I had half hoped Tempest would be down at the station to meet me. But
he was not: and I had to consider on the spur of the moment how to make
my entry into Low Heath.
Either I might walk, as I noticed a good many of the fellows who got out
of the train did, or I might charter a private fly, as a few of the
swells did, or I might go up in one of the school omnibuses, which was
evidently the popular mood of transportation. I was so earnestly
desirous to do the correct thing, that I was nearly doing nothing at
all, and finally found myself standing almost alone on the platform with
the last omnibus ready to start.
Surely they might make some arrangement, thought I, for meeting
exhibitioners and taking them up. How did I know this omnibus was not a
town-boys' vehicle, or one dedicated to the service of the inferior
boys? Perhaps it would be better--
"Right away, Jimmy; off you go!" called one of the youths on the
knifeboard, whom I recognised as my late travelling companion.
At this point I decided I would risk it, and go up by omnibus after all.
"Wait!" I called. "I'm coming too."
"Fire away, Jimmy. Cut along!" shouted the youth. They could not have
heard me, surely. The omnibus was actually moving!
"Hi!" called I, beginning to follow, bag in hand; "wait for me."
"Lamm it on, Jimmy," was the delighted cry from the knifeboard, as a
score of heads craned over to witness the chase. The spectacle of an
ordinary youth giving chase to an omnibus crowded with roystering
schoolboys is probably amusing enough; but when that youth has his white
collar outside the collar of his great-coat, and wears brilliant tan
boots and a flat-topped billycock, it appears, at least so it seemed to
me, to be exceedingly funny for the people on the omnibus.
"Put it on," called one or two, encouragingly; "you're gaining!"
"Forge ahead, Jimmy; here comes the bogey man!" cried another.
"Whip behind!" suggested a third.
"Anybody got a copper for the poor beggar?" asked a fourth.
By a desperate effort, at last I succeeded in coming up with the runaway
omnibus, when to my disgust I discovered that it was one of those
forbidding vehicles of which the step disappears when the door is
closed. So that I had nothing to hold on to, still less to climb on to;
and to continue to run with my nose at the door, like a well-trained
carriage dog, suited neither my wind nor my dignity.
So I gave up the chase and dropped behind, covered with dust and
perspiration, amid frantic cheers from the knifeboard and broad grins
from the passengers on the pavement.
In such manner, I, an exhibitioner and a living exponent of the latest
"form," entered Low Heath! I was almost more grieved for the school
than for myself. Those fellows on the omnibus evidently didn't know who
I was. To-morrow, when they found out, and saw me arm-in-arm with
Tempest, they would be sorry for what they had done.
I confess that, as I walked up the steep street, and caught sight at
last of the chimneys of the school peeping up over the trees, I half
wished myself back at home with my mother. I hadn't expected to feel so
lonely. I had indeed looked forward to a little pardonable triumph in
being recognised at once as the fellow who had taken the entrance
exhibition, and who evidently knew what was what. Of course it was
foolish, I told myself, to expect such a thing. Fellows could hardly be
expected to know who I was until they were told. Still it was a
little--just a little--disappointing, and I could not help feeling hurt.
I tramped on, till presently I came to the bridge, and loitered for a
moment to rest and watch the boats flitting about below. There went a
four, smartly manned by youngsters no older than myself. There lolled a
big fellow in a canoe. There swished by a senior in a skiff, calling on
the four-oar to get out of the way as he passed. There, too, stood a
master in flannels, with the Oxford Blue on his straw, talking to a
group of boys. I wish I could have overheard what they were saying.
Perhaps they were discussing the merits of some of the new boys.
I strolled on, passing on the way inquisitive stragglers who stared hard
at me, till I came to where the road skirts the cricket field. Here, at
a broken paling, I stood a moment and glanced in. Fellows were bowling
and batting at the nets, others were strolling arm-in-arm up and down,
hailing new arrivals; others were enjoying a little horseplay; others
were critically examining the last season's pitch; others, impatient of
the seasons, were punting about a brand-new football.
How out of it I was! and yet how sure I felt that if some of those
fellows only guessed who was on the other side of the palings they would
feel interested!
I strolled on farther, and began now to pass the outbuildings. There
was a lecture room, empty at present. Should I be there to-morrow? I
wondered, answering to my name and seeing fellows open their eyes as
they heard it.
There was the gymnasium, I supposed--the place presided over by the
drill master whom Tempest so much detested. I meant to back Tempest up
in that feud.
Ah, there was the Lion Gate, standing open to receive me. Little I had
expected, when once before I entered it on my way to examination, that I
should so soon be coming back, so to speak, in triumph like this.
It took some little self-persuasion, I must confess, to feel that it
really was a triumph. I did think Tempest might have been on the look-
out for me. I did not know where to go, or of whom to inquire my way.
The boys I met either took no notice of me at all, or else stared so
rudely at my hat and boots that I could not bring myself to accost them.
At length I was beginning to think I had better march boldly to the
first master's house I came to, when, as luck would have it, I stumbled
up against my old travelling companion, who, having safely arrived a
quarter of an hour before, was now prowling about on the look-out for
old acquaintances.
"Please," said I, "would you mind telling me the way to Mr Sharpe's
house?"
"Are you a Sharper then?" he inquired. "My word! what are we coming to?
Why didn't you come up by the 'bus?"
"I tried to," said I; "you wouldn't stop."
"Jim's horses were a bit shy," said he, with a grin. "They can't be
held in when they see a moke. You should have got in quietly, without
their spotting you."
I didn't like this fellow. He appeared to me to think he was funny when
he was not.
"Do you know if Tempest has come?" said I, hoping to impress him a
little.
"Who?"
"Tempest--Harry Tempest. He's at Sharpe's too."
"What sort of looking chap is he?" demanded the youth, who, I suspected,
could have told me without any detailed description.
"He's one of the seniors," said I; "he was in the reserve for the Eleven
last term."
"Oh, that lout? I hope you aren't a pal of his. That would about
finish you up. If you want him, you'd better go and look for him. I
don't know whether every snob in the place has come up or not."
And he departed in chase of a friend whom he had just sighted.
This was depressing. Not that I believed what he said about Tempest.
But I had hoped that my acquaintance with my old schoolmate would
redound to my own dignity, whereas it seemed to do nothing of the kind.
Presently I encountered a very small boy, of chirpy aspect, whom I
thought I might safely accost.
"I say," said I, "which is Mr Sharpe's house?"
"Over there," said he, pointing to an ivy-covered house at some little
distance higher up the street. Then, regarding me attentively, he
added, "I say, you'll get in a jolly row if he sees you in that get-up."
"Oh," said I, feeling that the youngster was entitled to an explanation,
"I'm an exhibitioner."
"A who? All I know is he's down on chaps playing the fool. You'd
better cut in on the quiet before they bowl you out in that thing," said
he, pointing to my hat.
That thing! True, I had not observed many hats like it, so far, at Low
Heath; but that was probably because I had not encountered any other
fellow-exhibitioner. Tempest knew more about the form than this kid.
"Thanks," said I. "Mr Sharpe will know who I am."
"Oh, all right," said he; "don't say I didn't tell you, that's all."
"I say," said I, feeling that enough had been said on a matter on which
we evidently misunderstood each other, "do you know Tempest?"
"Rather. He's in our house. You'll get it pretty hot from him if you
cheek him."
"Oh, I know him well; he's an old chum."
The boy laughed incredulously.
"He'd thank you if he heard you say so. Oh my! fancy Tempest-- Hullo, I
say, there he is. Cut away, kid, before he sees you." And the youth
set me a prompt example.
I was sorry he had not remained to witness the fact that I was not quite
the outsider he took me for.
Tempest was strolling across the road, arm-in-arm with a friend. He
certainly was not got up in the "form" which he had prescribed for me.
He wore a straw hat on the back of his head, and boots of unmistakable
blackness. But then, though an exhibitioner himself once, he had now
attained to the dignity of a senior, and was probably exempt from the
laws binding on new boys.
As he approached I crossed the road to meet him, full of joy at the
prospect of encountering at least one friend, and marching under his
protection into my new quarters. But I was doomed to a slight
disappointment. For though for a moment, when he looked up, I fancied
he recognised me, he did not discontinue his conversation with his
friend, but drew him out into the middle of the road. They seemed to be
enjoying a joke between them. His companion looked round once or twice
at me, but Tempest, who was looking quite flushed, apparently did not
take me in, and walked on, looking the other way.
It was a little shock to me, or would have been had I not remembered his
friendly warning about the etiquette of a junior not accosting a senior
till the senior accosted him. I wished he had spoken to me, for just
then his help would have been particularly patronising. As it was, I
was tantalised by seeing him pass by close to me, and yet being unable,
without "shirking form" in a reprehensible way, to bring myself to his
notice.
In due time I reached Mr Sharpe's house. To my dismay the door stood
wide open, and the hall was crowded with fellows claiming their luggage
as it was being deposited by the railway van. As I arrived there was an
ominous silence, in the midst of which I stood on the step, and
carefully rung the bell marked, not "servants," but "visitors." No one
came, so after a due interval, and amid the smiles of the onlookers, I
mustered up resolution to ring again, rather louder. This time I had
not to wait long. A person dressed as a sort of butler, very red in the
face, emerged from a green baize door at the end of the passage and
advanced wrathfully.
"Which of you young gents keeps ringing the bell?" demanded he. "He's
to be made an example of this time. Oh, it was you, was it?" said he,
catching sight of me.
"Yes," said I. "Is Mr Sharpe at home?"
"At home?" demanded the official, redder in the face than ever. "You
seem to be pretty much at home." Then, apparently struck by my
appearance, he pulled himself up and honoured me with a long stare in
which all the assembled boys joined.
"Who is it?"
"One of the porters from the station, I should say, from the looks of
him," suggested a boy.
"Whoever it is, don't you ring that visitors' bell--do you hear?" said
the man-servant. "If you want anything, go round to the side door and
don't interfere with the young gentlemen."
"But I'm a new boy," said I. "I'm--I'm an exhibitioner;" at which there
was a great roar of laughter, which even my self-satisfaction could
hardly construe into jubilation.
I began to have a horrible suspicion that I had committed some great
_faux pas_ by ringing the visitors' bell, and blushed consciously, to
the increased amusement of my fellow "Sharpers."
"Can I see Mr Sharpe?" I inquired, thinking it best to take the bull
by the horns.
"Can't you wait?" said the servant. "Do you suppose the master has
nothing to do but run out and see--wild Indians?" Here followed another
laugh at my expense. "He'll see you quite soon enough."
Here a shove from behind precipitated me into the bosom of the speaker,
who returned me with thanks, and before I could apologise, into the
hands of the sender. Thence I found myself passed on by a side impetus
to a knot of juveniles, who, not requiring my presence, passed me on to
a senior standing by, who shot me back to a friend, who sent me forward
among the boxes into the arms of the matron, who indignantly hustled me
up the passage, where finally I pulled up short in the grasp of a
gentleman who at that moment emerged from the green baize door.
In the confusion I had lost both my hat and my presence of mind. I was
far too confused to observe who the new-comer was, and far too indignant
to care. All that I called to my mind as I reeled into his clutches was
Tempest's directions about kicking back, which accordingly I proceeded
to do, with all the vigour of which my new tan boots were capable.
Mr Sharpe suffered this assault meekly for a second or two, then he
held me out stiffly at arm's length, like a puppy in a fit, and
demanded,--
"What do you mean, sir, by behaving like this?"
I was bound to admit that it was a natural inquiry from a person whose
shins had been considerably barked by my new boots. I felt as if I owed
Mr Sharpe an apology.
"Please," said I, "I didn't mean to do it. The boys shoved me, and I
didn't know where I was going, really, sir."
Mr Sharpe seemed inclined to believe me. He was a florid-looking,
spectacled young man, with sandy whiskers, and a grip--oh that grip!--
that could have lifted me easily over the Lion Gate.
"Boys," said he, "let us have none of this nonsense, or I must set a
house theme. Is Mrs Smiley here?"
Mrs Smiley, looking anything but the "moral" of her name, appeared in
due course.
"Mrs Smiley, will you please take charge of this new boy and keep him
out of trouble? Run away with Mrs Smiley, my little man; and you,
boys, as soon as you have claimed your boxes, clear out till register
bell."
What I did my ears deceive me? Was I, an exhibitioner, a scholar who
had come up to Low Heath in all the _eclat_ of the latest "form," the
friend of Tempest, the fellow who had made things too hot for himself at
Dangerfield--was I, I say, to be handed over to a sort of washer-womanly
person to be kept out of mischief, and called "my little man" in the
presence of the whole house? Was this my triumphant entry then?
No sooner had Mr Sharpe retired, than greetings of "My little man,"
"Spiteful Sarah," "Run along with his Smiley, then," beset me on all
sides. I would fain have explained and corrected any wrong impression,
but they only laughed when I tried; finally, when Mrs Smiley grabbed at
my hand and walked me off the scene like a baby, my humiliation was
complete.
Mrs Smiley, who was far too busy with the young gentlemen's luggage to
relish the extra duty put upon her by Mr Sharpe, had a very summary way
of dealing with cases of my kind.
"Sit down there, and don't move till you're told," said she, pointing to
a little three-legged stool in a corner in the box-room.
"But--" began I.
"Hold your tongue; how dare you speak to me?" she retorted.
"I only--"
"Stand in the corner, with your hands behind you, for disobedience,"
said she.
This was getting serious. The little three-legged stool would not have
been exactly luxurious; but to be stood in the corner with my hands
behind me by a person of the feminine gender called Smiley, was really
too bad. The worst of it was that if I made any further protest I might
be smacked in addition, and that possibility I hardly dared risk.
So, rather to my own surprise, I found myself standing in the corner,
with my hands at my back, scrutinising a blue and pink rose on the wall-
paper, and wondering whether it would not be worth my while to write to
the _Times_ about the whole business. I could not help thinking that
Mrs Smiley did not hurry herself on my account. I was conscious of box
after box being dragged to the front, emptied of its contents and put
back, to be removed presently by a porter, who probably looked at me
every time he came in, but, I am bound to say, received very little
encouragement from my studiously averted head.
After nearly an hour I began to get tired, and the blood of the Joneses
began to rise within me. I was seriously meditating mutiny, or at least
a definite explanation with Mrs Smiley, when at last she broke silence.
"Now, young gentleman, this way, please."
And she led me to a small comfortable-looking apartment, which I
surmised to be her particular sanctum.
"What's your name?"
"Jones," said I.
"Ah--you're the boy who's brought down a rubbishy speckled waistcoat and
loud striped shirts--eh?"
"Well, yes," said I.
"Did your mother buy them for you, or did you buy them?"
"I did."
"I can see your mother's a lady by the way she has everything else done.
You'll find your own trash just where you put it, in the bottom of your
trunk. You will not be allowed to wear it. We expect our boys to dress
like young gentlemen, whether they are such or not. What's that in your
hand, Jones?"
"My hat," said I, hoping I was coming in for a little credit at last.
"Hat!" Here she was rude enough to laugh. "What made you bring a thing
like that here for a hat?"
"But," said I, "I'm an exhibitioner."
"All the more shame on you not dressing like a gentleman. Look at those
boots; I am sure your mother did not buy them for you. Take them off at
once, sir--and put on your proper ones."
"Aren't they--isn't it the thing, the form, you know, for--"
"Form! Fiddlesticks. The thing at Low Heath is to behave and dress
like gentlemen, not like vulgar, public-house potmen," said she, with an
access of indignation which surprised me. "To think that you, with a
nice mother like yours, should come up here a fright like that! There,
put the shoes and hat in the trunk with the speckled waistcoat and
shirts, and get yourself up decently, and then I'll speak to you."
I was under the impression she _had_ spoken to me--pretty strongly too.
This, then, was the end of my elaborately prepared toilet!
A horrid suspicion began to come over me at last, not only that Tempest
had been having a little joke at my expense, but that I had lent myself
to it with an alacrity and eagerness which had almost--nay, very nearly
wholly--been ridiculous.
What does the reader think?
My further conversation with good Mrs Smiley, after I had, to use her
own expression, made myself decent, only tended to confirm the painful
impression. I even went to the length of adding, of my own accord, my
six-button lavender gloves to the pile of sacrificed finery which
strewed the bottom of my trunk. And when in due time a bell rang, and
Mrs Smiley said, "There now, go down to call-over, and don't be a silly
any more," I obeyed with a meekness and diffidence of which I could
hardly have believed myself capable, had I not been quite sure of the
fact.