"Where are you going?" demanded the faggery next afternoon, as I tried
to desert them after afternoon chapel. "To take up your lines to
England?"
I should have preferred that they had not asked me the question, but
having asked it I felt bound to answer.
"No; I'm going to tea at a fellow's."
"Who? The washerwoman's?"
"No; to Redwood's."
I tried to pronounce the name with the unconcern of a man who is in
daily communion with heroes, but I fear I betrayed my emotion. At
least, their laughter made me think so.
I was instantly greeted with all sorts of mock salutations and
obeisances, and, whether I liked it or not, rushed off to the faggery to
be tidied up. It was in vain I struggled, and explained that Redwood
was waiting for me. They would not be put off.
"You must wash your face for the credit of the Ph.C.C," said Langrish.
"And put on a clean shirt for the credit of your wash--"
Here by a frantic effort I broke loose and made off, followed by the
pack in full cry, with shouts of--
"Stop thief!"
"Welsher?"
"Clear the course!" "Hurry up for tea there!" and other exclamations of
a similar nature.
It was not certainly a very dignified way of accepting a friend's
invitation; still, it would have been worse had I remained in their
clutches.
As it was, I only just made the schoolhouse door before Warminster and
Coxhead were up to me, and presented myself to my host painfully out of
breath and red in the face.
"Been having a trot over?" said he, with a nod.
"Yes, a little," I gasped.
"I'm ready; come along."
My heart sunk within me, as, on reaching the door, I saw my five
comrades, all apparently by accident, hovering round to see me go out.
They did their best, and very successfully too, to stare me out of
countenance, and encourage my blushes by allusions to "Sarah" and my tin
sleeve-links, and the smudges on my face, and by cries of "shrimps" and
"muffins," and other awkward allusions.
Redwood, as became the cock of the school, affected not to hear their
ribald remarks, though he must have caught a word or two, and
inquired,--
"Been playing football since you came?"
"No, not yet," said I, painfully aware that Trimble and Langrish were
walking behind us critically; "that is, yes, a little."
I was glad when we reached the big gates, and were able to shake off the
enemy, who continued audible comments till I was out of earshot, and
finally went off on some new quest.
At Number 3, Bridge Street, I found myself, much to my discomfort, quite
a hero. Mrs Redwood, a gentle-looking lady, kissed me effusively, so
did little Miss Gwen, who having once begun could scarcely be prevailed
upon to leave off. The servants smiled approvingly, as did a lady
visitor, who shook me by the hand. The only person who did not appear
to rejoice to see me was the heroine of the occasion, Miss Mamie, who
declined altogether to kiss me, and added I was a naughty big boy to
spoil her nice sash, and ought to be sent to bed.
To her mother's protests and brother's encouragement she was quite
obdurate. No; she hated me, she said, for spoiling her nice sash, and
wild horses would not draw from her a contrary declaration.
After which we were summoned to tea, and I was consoled for this base
ingratitude by plum jam and "sally-lunn" and sultana cake and other
delicacies, which only a schoolboy, well on in the term, knows how fully
to appreciate.
The talk was limited; first because I made it a rule not to talk with my
mouth full, and secondly, because, had that difficulty been removed, I
had nothing to say. Redwood, fine fellow that he was, did not try to
pump me, and the ladies, who kept up most of the talk, most conveniently
worded their observations in such a form as not to call for a reply.
After tea, however, I did find myself talking to Mrs Redwood about my
mother, and presently to Redwood about Dangerfield and my previous
acquaintance with Tempest and Brown.
"Brown iii. is a town-boy," said the captain. "I wish we'd had him in.
Is he a member of your wonderful club, by the way?"