"That's singular," said she; "it's far simpler than those you brought
with you to-day. How long did it take you to do them?"
I looked hard at Miss Steele, and she looked hard at me. The pirate
game was up at last.
"About two minutes each," said I.
"_Two_ minutes?"
"Yes--as fast as I could copy them out of the crib. I'm sorry, Miss
Steele."
She shut up her book abruptly.
"I didn't expect it of you, Jones," said she; "you've been making a fool
of me. I've lost confidence in you; now you can go."
"Oh, I say. Miss Steele, I'm so awfully--"
"Be quiet, sir, and go!" said she, more fiercely than I had ever known
her.
I took up my cap and went. She was in no humour to listen to
explanations, but it was clear I had done for myself now. After what
had happened she was not likely to give me another chance.
I did not care to tell my mother how matters stood this time. It would
be difficult to put my case in a favourable light, and I was quite sure
my mother could not help me out of my difficulty.
I solemnly burned my crib that night in the parlour fire, after every
one was in bed. It took ages to consume, and nearly set the chimney on
fire in the operation. But when that was done I was as far off a
solution of my difficulty as ever.
I hardly slept a wink, and in the morning my mother added to my
discomfort by remarking on my looks.
"You're working too hard, dear boy," said she. "I must ask Miss Steele
to give you a little holiday, or you'll be quite knocked up."
"Please don't," said I. "I'm all right."
Here the postman's knock caused a diversion.
"A letter for you, Tommy," said my mother.
It was from Tempest, of all people--the first he had condescended to
write me since we had parted company in Plummer's hall nearly a year
ago.
It was a rambling, patronising effusion, in his usual style; but every
word of it, in my present plight, had a sting for me.
"It's a pity you're not here," wrote he; "it's a ripping place.
Everything about the place is ripping except the drilling master and the
dumplings on Mondays, which are both as vile as vile can be. I'm in the
upper fifth, and shall probably get my ribbon and perhaps my house after
summer. Plummer's was regular tomfooling to this. We've a match on
with Rugby this term, and I'm on the reserve for the Eleven. I suppose
you know young Brown is coming here; though I'm sorry to say as a day
boy. His people are going to live in the town, so he'll be able to come
on the cheap. I shall do what I can for him, but I expect he'll have a
hot time, for the day boys are rather small beer. The exhibitioners
have the best time of it. If Brown could get a junior exhibition and
live in school, he could fag for me and have a jolly time. But poor
Dicky hasn't got it in him. I got rather lammed after I got home from
Plummer's; but it was all right when Plummer wrote to say that a burglar
had shot the dog, and he was sorry there had been a mistake, and hoped
I'd go back. Catch me! It's better fun here--as much cricket as you
like, and a river, and gymnasium, and all sorts of sprees. It wouldn't
be half bad if you were here, kid; but I suppose you're a young gent
with a topper and a bag at your guardian's office. I hope it suits
you--wouldn't me--" and so on.
How this letter made me long to be at Low Heath, and how it made me
realise what an ass I had been to go in for that crib! I really felt
too bad to go that day to Miss Steele, even if she would have let me!
and wandered about cudgelling my brains how on earth I could get her to
take me back again.
She wouldn't believe my protestations, I knew; but she might believe
deeds, not words.
So I shut myself up in my room and took down my arithmetic, and worked
out sum after sum all off my own bat, till my brain reeled and I could
hardly distinguish one figure from another. Some I knew were wrong,
others I hoped were right; all were _bona fide_. I stuck to it till
nearly midnight, and then, merely writing my name on the top, put them
into an envelope, under the flap of which I wrote, "I've burnt the crib.
Try me this once," and posted them to my offended teacher.
No answer came for twenty-four hours, which I spent on pins and needles,
working away frantically during my leisure hours, and occupying part of
my business time in personally avenging an insult offered to Miss
Steele's name by one of my guardian's junior clerks. I wished she could
have seen me. I got a terrible blow on the eye, but I gave him two, and
caused him to regret audibly that he had spoken disparagingly of my
cruel fair.
Next morning a note came to my mother.
"Please tell your boy I shall be in this afternoon."
In fear and trembling I presented myself, and confronted not Miss Steele
but Miss Bousfield, who addressed me in terse and forcible language, and
gave me to understand that I was a person of extremely second-rate
character and attainments. I acknowledged it, but hoped for an
opportunity of improving her impressions.
"I shall leave it to Miss Steele to do as she thinks best," said the
head mistress. "I am sorry indeed her time has been wasted over a
worthless pupil. You had better wait till she comes."
I waited grimly, like a culprit for the jury. When she came in and saw,
as I suppose, my woebegone face, I read hope in her manner.
"I got your note, Jones," said she.
"Oh! I say, Miss Steele, I'm really frightfully sorry. I know it was a
caddish thing to do, especially when you had been so kind. Look here, I
did all those sums myself, without help; and here's another batch I've
done since; and--and--" (here I resolved to play a trump card) "and I
got this black eye sticking up for you."
That settled it. She smiled once more and said, "Well, Jones, I'll say
no more about it this once. I had made up my mind it was no use our
going on together; but I'll try, if you will."
"Try--I'll kill myself working," said I, "to make up."
"That wouldn't do much good," said she; "but I'll try to forget all this
ever happened, and we'll go on just where we left off."
"That was page 72," said I eagerly; "and, I say, Miss Steele, you
remember my telling you about Tempest, and Dicky Brown, you know;
well--"
"Is that on page 72, or is it something which we can talk about when
work is done?"
So I got my chance once again, and this time I stuck to it.
The nearer the time came, the more desperately we worked. Sometimes
Miss Steele had positively to hunt me out for a walk, or, if I would not
go alone, to drag me along with her to some place where, regardless of
our possible detection by Evans and his friends, we could combine fresh
air and education.
The fatal day came at last when I had to go off to my ordeal. I was
obliged at the last moment to disclose my well-kept secret to my mother
and my guardian. The former fell on my neck, the latter grunted
incredulously and embarrassed me by presenting me with a five-shilling
piece.
Miss Steele came down to see me off at the station. "Keep cool," said
she; "sit where you can see the clock, and don't try to answer two
questions at once."
Never did tyro get better advice!
I was too excited to heed much of the big stately building I was so
eager some day to claim as my own school. It was holiday time, and only
a little band of combatants like myself huddled into one corner of the
big hall, and gazed up in an awestruck way at the portrait of the
Jacobean knight to whom Low Heath owed its foundation.
To me it was all like a dream. I woke to discover a paper on the desk
before me; a paper bristling with questions, each of them challenging me
to get into the school if I could. Then I remember dashing my pen into
the ink and beginning to write.
"Keep cool. Keep your eye on the clock. Try one question at a time,"
echoed a voice in my ear.
How lonely I felt there all by myself! How I wished I could turn and
see _her_ at my side!
The clock crawled round from eleven to three, and I went on writing.
Then I remember a hand coming along the desk and taking the papers out
of my sight. Then a bewildered train journey home, and a hundred
questions at the other end.
I went on dreaming for a week, conscious sometimes of my mother's face,
sometimes of Miss Steele's, sometimes of Mr Evans's. But what I did
with myself in the interval I should be sorry to be called upon to tell.
At last, one morning, I woke with a vengeance, as I held in my hand a
paper on which were printed a score or so of names, third among which I
made out the words--
"Jones, T.--(Miss M. Steele, High School, Fallowfield): Exhibition,
£40."
So I was a Low Heathen at last!