My introduction to Low Heath at large next day turned out to be a far
less formidable affair than I had anticipated. I had long since given
up the notion that the whole school would rise at my appearance and
salute me. I had even ceased to expect that they would all stare and
make remarks. But I was hardly prepared for the absolute indifference
with which I was permitted to answer to my name at "Great register."
Not a soul took any notice of me, even when Dr England explained to me
publicly that as there were already three other Joneses in the School, I
would please answer in future to the title of Jones iv., which I humbly
promised to do. Brown, I was not sorry to hear, was to be designated as
Brown iii. for similar reasons.
The ceremony being over, the new boys were trooped up to the head
master's library, and there told off to their respective forms with a
few words of warning and encouragement. It surprised me that, in spite
of my scholastic honours, I was entered in the same form as Brown. But
on the whole I was more pleased than disappointed, for I loved my old
comrade dearly, and after all, if he _was_ placed above his merits, it
wasn't his fault.
"It's a pity you aren't a day boy," said he, as he walked across
afterwards; "we could have larks together."
"It's a pity you aren't in the school," said I.
"Oh, our chaps say it's rather stale to be in the school. I don't see
why your fellows should be looked down on, but they are."
"Pooh! you should hear our chaps talk about the day boys. Do you know,
Dicky, I'm president of a club, a Philosophical Club; and day boys
aren't eligible. I'm awfully sorry; I should have liked to have you
in."
"That's just what I thought about the Urbans. They don't let in any
fellow who's in the school--only day boys--they're obliged to draw the
line somewhere, you know. Do you know Redwood, the captain, is a senior
Urban?"
"I know. Our chaps say it's a soak for the school having a day boy for
captain."
"Oh! _We_ don't think so! I say, do you see that chap there?"
The youth at whom he pointed was the friendly senior of whom I had
inquired the way to bed last night.
"Rather; he's a Sharper. Why, and what about him?"
"He's a hot man, they say, and the most popular chap at Low Heath. He's
captain of the Rifles."
"What's his name? Do you know?"
"Crofts, or Crofter, or something like that. What's up?"
He might well ask!
"Crofter!" exclaimed I. "My word, Dicky, I've been and done it!"
"Done what?"
"Why, I called him a beast yesterday."
"You did? You're getting on, Jones iv."
"No, without humbug, I did. I didn't know it was Crofter, and I told
him Tempest thought he was a beast."
"If Tempest says so, he probably is," remarked the unemotional Dicky.
"But what's to become of me? How was I to know?"
"I don't know. Perhaps you'd better go and tell him you were mistaken."
"I don't like to. I say, what a downer he'll have on me! I half wish I
was a day boy, after all."
"It's a pity you aren't. We've a jolly lot in the Urban Minors; quite a
literary lot."
"Bother the Urban Minors!" said I, looking dismally after the retreating
form of Crofter.
"It'll take you all your time to bother some of them. There's Flitwick,
he's--"
"Hang Flitwick! Whatever am I to do, Dicky?"
"I wouldn't advise you to hang Flitwick. Oh, about that fellow Crofter!
Oh, it'll be all right. He's plenty else to think about."
It was poor comfort, but the best I could get, and our arrival at our
class room cut short further discussion on this most unfortunate
incident.
But it weighed on my mind all day. When class was over, I was summoned
by my fellow "Philosophers" to come out into the playing fields; I went
in fear and trembling, lest I should encounter Crofter. But he was
nowhere to be seen.
My companions were evidently hand and glove with most of the juniors in
the school, and I was favoured with a bewildering number of
introductions, not always of the most gratifying kind.
"What have you got there, Trim? A tame monkey?" asked one gorgeous
youth, whose cap bore the badge of Mr Selkirk's house.
"Not exactly," said Trimble; "haven't had time to tame him yet."
"What's his name?"
"Sarah. Allow me. Muskett--Sarah Jones; Jones--Silly Muskett. Now you
know one another."
"He's only fooling about my name," said I; "it's Thomas."
"Oh, is it? Delighted to see you, Sarah Thomas."
And before I could put him right he was off, and I was led away by my
rejoicing comrades.
"Look here, Trimble," said I, "it's time you knew my name by now."
Trimble laughed, as did the others. They all thought it was high time.
But everybody we met I was introduced to as Sarah.
"Awfully sorry," said Langrish, after the fourth or fifth offence.
"I've such a bad memory for names.--Well kicked, sir."
This exclamation was addressed, not to me, but to a senior who had just
appeared on the scene, and was kicking about the practice football with
a friend prior to a match which was evidently due.
It was a splendid kick, and the author of it was a splendid fellow--
brawny of limb and light of foot, with fair hair and clear blue eyes--as
one might picture one of the Norsemen of the story-books. You could see
by the way he moved, and the spirit he put even into this practice
kicking, that he was a sportsman every inch of him; and his good-natured
laugh, as he exchanged greetings with this and that arriving friend,
proclaimed him, even before you heard him speak, as good a gentleman as
he was an athlete.
"Redwood's in form to-day," said some one. "We'd better stop and see
the play."
"Is that Redwood, the captain?" inquired I, in an awestruck way, of
Warminster.
"Rather," was the reply, in a tone of pride which convinced me that Low
Heath was proud of its chief, even though he had the misfortune to be a
day boy.
Just then Redwood turned and waved his hand to somebody near us.
"Look out; he wants you," said Langrish.
"Me?" said I, flabbergasted.
"Don't you see him beckoning? Look alive, or you'll catch it."
I could hardly believe it; and yet everybody near looked round at me in
apparent wonder at my delay.
Perhaps Redwood had heard something about me from Tempest and wanted
to--
"Go on," said Trimble, giving me a shove. "If he wants to stick you in
the Fifteen, tell him it's not good enough."
"Look sharp," called the others, encouragingly, as I started to obey the
summons.
By this time Redwood was strolling our way. Mahomet, thought I, is
coming to the mountain. So, to save him trouble, I trotted up to meet
him.
At first he didn't notice me. Then when I said, "Did you want me?" he
stared me over from head to foot as a Newfoundland dog would inspect a
pug. It was on the whole a benevolent stare, not unmingled with humour;
especially when the cheers of my late comrades called his attention to
my ingenuous blushes.
"I didn't," said he; "but you'll do, if you don't mind. Cut home to my
house. Number 3, Bridge Street, and ask them to send my leather belt.
Look alive, there's a good chap."
This speech, the first really polite speech I had heard since I entered
Low Heath, took me by storm, and captivated me at once to the service of
the captain of the school. I galloped off, as proud as a non-
commissioned officer who has been sent to fetch his regimental flag on
to the field of battle. The chaps behind might cheer and jeer and cry,
"Gee-up, Sarah!" and "Mad dog!" as much as they liked. They would have
been only too proud to be sent on my errand.
It was a good ten minutes' run to Bridge Street, and I was fairly out of
breath when I rang at the bell of Number 3. It seemed a long time
before any one came, and I was beginning to be afraid I should forfeit
the reputation I hoped to acquire, when hurried footsteps announced that
my ring had been heard.
Mrs Redwood was out, said the servant, and she had been down the garden
with the children.
When I delivered my message, she asked me to wait; and with her little
charges evidently on her mind, ran upstairs to fetch the belt.
It was a nice house, although a small one. The garden door was open,
and gave a beautiful peep over the little sloping lawn to the river and
the woods beyond. I was not sure that, after all, a town-boy might not
have a good time of it, living in a place like this, instead of in
school.
Suddenly my reflections were disturbed by a shrill scream from the
garden, followed by a little girl of five or six crying--
"Annie, Annie! Mamie's tumbled in; Mamie's tumbled in!"
For a wonder I had my wits about me, and divined the truth at once.
With a bound I was down the steps and across the lawn, half knocking
down the panic-stricken little messenger on the way, and at the river's
edge, floundering piteously in about two feet of water, found the
unfortunate little Mamie--evidently a twin-sister--more frightened than
hurt, but perilously near to getting into deep water.
Her yells redoubled when she found herself grabbed by the sash by a
stranger, and lugged most unceremoniously on to _terra firma_.
Scarcely had I achieved this gallant rescue, without even wetting my own
shoes, when Annie, as white as a sheet, came flying on to the scene.
"It's all right," said I; "she's not hurt."
Whereupon Annie most inconsiderately leaned up against a post, clapped
her hands to her heart, and went or threatened to go off into hysterics.
And there was I, a poor unprotected male, left to face the squalling of
two infant female children and a full-grown female nurserymaid!
"Look here," said I, appealingly, "Mamie's soaking wet. You'd better
take her and dry her, before she gets her death of cold."
This appeal had the desired effect. It stopped the nurse's spasms and
let loose her tongue.
"Oh dear, oh my! And I told her not to go through the gate. Oh, you
naughty girl you; and you. Miss Gwen, for letting her do it. Come in
directly, you little hussies!"
It struck me as grossly unfair of Annie; but I did not venture in her
present state of mind to protest, for fear she should call me hussy too.
I followed indoors, somewhat guiltily, at the tail of the procession,
feeling myself in a very unpleasant situation, in which I would not on
any account be caught by Redwood's mother or by Redwood himself. To my
delight, on the floor of the hall, where Annie had dropped it, lay the
belt, at which I sprang greedily, and not waiting to say thank you, or
put in a word for the doomed infants, which would have been quite
inaudible in the volume of Annie's philippics, I saved myself (as the
Frenchman says), and ran at racing speed with my prize back to the
school field.
To my mortification I found the match had just begun, and it would be
impossible to deliver my missive till half-time. What would the captain
think of me? Would he suspect me of having dawdled to buy sweets, or
look over the bridge, or gossip with a chum? I would not for anything
it had happened, and felt not at all amiably disposed to Miss Mamie, as
the inconsiderate cause of my delay.
However, there was nothing for it but to wait. I resolved not to put
myself into the clutches of the Philosophers till my mission was
discharged, for fear of accident; so I seated myself on one of the
pavilion steps and watched the play.
It was evidently a hot match for a scratch one. As far as I could make
out, the remnants of last season's Fifteen, amounting to eleven veterans
only, were playing the next Fifteen, who, having the best of the wind,
were giving a dangerously good account of themselves. They were acute
enough to make all the use they could of the favouring element by
keeping open order and kicking whenever they had the chance, whereas of
course the other side played a tight game, and ran with the ball. Even
for a novice like myself, it was interesting to watch a contest of this
kind. The Fifteen evidently hoped to rush the thing and carry their
goal before half-time deprived them of the wind, whereas the Eleven were
mainly concerned to keep on the defensive and risk nothing by over-
haste.
Among the veterans I could distinguish the big form of Redwood, always
close to the ball, and near him with a shudder I recognised Crofter
working hard, while hovering on the wing of the scrimmage was the genial
Pridgin, looking as if he would fain be in bed, but, when the time for
action came, making it very uncomfortable for the enemy. On the other
side I was not long in finding out Tempest, with the glow of enthusiasm
on his cheek as now and again he broke through the ruck and sent the
ball into quarters. Wales, too, was there, spick and span as usual,
playing neatly and effectively, and withal elegantly.
As time wore on it was evident the veterans were being penned closer and
closer by their antagonists. Presently a dangerous scrimmage was formed
just in front of their goal. For some minutes the ball was invisible,
then by an apparently preconcerted movement the forwards of the Fifteen
loosened and let it dart back into the open behind them, where lurked
Tempest ready to receive it. He did not wait to pick it up, but ran to
meet it with a flying kick. For a moment it seemed doubtful whether it
would clear the onward rush of Redwood and his forwards. But it did,
and rose steadily and beautifully over their heads, and with the wind
straight upon it, reached the goal and skimmed over the bar, amid the
loud shouts of every one, conspicuous among which was my shrill voice.
Half-time! Now was my chance; and before the shouting had ceased, or
the discomfited Eleven had quite realised their misfortune, I darted
into the sacred enclosure, and presented the captain with his belt.
"I'm awfully sorry I wasn't in time," said I. "You'd just begun when I
got back."
"Thanks, youngster, it's all right," said Redwood, wonderfully cheerful,
as it seemed to me; "here, take care of this for me," and he divested
himself of the belt he was wearing and donned the new one.
"You'll have the wind with you now," I ventured to observe.
"Yes," said he with a nod, "I think we shall do the trick this time,
eh?"
"Rather," said I; and departed elated, not so much to have been spared
the rebuke I expected, but to be talked to by such a hero, as if I was
not a junior at all, but a comrade.
My chums when I rejoined them were anxious to prevent my being too much
puffed up by my exploit.
"Good old Sarah Toady," cried Trimble, as I approached. "Is he coming?"
"Who? Where?" I inquired.
"I thought you were asking Redwood to tea or something."
"No, I wasn't--I only--"
"There's Jarman," cried Langrish. "Run and cadge up to him. Perhaps
he'll pat you on the back too."
Despite these taunts I could not fail to notice the depressing effect of
the new arrival on the onlookers generally. Mr Jarman, the gymnasium
master, was a ruddy, restless-looking man of about thirty-five, with
cold grey eyes, and the air of a man who knew he was unpopular, but was
resolved to do his duty nevertheless. If I had heard nothing about him
before, I should have disliked him at first glance, and instinctively
tried to avoid his eye. And yet, as he stood there, talking to Mr
Selkirk, the melancholy master of the reputedly "fast" house at Low
Heath, he did not look particularly offensive.
"Look out now; they're starting again."
There was no mistaking the veterans now. Their backs were up, and the
order had evidently gone out for no quarter to be given to the audacious
Fifteen.
Redwood's kick off all but carried the goal from the middle of the
field, and from that moment it never got out of the "thirties," as the
imaginary line between the two distance flags was called. To Crofter
belonged the honour of first wiping off scores with the enemy. And
after him Redwood dropped a goal, first from one side line, then from
the other. Pridgin, too, scored a smart run in; but, unluckily, the
kick fouled the goal post and saved the Fifteen a further disaster then.
But before time was called a fourth goal was placed to the credit of
the veterans. The vanquished fought gamely to the end. Once or twice
Tempest broke away, but for want of effective backing was repulsed. And
once a smart piece of dribbling down the touch line by Wales gave the
Eleven's half-backs an anxious moment. But that was all. The match
ended, as every one expected, in a slashing victory for the old hands,
together with a general verdict that Tempest and Wales, at any rate, had
won their laurels and were safe for two of the vacant caps.
In the stampede which followed I missed my opportunity of restoring
Redwood's property, as he vanished immediately after the game, and my
comrades would by no means allow me out of their sight. Indeed, it was
not till after evening chapel that I contrived to elude their vigilance
and start on my second run to Bridge Street.
But if I eluded them I was less fortunate with another sentinel. For at
the gates I encountered the forbidding presence of Mr Jarman.
"What are you doing here?"
"Please, sir, this is Redwood's belt, and I promised to give it to him."
"Go back. What is your name?"
"Jones, sir."
"Whose house are you in?"
"Mr Sharpe's."
"Do not let me find you out of bounds again, Jones."
And he fixed me with his eye as if to impress me with the fact that he
would certainly know me again.
"But, sir, Redwood--"
"Did you hear me, sir?"
I capitulated, cowed and indignant. I was beginning to understand what
the fellows said about Mr Jarman.
"It's all rot," said the Philosophers, when I confided my grievance to
them; "it's not out of bounds before 6:30--and if it was, it's no
business of his. It's the house master's business, or the house
captain's. If you get lagged by them, all right; but _he's_ got no
right to lag fellows, the cad."
In my present humour I was far from disputing the appellation.