"Please, sir, it's my fault!"
Everybody turned to me in amazement, as well they might.
"Your fault, Jones iv.?--come forward and explain."
"I mean," said or rather shouted I, speaking while I walked up the room,
"it's my fault you got that bill, sir. I don't know how you got it, but
it wasn't meant to get to you, really. I must have dropped it. I--I--
was going--to try--to get it paid for him, sir. Really--"
Tempest gave me a glare that knocked all the spirit out of me. What
business had I, it seemed to demand, to meddle in his private affairs?
I felt I had done him a real bad turn by my clumsiness, but had not the
wit to avoid making bad worse.
"Yes, sir, I told Marple--"
"I purposely refrained from mentioning names, Jones iv.; why can you not
do so too?"
"I told him to keep it dark, and got him to give it to me. I--I knew
Tempest hadn't enough money to pay it--and--and--"
An exclamation of anger from Tempest cut me short, and I was sent
ignominiously back to my place.
"Tempest," said the head master very sternly, "send me in a list of all
you owe before you go to bed to-night, and understand that, unless all
is paid by Friday when we break up, you will not be allowed to return to
Low Heath after the holidays. You must cease in any case to retain the
headship of the house, even for the few days of the term that remain.
You, I understand. Crofter, come next in form order; you will act as
head boy in the meantime."
In the midst of my anguish I could see the look of meek resignation on
Crofter's face, and that of quiet satisfaction on Mr Jarman's. At
Tempest I dared not look, or at my fellow-Philosophers.
What had I done? What was to become of me? How could I get out of it?
These were the three questions which set my poor brain spinning as I
wandered off alone to the remotest corner of the quadrangle, and as,
later on, I lay miserably awake in my bed.
I had done my friend about as much harm as I possibly could. I may not
have meant it. But who cares what a fellow means, so long as he acts
like a cad? As to what was to become of me, I had had a taste of that
already. The faggery door had been locked against me, and a missive
shoved under the bottom had apprised me of my fate in that quarter.
"To Beast Sarah.
"Take notice that you are kicked out of the Philosophers, and if you
dare show your abominable face within a mile of them you'll get it all
over with rulers. It has been resolved by Mr Langrish and seconded by
Mr Trimble, and passed by all the lot, that you be and are hereby
kicked whenever any one sees you. Any one not kicking you will be
lammed. It is also resolved that the faggery be fumigated and
disinfected during the holidays, and that any chap seen talking to you
be refused to be let in till he has been vaccinated. You are about the
lowest, meanest, vilest, abominablest, unmitigatedest sneak going.
Three cheers for poor old Tempest, and down with girls' schools and
washerwomen!"
This fiery document was formally signed by every Philosopher in the
house, together with a particular word of opprobrium addressed to me by
each of my former colleagues.
I was not long in realising that I was an outcast in Sharpe's. No one
would look at me, still less speak to me. Pridgin ordered me off like a
dog. Wales slammed his door in my face. When I appeared in the
preparation hall, a long hiss saluted me, even though Mr Sharpe was
present. Even outside fellows seemed to have heard of my crime, and
looked askance or gave me a wide berth. I can truly say that I found
myself the most miserable boy in Low Heath, and only longed for the end
of the term to come, that I might shake the dust of the hateful place
from my feet, and drop out of the sight of a school full of enemies.
Indeed, as I lay awake that night I had serious thoughts of making off
there and then. If I had only had my boots, I think I might have done
so; but they were in the blacking-room; and my desperation drew the line
at walking off in my bare feet.
I was sitting up in bed, half whimpering with headache and misery, when
a light appeared at the end of the dormitory. It was Crofter, in his
new capacity of head of the house, taking his rounds before turning in.
The sight of him brought home to me the injury I had done, not only to
Tempest, but the whole house. For it was my fault, and mine only, that
Crofter was at this moment captain of Sharpe's.
To my surprise and alarm, when he came up to my bed he stopped short,
and drawing a letter from his pocket, put it into my hand, saying--
"Put that under your pillow till the morning."
It was more than nature could do to sleep with a mystery like this on
the top of my misery. I listened to the clock as it struck the hours
through the night, and thought the day would never come. Indeed, the
getting-up bell had sounded before the winter sun struggled in through
the dormitory window.
Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow
and tore it open.
A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter.
"You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy. The least you
can do is to try to make things right for Tempest. Call round on the
following six tradesmen (giving the six names, one of which was Marple)
early to-morrow, and pay Tempest's bill at each, and bring home the
receipts. You needn't mention who sent you. Send the receipts to me,
and if Tempest asks any questions, tell him you paid the money by
request of a friend.
"W. Crofter."