If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman's
guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The
ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple
magisterial decision.
Mr Jarman, it was rumoured, had a bad quarter of an hour with the
doctor that evening, and went about his ordinary work for the next few
days with a scowl which boded no good to any one who chanced to cross
him, least of all to those of us who had contributed to his defeat.
Tempest, on the other hand, took his victory coolly. He talked it over
with his chums, and came to the conclusion that they were quits with the
enemy and could afford to leave him alone. But it was plain to see that
he had suffered a jar, which found expression in his reckless unconcern
for the duties of his position as head of his house, and an increased
disinclination to make any exertion for the credit of a school which, he
considered, had treated him ill. What troubled me most was to notice
that his spirits had flagged, and that he was dropping slowly into the
listless indifference which had made Pridgin only a term ago shirk his
responsibilities to the school.
Towards us juniors he was utterly easy-going, perhaps in token of his
gratitude for the assistance we had rendered him at a critical time; but
chiefly, I fear, because he was slack to check anything which seemed to
defy constituted authority or promised to give an uneasy time to the
representatives of law and order.
To do us credit, we availed ourselves of his licence to the uttermost.
Sharpe's rapidly became known as the "rowdy" house at Low Heath, and we
grew almost proud of the distinction. Mr Sharpe, an amiable bookworm,
made periodical mild expostulations, which were always most
deferentially received, and most invariably neglected.
If any reader thinks (as we flattered ourselves at the time) that Mr
Jarman was the cause of all this state of things, let me tell him he is
as stupid as we young fools then were.
It's all very well to stand up for your rights, but the way to do it is
not by letting everything go wrong. If poor old Tempest had taken a
bigger view of things, he would have seen that the way to pay Jarman out
was by making Sharpe's house the crack house of Low Heath in spite of
him. But how hard it is to see just what the right thing is at the
time! So I do not propose to throw stones at anybody, whatever the
reader may do.
The Philosophers of course duly entered a record of the transactions
just related in their minutes, the reading of which occupied the whole
of one of the extraordinary general meetings of their club.
One could never say what line Langrish would take up; and I as president
always had my qualms in calling upon him to read the minutes of the
previous meeting.
On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in
the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a
"scientific" ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above
Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to
betoken that it had an owner.
Being capacious, though dirty--for it was evidently in the habit of
carrying coal--it struck us generally that in the interests of
philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was
moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an
extraordinary meeting.
Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the
bank--"in case some of the day louts should be fooling about," as
Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out
the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on
to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an
unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking
the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up
stream or down.
After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel,
Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on
the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or
stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.
In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some
impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low
Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot
for Jarman. (Cries of "Why don't you?" "What's the use of you?") We
didn't intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn't
shut up shying bits of coal he'd get one for himself. (Derisive cheers
from Coxhead, and more coal.)
Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed
the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes,
which he accordingly did.
"Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah--" Here an interruption
occurred.
"Look here," said I, "you've got to drop that, Langrish. I've told you
already I'm not going to stand it."
"Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?"