I spent a bad quarter of an hour that evening before bed-time in
inditing a letter of "explanation" to Crofter. I had come to the
conclusion this would be easier and safer than a personal interview, and
that the sooner it was done the better. How to do it was another
problem. To write a letter in the raggery was out of the question. I
tried it, but failed miserably. For either my paper was twitched away
from under my pen, or some one looked over my shoulder and pretended to
read expressions of endearment which were not there, or some one got
under the table and heaved it about tempestuously to the detriment of my
handwriting, or some one drew skeleton figures of spider-legged bipeds
on the margin of the paper. Worse still, it was evident every word I
wrote would be common property, which I did not desire. I had therefore
to abandon the attempt till later on; when, finding myself in Pridgin's
study, I ventured to inquire if I might write there.
Pridgin was good enough to express admiration of my cheek, but said if I
spread one newspaper over his carpet and another over his table-cloth to
catch the blots, and didn't ask him how to spell any word of less than
four letters, or borrow a stamp, I might.
All which I faithfully undertook to do, and sat down to my delicate
task. It took me a long time, considering the result, and I was by no
means satisfied with the performance when it was done.
"Dear Crofter," I wrote; but that seemed too familiar, whereas "Dear
Sir" from one schoolfellow to another was too formal. So I attempted my
explanation in the "oblique oration":--
"Jones iv. is sorry he accidentally told Crofter he was a beast
yesterday. He did not know it was him when he saw him, or he would not
have told him what Tempest said about him, which was quite
unintentional. He also must explain that what he said about his being
expelled was in consequence of a dog's death, about which there was a
misunderstanding. He hopes Crofter will not tell him he told him, as he
would be very angry with him."
"Done?" said Pridgin, who, comfortably ensconced in his easy-chair with
his feet upon the window-ledge, was reading a comic paper.
"Yes, thanks," said I, half terrified lest he should demand to read my
not too lucid epistle.
"All right. Go and tell Crofter I want him, will you? Look alive, and
then cut to bed."
Here was a blow! I had been at all this labour in order to avoid the
painful necessity of an interview with Crofter, and here I was as badly
off as ever.
"Can't you hear?" said Pridgin as I hesitated.
"If you please, Pridgin," said I, resolved to take the bull by the
horns, "I'm awfully sorry, but I don't want Crofter to catch me. The
fact is--"
Pridgin's good-humoured reply was to shy a book at me, which I was
fortunate enough to miss, but which Tempest, who entered the study at
the moment, caught fairly on his forehead.
"Hullo! Are you and the kid playing catch?" said he. "Sorry to disturb
you, really; but my fag's skulking somewhere, and I want to borrow yours
to take a message to Crofter."
"Was it a plot, or what? I had far better have written in the faggery
after all."
"That was exactly the subject about which the kid and I were playing
catch just now," said Pridgin. "I asked him to go to Crofter too."
"What, has he been sending you a _billet-doux_?" said Tempest.
"Well, yes. He seems to be sore I didn't ask him to tea yesterday, and
says he's afraid some one has been libelling him, though how he knew I
had any one here last night I can't imagine."
"That's funny," said Tempest; "he writes to me to say he is sorry I
should take the trouble to call him a beast in public. He understands a
fellow's right to his private opinion, he says, and would be sorry not
to be allowed his about me, but he thinks it imprudent to shout it out
for every one to hear. Just his style."
"I was going to send him word to ask him to come in and make himself a
cup of tea out of my pot, just to show there was no ill-feeling," said
Pridgin.
"And I was going to say that I hope he won't trouble to think better of
me in private then I think of him in public. Though for the life of me
I can't imagine what he refers to."
"The fact is. Tempest," said Pridgin, putting his feet up on the
window-ledge again, "it's just as well to be above board with Crofter.
He's a slippery customer, and if he knows what we think of him, and we
know what he thinks of us, we shall get on much better."
"If he'd only give a chap a chance of a row with him," said Tempest;
"but he won't. The more down on him you are, the more affectionate he
is, and the sweeter he smiles. Ugh!"
"But who on earth has been blabbing to him?" said Pridgin; "not Wales?"
"Wales?" said Tempest; "rather not. He's not that sort."
"I don't think he is," said Pridgin; "and yet, old man--the fact is--
I--"
"You don't fancy Wales, I know."
"Hardly that. I don't mind him; but he's more of a pull over you than
he has over me. I can't be bothered with his fashions. It's too much
grind. But you aren't lazy like me, and--well--you know he runs you
into a lot of expense. That picnic last term, for instance. We could
have had quite a jolly day for half the cost. Chicken and ham's all
very well, but cold boiled eggs are just as good for keeping a chap
going."
"But Wales can't stand things not being--"
"Dear!" said Pridgin. "Don't flare up, old chap. You've got your work
cut out for you this term, and can't afford to spend all your time
paying bills, even if you had the tin."
"All very well for you who've let me in for cocking the house," said
Tempest, with a laugh. "Anyhow, you've a right to talk to me like a
father. All the same, I fancy you've a little downer on old Wales.
He's a good sort of chap, and there's nothing of the eel about him."
"Which brings us back to Crofter," said Pridgin. "Some one has told him
that he's not popular in this study, and he doesn't like it. I wonder
who our candid friend is."
"It was me," said I, coming out at last with my pent-up confession.
"I'm awfully sorry, Tempest. It was this--"
"Take a seat," said Tempest, putting me off in the identical way that
Crofter had done yesterday. But I was not to be put off; I took a seat
and continued--
"I met him and didn't know who he was, and I mentioned that I'd come
from here, and that a tea was going on, and that Crofter was out of it,
and the reason was because Tempest thought him a beast. And--I'm
awfully sorry, Tempest--I let out to him that we'd been expelled from
Dangerfield, and I'd not the least idea it was him."
"He," suggested Pridgin.
"He; and I've just been writing to him to explain."
"Rather a tough job, eh?" said Tempest.
"You may see the letter," said I.
The two seniors read it with a gravity which scarcely seemed genuine.
"I think it may pass," said Tempest, coming out at last with a laugh.
"There are only about twelve 'he's' and 'him's' in it, and as it will be
absolutely unintelligible it can't possibly do harm."
"If Crofter has the least sense of literary taste, he will frame it,"
said Pridgin. "I trust no dogs' deaths will occur here."
My confusion was tempered by the relief I felt that they took my
indiscretion in such good part, and saw only--what I failed to see
myself--the humorous side of the incident.
I begged hard to be allowed to tear up my letter, but this they would by
no means allow. On the contrary, I was compelled to address it and
stamp it then and there, and place it in the post-box in the hall.
Then, with compliments and good wishes, I was dismissed to bed, and left
the two friends talking school politics.
I felt a good deal more humbled by the manner in which they had received
my confession than if they had, as I had expected, roundly abused me.
To be let down easy, as if I was barely responsible for my actions, was
not conducive to my vanity; and if that was the object they had in view,
it was amply attained. I went to bed on my second night at Low Heath
with as little vanity in me as I could decently do with; and even that,
as I lay awake for an hour or two, oozed away, and did not return till
in a happy moment I fell asleep, and once more, and for a few
unconscious hours, became a hero to myself.
The next morning I tumbled out of bed at the call of the bell in no very
light-hearted way. First of all, Crofter would receive my letter;
secondly, I had still got Redwood's belt; thirdly, I had not done my
preparation; and fourthly, I felt concerned about Tempest and his
alliance with the expensive Wales. Strangely enough, this last trouble
weighed on me most as I dressed.
Tempest, I knew, was not well off. But he was proud, and not the sort
of fellow to shirk a thing on account of the cost. I could remember at
Dangerfield his spending all his money at the beginning of the term on
an absurdly expensive cricket bag, and having to go without spikes in
his shoes because he could not afford a set. At Low Heath, where
seniors were allowed to run up bills in certain shops, I was certain his
ignorance about money matters, added to the friendly encouragements of
an exquisite like Wales, would make it all the worse for him. Why, even
_I_ knew more about money than he did, and could reckon that if I
brought thirteen shillings up at the beginning of the term, I should
have just a shilling a week to bless myself with till break-up. Whereas
he, I verily believe, would consider that he had thirteen shillings a
week. And the worst of it was he would never let any one know how hard
up he was, or tolerate any remarks, except from a privileged chum like
Pridgin, on the subject.
As I joined my comrades in the faggery, in the fond hope of snatching a
precious quarter of an hour for my neglected studies, I found great
excitement and jubilation afoot. The printer had sent home the
handbills of the Conversation Club.
"That ought to do our business," said Langrish, flourishing one of the
documents in my face.
I took it, and read it with mingled pride and concern. It ran as
follows:--
Under the distinguished Patronage of the Nobility and Gentry of Low
Heath:
*A Philosophical Conversation Club* has been started for conversation on
Philosophy, Picnics, and Cross-country Runs. Meetings weekly; to be
announced. Subscription: Two shillings in advance; every member to find
himself. No town-boys or masters eligible. "Come in your hundreds!!!
No questions asked. Evening dress or flannels. The Inaugural Picnic
next week. Particulars on receipt of subscription. No connection with
any other so-called club in Low Heath! For further particulars apply to
the following:
Sarah Jones, Esquire, Pr.Ph.C.C, President.
Ted Langrish, Esquire, S.Ph.C.C, Secretary.
Wilfred Trimble, Esquire, T.Ph.C.C, Treasurer.
Jos. Warminster, Esquire, L.Ph.C.C, Librarian.
Tom Coxhead, Esquire, A.Ph.C.C, Auditor.
Michael Purkis, Esquire, R.Ph.C.C, Registrar.
P.S.--As the membership is strictly limited to 500, early application is
advised. No eligible cash offer refused! Our motto is "_Mens sano in
corpore sanae_."