Whole books might be written about Steggles at Merivale. I heard
Thompson say, after he had been there a week, that it wasn’t what he
didn’t know had rendered it necessary for Steggles to leave Harrow, but
what he did know. Certainly he had a great deal of general information
about rum things. He got newspapers by post concerning sporting matters;
he knew an immense deal about dogs and horses; and Nubbs, who was a
judge, said his piano-playing surpassed his devil-drawing for sheer
brilliance. Yet, with all these accomplishments, he only managed to get
into the Fourth. As to his smoking, it was certainly wonderful. And he
ate things afterwards to hide the smell. He had a genius for wriggling
out of rows and for getting them up between other fellows. He loved to
look on at fighting and knew all the proper rules. On the whole he was
rather a beast, and, if it hadn’t been for Nubby, Mathers and I should
have barred him. But all I’m going to tell about now is the hideous
discovery of Steggles and M., and the thing that happened on the day of
the match with Buckland Grammar School.
M. had been very queer for a fortnight--queer, I mean, with all three of
us--which was unusual. Then, seeing how the cat had taken to jumping, I
tackled her one morning going through the hall to the Doctor’s study.
“How d’you like Steggles?” I said.
“Very well. He’s clever,” she said.
“He’s fifteen,” I said; “he ought to know something if he’s ever going
to. He’s only in the Fourth, anyway.”
“You’re jealous and so is Mathers,” she said.
“Jealous of a chap with ferret-eyes! Not likely,” I said.
“You are, though.”
“Not more than Nubbs and Mathers, anyway,” I said. “It’s off with the
old friends and on with the new, I suppose.”
“Steggles knows how to treat a girl. You might learn manners from him,
and so might the others,” she said.
“And also the piano, perhaps?”
“He plays beautifully.”
“Have you seen him play football?”
“No.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Football isn’t everything.”
“No, not since he came; I’ve noticed that.”
This bitter speech stung M., and her eyes jolly well flashed sparks.
“Nor singing either,” I went on. “Nubbs nearly burst himself last Sunday
in chapel; and all the time you were watching Steggles making a rabbit
with his pocket-handkerchief.”
“I’ll thank you not to interest yourself in me any more,” she said,
“either in chapel or out of it.”
“All right. I dare say I shall still live,” I said. “Does that remark
apply equally to Mathers and Nubby, or only to me?”
“To Mathers, yes,” she said. “He’s as bad as you are. Not to Nubbs.”
Then she went.
Well, there it stood. When I told them Mathers seemed to think I needn’t
have dragged him in, and Nubbs got clean above himself with hope, not
seeing that he was really just as much out of it as us. Of course we
chucked Steggles for good and all then, and told him what we thought of
him. That was when he said something about only the brave deserving the
fair, and Mathers made him sit down in a puddle for cheeking him in the
playground. Steggles’s eyes looked like one of his own devils while he
sat there, but he took it jolly quietly at the time. That got Nubby’s
wool off though, because he supported Steggles, and things were, in
fact, rather difficult all round till the day of the Buckland Grammar
School match. Buckland was two miles from Merivale, and most of the team
went by train; but Mathers and I, the day being fine, decided to walk;
and at the last moment Nubbs asked if he might come with Steggles.
Out of consideration for Nubby we agreed, and the four of us started on
a fine bright afternoon just after dinner. Mathers and I had our
football things on, of course; Nubbs was dressed in his usual style, and
Steggles, who used to get himself up tremendously on half-holidays, wore
yellow spats over his boots, and a sort of white thing under his
waistcoat, and gloves. We had rather more than half an hour’s walk
before us, and hardly were we out of sight of Merivale when Steggles
pulled out his pipe and lighted it.