"Ah," said he, "I thought you'd get potted."
"I think it's a shame," said I.
"Look-out, I say," exclaimed Flanagan, skipping away as if he'd been
shot, and resuming his wash at the other basin.
Presently he came back on tip-toe, and whispered, "Why can't you talk
lower, you young muff?"
"Surely she can't hear, here up stairs?"
"Can't she? That's all you know! She hears every word you say all over
the place, I tell you."
I went on "hard all" at the nail-brush for a minute or so in much
perplexity.
"Keep what you've got to say till you get outside. Thank goodness,
she's rheumatic or something, and we can open our mouths there. I say,"
added he, looking critically at my hands, "you'd better give those nails
of yours a cut, or you'll get potted again."
I was grateful for this hint, and felt in my pocket for my knife. In
doing so I encountered the box of sweets Mrs Hudson had left in my hand
yesterday, and which, amid other distractions, I had positively
forgotten. "Oh, look here," said I, producing the box, delighted to be
able to do a good turn to my friendly schoolfellow. "Have some of
these, will you?"
Flanagan's face, instead of breaking out into grateful smiles, as I
anticipated, assumed a sudden scowl, and at the same moment Miss
Henniker entered the dormitory!
Quick as thought I plunged the box back into my pocket, and looked as
unconcerned as it was possible to do under the trying circumstances.
"Flanagan and Batchelor, a bad mark each for talking," said the now
painfully familiar voice. "What have you there, Batchelor?" added she,
holding out her hand. "Something Mrs Hudson gave me," I replied.
"I wish to see it."
I was prepared to resist. I could stand a good deal, but sheer robbery
was a thing I never fancied. However, a knowing look on Flanagan's face
warned me to submit, and I produced the box.
The lady took it and opened it. Then closing it, she put it in her own
pocket, saying--
"This is confiscated till the end of the term. Flanagan and Batchelor,
`Show nails.'"
We did show nails. Mine still needed some trimming before they were
satisfactory, and then I was bidden descend to the parlour for prayers.
Prayers at Stonebridge House consisted of a few sentences somewhat
quickly uttered by Mr Ladislaw, who put in an appearance for the
occasion, followed by a loud "Amen" from Miss Henniker, and in almost
the same breath, on this occasion, the award of a bad mark to Philpot
for having opened his eyes twice during the ceremony.
After this we partook of a silent breakfast, and adjourned for study.
Miss Henniker dogged us wherever we went and whatever we did. She sat
and glared at us all breakfast time; she sat and glared at us while Mr
Ladislaw, or Mr Hashford, the usher, were drilling Latin grammar and
arithmetic into us. She sat and glared while we ate our dinner, and she
stood and glared when after school we assembled in the boot-room and
prepared to escape to the playground. Even there, if we ventured to
lift our voices too near the house, a bad mark was shot at us from a
window, and if an unlucky ball should come within range of her claws it
was almost certainly "confiscated."
I don't suppose Stonebridge House, except for Miss Henniker, was much
worse than most schools for "backward and troublesome boys." We were
fairly well fed, and fairly well taught, and fairly well quartered. I
even think we might have enjoyed ourselves now and then, had we been
left to ourselves. But we never _were_ left to ourselves. From morning
to night, and, for all we could tell, from night till morning, we were
looked after by the lady housekeeper, and that one fact made Stonebridge
House almost intolerable.
We were lounging about in the so-called "playground" that afternoon, and
I was beginning to discover a little more about some of my new
schoolfellows, when there appeared walking towards us down the gravel
path a boy about my own age.
He was slender and delicate-looking, I remember, and his pale face
contrasted strangely with his almost black clustering hair and his dark
big eyes. He wasn't a handsome boy, I remember thinking; but there was
something striking about him, for all that. It may have been his solemn
expression, or his square jaw, or his eyes, or his brow, or his hair, or
the whole of them put together. All I know is, that the sight of him as
he appeared that afternoon walking towards us in the playground, has
lived in my memory ever since, and will probably live there till I die.
"Here comes the new boy," said Philpot. Of course we all knew it must
be he.
"And a queer fish, too, by all appearances," responded Flanagan.
"Very queer indeed," said Hawkesbury. Hawkesbury was one of the two
"backwards,"--but for all that he was the cleverest boy, so the others
told me, in the whole school.
"He doesn't seem very bashful," said another.
Nor indeed did he. He sauntered slowly down the path, looking solemnly
now on one side, now on the other, and now at us all, until presently he
stood in our midst, and gazed half inquiringly, half doubtfully, from
one to the other.
I know I felt a good deal more uncomfortable than he did himself, and
was quite glad when Flanagan broke the solemn silence.
"Hullo, youngster, who are you, eh?"
"Smith," laconically replied the new boy, looking his questioner in the
face.
There was nothing impudent in the way he spoke or looked; but somehow or
other his tone didn't seem quite as humble and abject as old boys are
wont to expect from new. Flanagan's next inquiry therefore was a little
more roughly uttered.
"What's your Christian name, you young donkey? You don't suppose you're
the only Smith in the world, do you?"
We laughed at this. It wasn't half bad for Flanagan.
The new boy, however, remained quite solemn as he replied, briefly,
"John Smith."
"And where do you come from?" said Philpot, taking up the questioning,
and determining to get more out of the new-comer than Flanagan had; "and
who's your father, do you hear? and how many sisters have you got? and
why are you sent here? and are you a backward or a troublesome, eh?"
The new boy gazed in grave bewilderment at the questioner during this
speech. When it was ended, he quietly proceeded to move off to another
part of the playground without vouchsafing any reply.
But Philpot, who was on his mettle, prevented this manoeuvre by a sudden
and dexterous grip of the arm, and drew him back into the circle.
"Do you hear what I say to you?" said he, roughly, emphasising his
question with a shake. "What on earth do you mean by going off without
answering?"
"It's no business of yours, is it?" said the new boy, mildly.
"Yes," exclaimed Philpot, "it is. You don't suppose we fellows are
going to be humbugged by a young sneak like you, do you?"
"I sha'n't tell you, then!" quietly replied Smith.
This astounding reply, quietly as it was uttered, quite took away
Philpot's breath, and the breath of all of us. We were so astonished,
indeed, that for some time no one could utter a word or make up his mind
what to do next.
Then gradually it dawned on the company generally that this defiant,
stuck-up youngster must immediately be put down.
"Come here!" said Philpot, as majestically as he could.
Smith remained where he was, as solemn as ever. But I, who stood near,
could detect a queer light in his black eyes that looked rather ominous.
When one fellow, in the presence of an admiring audience, grandly orders
a junior to "Come here!" and when that junior coolly declines to move,
it is a very critical situation both for the boy who orders and the boy
who disobeys. For the one, unless he follows up his brag, will pretty
certainly be laughed at; and the other, unless he shows the white
feather and runs away, will generally come in for a little rough usage.
This seemed likely to happen now. As Smith would not come to Philpot
for a thrashing, Philpot must go to Smith and thrash him where he stood.
And so doubtless he would have done, had not Mr Hashford appeared at
that very moment on the gravel walk and summoned us in to preparation.
This interruption was most unsatisfactory. Those who wanted to see what
the new boy was made of were disappointed, and those whose dignity
wanted putting to-rights were still more disappointed.
But there was no helping it. We trailed slowly indoors, Philpot vowing
he would be quits with the young cub some day, and Hawkesbury, in his
usual smiling way, suggesting that "the new boy didn't seem a very nice
boy."
"I know what _I_ should do," said Flanagan, "if I--"
"A bad mark to Flanagan for not coming in quietly," said the voice of
Miss Henniker; and at the sound the spirit went out from us, and we
remembered we were once more in Stonebridge House.
"Preparation" was a dreadful time. I knew perfectly well, though I
could not see her, that Miss Henniker's eyes were upon me all the time.
I could feel them on the back of my head and the small of my back. You
never saw such an abject spectacle as we nine spiritless youths appeared
bending over our books, hardly daring to turn over a leaf or dip a pen,
for fear of hearing that hateful voice. I could not help, however,
turning my eyes to where the new boy sat, to see how he was faring. He,
too, seemed infected with the depressing air of the place, and was
furtively looking round among his new schoolfellows. I felt half
fascinated by his black eyes, and when presently they turned and met
mine, I almost thought I liked the new boy. My face must somehow have
expressed what was passing through my mind, for as our eyes met there
was a very faint smile on his lips, which I could not help returning.
"Batchelor and Smith, a bad mark each for inattention. That makes four
bad marks to Batchelor in one day. No playground for half a week!"
Cheerful! I was getting used to the lady by this time, and remember
sitting for the rest of the time calculating that if I got four bad
marks every day of the week, that would be twenty-eight a week, or a
hundred and twelve a month; and that if four bad marks deprived me of
half a week's playground, one month's bad marks would involve an absence
of precisely fourteen weeks from that peaceful retreat; whereat I bit my
pen, and marvelled inwardly.
The dreary day seemed as if it would never come to an end. My spirits
sank when, after "preparation," we were ordered up stairs to tea. How
_could_ one enjoy tea poured out by Miss Henniker? Some people call it
the "cup that cheers." Let them take tea one afternoon at Stonebridge
House, and they will soon be cured of that notion! I got another bad
mark during the meal for scooping up the sugar at the bottom of my cup
with my spoon.
"Surely," thought I, "they'll let us read or play, or do as we like,
after tea for a bit?"
Vain hope! The meal ended, we again went down to our desks, where
sheets of paper were distributed to each, and we were ordered to "write
home"! Write home under Miss Henniker's eye! That was worse than
anything!
I began, however, as best I could. Of course, my letter was to Mrs
Hudson. Where she was, was the only home I knew. I was pretty certain,
of course, the letter would be looked over, but for all that I tried not
to let the fact make any difference, and, as I warmed up to my task, I
found my whole soul going out into my letter. I forgot all about its
contents being perused, and was actually betrayed into shedding a few
tears at the thought of my dear absent protectress.
"I wish I was back with you," I wrote. "It's _miserable_ here. The
sweets you gave me have been stolen by that horrid old--"
At this interesting juncture I was conscious of somebody standing behind
me and looking over my shoulder. It was Miss Henniker!
"Give me that," she said.
I snatched the letter up and tore it into pieces. I could stand a good
deal, as I have said, but even a boy of twelve must draw the line
somewhere.
Miss Henniker stood motionless as I destroyed my letter, and then said,
in icy tones--
"Follow me, Batchelor."
I rose meekly, and followed her--I cared not if it was to the gallows!
She led me to her parlour, and ordered me to stand in the corner. Then
she rang her bell.
"Tell Mr Ladislaw I should like to see him," said she to the servant.
In due time Mr Ladislaw appeared, and the case for the prosecution
forthwith opened. My misdemeanours for the entire day were narrated,
culminating with this last heinous offence.
"Batchelor," said Miss Henniker, "repeat to Mr Ladislaw word for word
what you were writing when I came to you."
I know not what spirit of meekness came over me. I did as I was told,
and repeated the sentence verbatim down to the words, "The sweets you
gave me have been stolen by that horrid old--"
"Old what?" said Mr Ladislaw.
"Old what?" said Miss Henniker, I hesitated.
"Come, now, say what you were going to write," demanded Mr Ladislaw.
"Old what, Batchelor?" reiterated the Henniker, keeping her eyes on me.