edwards, calling to mind that cigars smelt nicer than pipes, thought he
should prefer one.
"Slam, my friend wants a cigar."
"Well, sir, as you know, I can't sell such things without a licence; but
if the gent likes to have a few rats for one of the dawgs to show a bit
of sport, I'll _give_ him a cigar with pleasure. It's sixpence for half
a dozen."
"And, by the by, Edwards, it is usual to stand some beer to pay your
footing. A couple of quarts of sixpenny will do."
"That will make eighteenpence altogether," responded Edwards cheerfully,
producing that sum.
"I'll send out for the beer at once," said Mr Slam, taking the money
and going towards the house.
Where he sent to is a mystery, for there was no public-house within a
mile, and yet the can of beer arrived in about five minutes. It is much
to be feared that Slam set the excise law at defiance when he felt
perfectly safe from being informed against.
"Rats for Topper!" exclaimed Stubbs. "Oh, I say, Edwards, you _are_ a
brick, you know. I have been hard up lately, and he has not had a rat
for ever so long. You won't mind my letting them out for him, will you?
You see, I should like him to think it was I who gave him the treat, if
you don't mind."
Edwards had no objection to become a party to this innocent deception,
and the cage of rats was brought out from some mysterious place where
there was an unlimited supply of those vermin. Whereupon every
individual dog in the establishment went off his head with excitement,
and began barking and tearing at his chain in a manner to soften the
hardest heart. That rats should be so near and yet so far! The
building, which was once a stable, had been fitted up expressly as an
arena, where dogs might exhibit their prowess, and thither the cage was
now carried by Stubbs, Topper going almost the whole way on his hind-
legs, with his nose close to the wires. Considering the amount of
excitement the entertainment did not last long; the rats were turned out
into the arena, where Topper pounced upon them one after the other with
a nip and a shake which was at once fatal. In a couple of minutes there
were six fewer rats in the world, and Topper was extremely anxious to
diminish the number still further. Doctor Johnson, the compiler of the
dictionary, said he had never in his life had as many peaches and
nectarines as he could eat, and that was Topper's feelings with regard
to rats. Edwards did not enjoy the spectacle quite as much as he felt
that he ought. Besides, he was engaged in desperate efforts to light
his cigar. Match after match did he burn, sucking away all the time
like a leech, but no smoke came into his mouth.
"Let us go into the orchard and finish the beer," said Saurin.
The orchard was surrounded by so thick a hedge that it was just as
private as the yard. A cobby horse was cropping the grass, an
ungroomed, untrimmed animal, very much better than he looked, his
master, for reasons of his own, being as anxious to disguise his merits
as most proprietors of the noble animal are to enhance them as much as
possible. There were possibilities of recreation here, though they were
somewhat of a low order. Quoits hung up on several large nails driven
into a wall, and there was a covered skittle alley. For there were a
good many small farmers of the class just above that of the a labourer
in the neighbourhood, and some of them frequented Slam's, and were
partial to skittles.
The four boys and the proprietor of the establishment seated themselves
on benches in this orchard and gulped the beer.
"Your cigar does not seem to draw well," said Saurin.
"No," replied Edwards; "I can't think what is the matter with it; I
never smoked a cigar like this before."
Which was perfectly true, as it was the first he had ever put into his
mouth.
"Let me look at it. Why, you have not bitten the end off! You might as
well expect smoke to go up a chimney that is bricked up at the top.
Here, I'll cut it for you with my penknife; now you will find it go all
right. What a row that hawk of yours makes, Perry!"
"Yes, he ought to be hooded, you know. Hateful times we live in, don't
we! How jolly it must have been when education meant learning to ride,
fly a hawk, train a hound, shoot with the bow, and use the sword and
buckler, instead of mugging at abominable lessons."
"Right you are, sir," said Mr Slam; "why, even when I was a lad a fight
or a bit of cocking could be brought off without much trouble, but
nowadays the beaks and perlice are that prying and interfering there's
no chance hardly. And as for them times Mr Perry was speaking of, why,
I've heard tell that the princes and all the nobs used to go to see a
prize-fight in a big building all comfortable, just as they goes now to
a theayter. And every parish had to find a bull or a bear to be bated
every Sunday. Ah! them was the good old times, them was."
Edwards did not find his cigar very nice. The smoke got down his throat
and made him cough till his eyes watered, and the taste was not so
pleasant as the smell. However, Saurin seemed to like it, so there must
be some pleasure about it if he only persevered.
He laboured under a delusion here, for Saurin would rather not have
smoked, as a matter of fact, though he had a great object in view, the
colouring of his pipe, which supported him. His real motive in this, as
in all other matters, was vanity. Other boys would admire him for
smoking like a full-grown man, and so he smoked. He would never have
done it alone, without anyone to see him, being too fond of himself to
persevere in anything he did not like, out of whim, or for the sake of
some possible future gratification, of the reality of which he was not
very well assured.
"Did you ever play at quoits, Edwards?" asked Saurin presently.
"Yes, I have played at home; we have some."
"Suppose we have a game, then. Why, hulloa, how pale you look! don't
smoke any more of that cigar."
"I do fee--feel a little queer," said Edwards, who certainly did not
exaggerate his sensations. A cold sweat burst out on his forehead, his
hands were moist and clammy, and though it was a warm evening he
shivered from head to foot, while he had a violent pain in his stomach
which prevented his standing upright.
"Come, man alive, don't give way. We must be getting back soon," said
Saurin, who was rather dismayed at the idea of taking his friend to his
tutor's in that condition, and the consequent risk of drawing suspicion
on himself. "Would not a drop of brandy be a good thing, Slam?"
"Well, no, not in this here case," said Slam. "The missus shall mix him
a little mustard and warm water; that's what he wants."
"You are sure it's only the cigar," groaned Edwards. "I am not poisoned
or anything?"
"Poisoned! how can you be? You have taken nothing but the beer, and we
have all drunk that. No, it's the tobacco; it always makes fellows
rather seedy at first, and I expect you swallowed a lot of the smoke."
"I did."
"Well, then, drink this and you will be all right presently."
Edwards took the emetic, which had the effect peculiar to that
description of beverage. It was not a pleasant one; indeed, he thought
he was going to die; but after a while the worst symptoms passed off,
and he was able to walk home.
Saurin and Edwards lodged at the same tutors, and they went up to the
room of the latter without attracting attention. Here Edwards, under
the other's directions, washed his face, cleaned his teeth, changed his
jacket and neck-tie, and put some scented pomatum on his hair, and then
lay down on his bed till the supper-bell should ring.
"I shall not be able to eat," he remonstrated. "Do you think I need go
down?"
"Oh, yes; come and have a try, or else it will excite suspicion. You
would have to show at prayers directly afterwards, you know, so it will
not make much difference. You have nothing to do with old Cookson
between this and supper--no exercise or anything?"
"No, thank goodness!"
"That's all right. You have a good hour for a nap, and your head will
be better then. I must go and sweeten myself now."
I regret to say that "old Cookson" was the shockingly disrespectful way
in which this flagitious youth spoke of his reverend and learned tutor.
CHAPTER THREE.
TOM BULLER.
Weston College was a polishing-up establishment. Boys were not admitted
under the age of fourteen, or unless they showed a certain proficiency
in Greek and Latin, in the first book of Euclid, in arithmetic and
algebra up to simple equations. And the entrance examination, mind you,
was no farce. If a candidate was not well grounded they would not have
him; and it was necessary to be particular, because the first or lowest
form assumed a certain amount of knowledge in the commencement of that
course which proposed to land the neophyte in the Indian Civil Service,
the army, or a good scholarship at one of the universities.
Though fourteen was the age of possible admission, very few boys were
qualified until they were at least a year older, and consequently there
was no organised system of fagging, and flogging was a very rare and
extreme measure; but otherwise the system somewhat resembled that of the
large public schools. The head-master and three other masters each had
a house full of boarders, whose preparation of lessons on certain
subjects he superintended; and every boy had a separate apartment, which
was his study and bedroom.
It was an expensive school, and the discipline of Dr Jolliffe was more
lax than many parents and guardians quite liked; and yet few of the boys
who went there were rich. It was very rarely, that is, that one of them
had not to make his own way in the world. And the number, which was
limited, was always complete. For results speak for themselves, and the
examination lists showed triumphant successes for Weston. It is true
that if they only took boys of considerable proficiency, and got rid of
all who made no progress, they might be expected to show a good average;
but then, on the other hand, there was no cramming, and every
encouragement was given to healthy athletic exercise. Three or four
years were taken to do the work which is too often jammed into a few
months. That was the secret; and, though of course there were failures,
it answered well on the whole.
This is an explanatory digression, just to let you know what sort of
stage our characters are acting upon.
It was Saturday afternoon, and a half-holiday, and there was only one
boy left in Dr Jolliffe's house. His name was Buller, and he was
neither sick nor under punishment. His window was wide open, for it was
very hot and stuffy in his little room, into which the sun poured, and
on the other side of a lane which ran underneath was the cricket-field,
from which the thud of balls struck by the bat, voices, and laughter
resounded in a way to tempt any fellow out of his hole. But there he
stuck with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, forcing
himself to concentrate his attention upon a book which lay open before
him.
"Because _a divided by b_ equals _c divided by d_," he murmured, "the
first quotients _m m_ are equal. Yes, I see that; again, since _a
divided by b_ equals _m_ plus _x divided by b_, and _c divided by d_
equals _m_ plus _r divided by d_, hum, hum, why, in the name of all
that's blue--oh, yes! I see. But then--oh, a thousand blisters on the
idiot who invented this rot! But I won't be licked."
And he began again and again, sticking to it for another half-hour, when
he suddenly cried out, "I have it! What a double-distilled ass I am!
Of course it is simple enough. If _a divided by b_ equals _c divided by
d_, and _a_ and _b_ be prime to each other, _c_ and _d_ are
equimultiples of _a_ and _b_. Of course they are; how could they be
anything else? The other fellows saw it at once, no doubt. What a lot
of trouble it gives one to be a fool! Now, I'll go and practise
bowling."
Buller was no fool; indeed he would not have thought himself one if he
had been; but he was slow at everything--learning, games,
accomplishments--though he had this compensation, no slight one either,
that when he had once mastered a thing he had got it for ever. His
school-fellows called him a duffer, but it did not vex him in the least,
for he considered it a mere statement of a patent fact, and was no more
offended than if they had said that he had two legs. But he had a
strong belief that perseverance, _sticking_, he called it, could make up
in a great measure for want of natural ability. The fable of the hare
and tortoise had given him great encouragement, and, finding in practice
that he passed boys who had far more brilliant parts than himself, he
never gave way to despair, however hopeless the task before him might
seem.
His ambition--never expressed, however, to anyone--was to get into the
eleven. Had it been known it would have been thought the very height of
absurdity, and have become such a standing joke that its realisation
would have been rendered well nigh impossible. It proved that Buller
had sound sense that he was able to see this. He did not much expect to
succeed, but he meant to try all he knew, ever since the day he was
called "old butter-fingers" in a game in which he showed especial
incapacity to catch the ball. He began by mastering that; whenever he
could he got fellows to give him catches. He practised throwing the
ball up in the air and catching it again. When he went home for the
holidays he would carry a tennis-ball in his pocket, and take every
opportunity of throwing it against a wall and taking it at the rebound
with both hands, with the right hand, and with the left. At last he got
quite dexterous--and sinistrous, too, for that matter.
But the mere fact of being able to manipulate the ball smartly, though
it is of supreme importance in cricket, would never gain him admission
into the eleven of his house, let alone that of the school. For that,
as he well knew, he must cultivate a speciality, and he decided upon
bowling. Wicket-keeping could only be practised in a regular game, and
no side would agree to let him fill the post--it was not likely.
Batting everyone wanted to practise, and it would be very rarely that he
would be able to get a good bowler to bowl for him. There was a
professional, indeed, who was always in the cricket-fields during the
season, but his services were generally in request, and, besides, they
were expensive, and Tom Buller had not much pocket-money. But there was
almost always some fellow who was glad to get balls given to him, and,
if not, you can set a stump up in front of a net and bowl at that.
To have worked all this out in his mind did not look like lack of
intelligence or observation, and to act upon it steadily, without saying
a word about it to anybody, showed considerable steadfastness and
resolution. He now put his algebra and papers into his bureau, took out
his cricket-ball and ran down-stairs and round to the fields. At first
it seemed as if he would be obliged to have recourse to his solitary
stump, for, it being the Saturday half-holiday, there were two matches
going on, and those present not taking part in them were playing lawn-
tennis. But presently he espied Robarts, who had been in and out again
in the game he was engaged in, and was now waiting for the innings of
his side to be over, standing in front of a net, bat in hand, with two
boys bowling to him.
"May I give you a ball, Robarts?" he asked.
"Of course you may, Buller; the more the merrier," was the reply; "only,
if you are so wide as to miss the net, you must go after the ball
yourself." And Robarts raised his bat, prepared for a good swipe if the
ball came within reach, which he did not much expect.
Buller measured his distance, took a short run, and sent the ball in
with the energy begotten of long mugging at algebra on a fine afternoon.
Every muscle in his body seemed to long for violent exertion; the pent-
up strength in him, like steam, demanded an outlet, and, with his hand
rather higher than the shoulder, he sent the ball in with a will.
"By Jove! that was straight enough, and a hot one too!" exclaimed
Robarts, who had only just managed to block it. "It made my hands
tingle."
The two others delivered their balls, which were hit away right and
left, and then Buller came again with another which had to be blocked.
The other bowlers who had been playing, and were going in again
presently, were glad to stop and leave Buller to work away alone, which
he did in a deliberate, determined manner, proving that his first
attempts were not chance shots. Twice he sent the wickets down, and
once, when the ball was driven back to him, he caught it with the left
hand, high up.
"Well," said Robarts when he was called away to go and field, "and you
are the fellow they called a duffer! Why, it is like magic! Were you
playing dark last year, or what?"
"No; but I have been practising."
"You have practised to some purpose, then. If you could only vary your
bowling a little more you would be very dangerous. You see, if you
always send the same sort of ball, a fellow knows how to meet it after a
bit."
Robarts as an all-round player was only reckoned inferior to Crawley,
and his words of approval were very gratifying to Buller, who felt
himself a step nearer one particular goal. He did not indulge in
daydreams, however, not being of an imaginative disposition. The actual
difficulty which he had to master at the time took up all his thoughts
and energies, and the distant object to be attained, though never
absolutely lost sight of, was never dwelt upon or brooded over.
He at once looked about for someone else to bowl for, and found his
particular chum, Penryhn, who, after fagging out through the heat of the
day, had gone to the wicket with the sun in his eyes, and been clean
bowled the first ball.
"Will you really bowl for me?" he said eagerly in reply to Buller's
offer. "What a good fellow you are!"
"Why? for doing what I want? That is laying in a stock of good works
cheap. You won't mind a few wides, I hope; Robarts says there is too
great a sameness about my bowling, so I want to practise twisters and
shooters. You won't mind if I bowl at your legs?"
"Not a bit; _ignis via_--fire away."
The necessity for violent exertion had been taken out of Buller, indeed
it was now oozing away from every pore of his skin. So he did not try
fast bowling, except now and then when he attempted to put in a shooter,
but concentrated his attention principally upon placing his ball, or on
pitching it to leg with an inward twist towards the wicket. He
constantly failed; sent easy ones which were hit about to the peril of
neighbouring players; cut Penryhn over once on the knee-cap and once on
the ankle. But he never once delivered the ball carelessly, or without
a definite object. And when his arm got so tired that his mind could no
longer direct it, he left off and Penryhn bowled in turn to him, his
great object then being to keep an upright bat rather than to hit.
"I'll tell you what, Tom, you have improved in your cricket awfully,"
said Penryhn as they strolled back in the dusk. "Why, you took Robarts'
wickets twice."
"Yes, but I should not have done it in a game; fellows step out and hit
recklessly in practice."
"No matter for that; you are quite a different bowler from what you
were."
"The fact is it takes me all my time to learn to do what comes to other
fellows naturally."
"That's a bit too deep for me; some fellows can do one thing easily and
others another, and every fellow has to work hard to learn those things
which belong, as it were, to the other fellows. There are chaps, I
suppose, like the Admirable Crichton, who are born good all round, and
can play the fiddle, polish off Euclid, ride, shoot, lick anyone at any
game, all without the slightest trouble, but one does not come across
them often, thank goodness. I say, do you know what genius is?"
"Not exactly; that is, I could not define it."
"Well, I have heard my father say that some very clever chap has said
that it is `an infinite capacity for taking pains,' and if that's true,
by Jove, you must be a genius, Tom!"
And they both burst out laughing at the notion, and went in and changed
their flannels. And Buller lit his candle and mugged at a German
exercise till the supper-bell rang.
Half-holidays did not necessarily preclude work in the tutor's pupil-
rooms, which was preparatory to that in school, though practically the
hours of recreation were never interfered with in fine weather. But
after the hour of "All In," as the local phrase went, when the roll was
called, and every boy had to be in for the night, an hour which varied
with the time of the year, it was different. And on this Saturday
evening Mr Cookson had some arrears of Historical Theme correction to
make up. For since history plays a considerable part in modern
competitive examinations, every boy had to read up a certain portion of
some standard work every week, and write a theme upon it, without the
book, in the pupil-room. This theme was looked over with him by his
tutor before being sent in to the head-master, and if it did not reach a
certain standard it was torn up, and he had to read the subject again
and write another one. Edwards was one of the essayists whose paper had
not yet been examined, and he stood at this tutor's elbow while he read
it over. "`After he had been some years in England Sir Elijah Impey was
tried by Doctors' Commons.'" "_House_ of Commons, boy," said Mr
Cookson, "people are not impeached at Doctors' Commons, that's where
wills are proved," and he made a correction,--"`and proved he hadn't
murdered the rajah. And so Sir Philip Francis, the author of a book
called _Junius_, the writer of which was never discovered,'"--"why,
that's a bull;" Mr Cookson could not help chuckling as he made a dash
and a correction,--"`and deaf Burke,'"--"`I never heard that he was
deaf--oh, that was another man, a prize-fighter, ho, ho, ho,
ahem!'"--"`and Burke were very much ashamed of themselves, and were
hissed, and never alluded to the subject, from which originated the
phrase of "burking the question,"'"--"Pooh, pooh, never make shots like
that:"--"`and Sir Elijah Impey was found Not Guilty, and all his
property was taken from him to pay the lawyers with.'" "Well, well, it's
not so bad," said Mr Cookson, signing his name at the bottom of the
last page. "And now, Edwards," he added, turning and looking the boy
straight in the eyes, "I have a good mind to have you flogged."
"Me, sir!" exclaimed Edwards, turning pale; "what for, sir?"
"Doctor Jolliffe does not flog for many things, but there are certain
offences he never fails to visit with the utmost severity. Smoking is
one of them."
"I assure you, sir, I have not--"
"Lying is another, so do not finish your sentence. I can smell the
stale tobacco."
And indeed Edwards was wearing the jacket in which he had indulged in
that emetical luxury, his first cigar, two evenings previously.
"But really, sir, it is no lie," he urged; "I have not been smoking, and
I cannot tell where the smell comes from, unless it is my jacket, which
I wore in the holidays, when I sat in the room with my father when he
was having his cigar sometimes, and which has been in my box till the
other day. I am certain it cannot be my breath or anything else."
"Come nearer; no, your breath and hair are free from the taint. Well,
it may be as you say, and I am loth to suspect you of falsehood. But
listen to me, my boy; I am not assuming that you have been smoking,
mind, but only, as we are on the subject, that you might do so. It may
seem very arbitrary that the rules against it are so very severe,
considering how general the practice is, but they are wise for all that.
However harmless it may be for those who have come to their full
growth, smoking tobacco is certainly very injurious to lads who are not
matured. And indeed until the habit is acquired--it affects the
digestion and the memory of every one. Now, in these days of
competitive examinations, when every young fellow on entering life has
to struggle to get his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and all his
future prospects depend on his doing better than others, how
inexpressibly silly it is for him to handicap himself needlessly by
taking a narcotic which confuses his brain and impairs his memory, and
which affords him no pleasure whatever. I treat you as a rational
being, and appeal to your common sense, and speak as your friend. Now,
go."
Edwards was not such a ready liar as you may think him, though he
certainly prevaricated. He _had_ worn that jacket in his father's
smoking-room, and it _had_ lain in his box during the early part of the
term. He had not smoked again since the occasion commemorated, and that
was two days previously, and he persuaded himself that his tutor's
question applied to that day. But he knew in his heart that it didn't,
and with the kind tones of his tutor's voice ringing in his ears he felt
as if he ought to be kicked.
But when he went up to his room he found Saurin there, and any feelings
of self-reproach he had had soon melted away.
"What's up, now?" asked his friend. "You look as if you had seen a
ghost."
"I nearly got into an awful row, I can tell you!" replied Edwards. "My
tutor smelt my jacket of smoke while he was correcting my theme."
"By Jove! And how did you get out of it?"
"I told him I had worn the jacket in my father's smoking-room."
"Ha, ha, ha! that was a good un. Well done, old fellow! I did not
think you had so much presence of mind. You will make your way yet."
Edwards was on the point of protesting that what he said was the fact,
but his guide, philosopher, and friend seemed so much pleased with the
ingenuity of his plea that he could not bear to rob himself of the
credit of it, and so he looked as knowing as he conveniently could, and
chuckled, taking a pride in what five minutes before he was ashamed of.