THE THUMB-SCREW
Coles returned to his study in a very bad temper. There had been one
precious minute during the meeting when he had found himself suddenly
thinking:
“My word! Supposing they should elect me!”
Never before had he seriously considered himself captain of Rugby
football; but now that he did so he found the sensation peculiarly
delightful. In these fleeting moments he imagined himself the most
important man in the school, a veritable maker of laws. He pictured the
favours he would be able to win from other fellows by withholding or
bestowing colours. He would be respected in the town. He would be able
to get things on tick. He might even be awarded a money prize by his
proud father.
All these possibilities had flashed before his mind’s eye whilst other
names were being suggested. Then that well-meaning but misguided
individual had risen really and truly to propose his own and the chance
was altogether too much for him. He had jumped to his feet.... There
remained now nothing but the memory of being called an ass.
After all, he was the best drop-kick in the school. He could not for the
life of him see why it should be so very absurd to suppose him captain.
It is, of course, at such times as this that the close observer may
discern the subtle difference between one who is instinctively a
gentleman and one who is not. Coles was not a young man of good taste
and that’s all there is to it.
At all events he was very angry, and the first butt upon whom he could
vent his feelings happened to be Bobbie Carr, who was waiting obediently
outside his study. Coles pounced upon him eagerly. To Bobbie his nose
looked longer than ever, and more beak-like; his prominent cheek-bones,
too, were touched with the hectic flush of indignation.
He pointed at Bobbie fiercely.
“What are you doing here? Why are you hanging about outside my study?
When I want you I call for you. Nothing will annoy me so much as to see
you when I don’t want you.”
“You told me to come,” said Bobbie mildly.
Coles, who had turned, spun round upon him instantly, his whole
countenance darkening like the sky before a storm.
“You’d argue, would you? I told you to come, did I? Well, now I tell you
to _go_, so _GO!_”
He made a threatening gesture towards Bobbie, but as Bobbie did not
flinch he emitted a sound of utter passion and went noisily into his
study, slamming the door behind him.
Once inside, he threw himself into a chair and began to brood. And,
brooding, he came to a sudden decision.
Coles had certain friends, and it was his custom to entertain these
friends during the early part of each term. Afterwards they, in their
turn, entertained him. But he liked to be the first to issue an
invitation. For one thing, this enabled him to cut a dash whilst he
still had a fair amount of money; and having duly impressed the said
friends with the way in which he believed in doing things, he was then
able to enjoy their hospitality on a similarly lavish scale during times
when he himself was rather hard up, entirely free of cost.
These entertainments were not feeds as feeds are generally understood.
That is to say, expense and provender were never pooled. The inclusion
of parcels from home was rather scorned if anything. It would have
implied that the host was unable to provide a really sumptuous repast
out of his own pocket, and had had to resort to a means of entertaining
which is available to every junior. To Coles and his friends this would
never have done. You will gather that Coles and his friends were snobs
and you will be correct. But there was something else. They were, in
addition, fools. None of these repasts was complete without one special
item. There is no use hiding the fact. The item was drink. Under these
circumstances it is surprising, of course, that Coles should have
succeeded in getting into the First Fifteen the previous year. Coles
was, however, passably clever. Very few in the school knew that he was
addicted to this particular form of vice, and he took care that very few
should. He posed as a connoisseur of whisky only to those friends who
shared it with him. To all appearances he trained conscientiously, and
he was sufficiently skilful to avoid giving any outward signs that he
was not always fit. In addition, he indulged in drink only after
matches, so that on Saturdays he was usually fit enough to pass muster.
Indeed, whenever he had felt at all off colour he had found it easy
enough to plead a cold.
The idea came to him now that he would vent his feelings in entertaining
his friends to a really good evening. It should take place in his study,
and he would drown his bitterness in fiery spirits flowing from a
teapot. He did not like whisky, but it was supposed to be a good
comforter once you had got it down, and besides, it was great to be able
to take the stuff slightly stronger than the next man.
He came to this decision suddenly, and he reflected only for a few
moments. He could scarcely have chosen a better night for the party. The
deputation would be visiting the Head that evening and he expected that
the school would retire to bed in something of an uproar. There might be
a house demonstration in favour of Rouse. It was, moreover, very
unlikely that there would be a Rugby match under present circumstances
for a full week. Everything was to the good. He began to cheer up. At
last he went to the door, opened it, and let out a piercing cry.
There was no answer at all. The corridor was absolutely silent.
It was only a very few minutes since he had sent Carr away, and to find
now that when he really wanted him he had entirely disappeared was more
than Coles could bear. He choked back a sob of despair and tried again.
This time he shouted, if possible, more loudly and more angrily. Still
there was silence. He muttered: “Where is he?” in a sort of stage
whisper full of threatening significance, almost as if he believed Carr
might be hiding a few yards away and, hearing him, would come out. He
was really very like a spoilt child. It is said that walls have ears. If
so, one must pity the wall which received the full blast of Coles’ next
cry. Coles meant to attract attention or burst, and to do one or the
other he richly deserved. As it happens, he attracted the attention of
Rouse, who appeared round the corner with an expression of extreme
annoyance.
“Are you ill?” said he. “Do you want help?”
“I want my fag,” snapped Coles. “He was here only a minute ago, the
jackass.”
“The chances are that your first shout knocked him flat on his face,”
said Rouse, “and he’s lying round the corner in a fit. It nearly had
that effect on me. I thought you’d been taken queer. If it’s only your
fag you want would you mind stopping that unholy row, or else only make
it at stated times, so that a fellow could know it was coming and be
ready for it?”
Coles began to go pink and white by turns. He was very nearly losing all
control of himself. He badly wanted to hit somebody in the eye, and the
only consideration that kept him from doing so at once was uncertainty
as to whether it would be altogether a good thing to start on Rouse.
Had he known what had actually happened he might, however, have even
risked this.
Rouse had met Carr down the corridor on his way back from the meeting
and had stopped for a minute to speak to him, bent on displaying good
spirits at all costs in case the boy might already have heard what had
happened. In the middle of his conversation Coles’ first shout had
reached their ears, and Bobbie Carr had moved as if to go in answer to
it. Before he had time to start, however, the second cry had come, and
Rouse had turned in the direction from which it came almost angrily.
“What’s he making that row for?” said he. “Don’t go. That fellow ought
to learn how to treat a fag before he has one. You push off. I’ll tell
him I sent you on an errand. I’ll go and tick him off.”
Bobbie Carr seemed a little uncertain.
“I’d better answer him,” said he at last.
At that moment the third shout reached their ears.
“Listen to that,” said Rouse. “He’s off his head. If you go to him now
the first thing he’ll do will be to catch you a whack across the face,
and then I shall have to come in and intervene. It’s hardly fair to
Coles. You go. I’ll go along and see if I can calm him down by means of
the honeyed word.”
Eventually Bobbie saw that Rouse meant it and moved slowly away, though,
if Rouse’s forecast were true, it seemed to him a little like funking.
Rouse looked at Coles now with cool forbearance.
“As a matter of fact,” said he, “I met Carr a short while back, and as
he’d got nothing to do I sent him on a little errand. You would have
shouted like that all night and he wouldn’t have heard you. See how
silly you make yourself.”
Coles made an idiotic gesture.
“Sent him on an errand?” said he. “But Carr’s my fag!”
“Well, well,” said Rouse, “if you have anything you really want doing
permit me to do it for you. I notice you want your neck washing.”
Coles stepped forward, and leaned towards Rouse until his face was
barely an inch away from his. Then he spoke through clenched teeth.
“I don’t want any of that,” said he. “Understand, I don’t want it.
Whether you’re captain of footer or not, I don’t want any of that.” He
paused. “Otherwise you and I will come to blows. You’ve always thought
it funny to pull my leg. It’s time it stopped.”
At the time he presumably forgot that he had never failed to avail
himself of any chance that had presented itself to him of insulting or
annoying Rouse; nor that on two of the more recent occasions upon which
Henry Hope had assisted Terence and Rouse out of a hole it had been he
himself who had been instrumental in getting them into it.
“You rather ask for it,” said Rouse gently. “If you could only see how
perfectly childish you look in these tempers of yours you’d realise that
a chap does you a good turn by trying to cure you. One of these days
you’ll do something in a passion of fury that you’ll be sorry for.”
Coles slowly withdrew his face. He then drew back a step and indicated
Rouse with a warning finger.
“Take care what you say,” said he darkly. “You be very careful.”
Rouse sighed.
“Before I go,” said he, “there’s one other thing. I’m going to see
Morley to-day with a view to asking if I can have Carr for my fag and
give you my own. Ludlow would be rather more suited to your temperament
than Carr. Ludlow’s had a bit of experience. He’ll know what’s what—if
you understand me—and Carr won’t. You can hardly have got used to Carr
yet, so _you_ won’t mind, of course.”
He stopped and looked at the other inquiringly.
“Yes, I do mind,” said Coles. “I object very strongly. I particularly
asked for Carr.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because,” said Coles, “if you want to know—Carr’s a personal friend of
mine. I know his family. That’s why.”
He stood a moment watching the effect of this news and then turned
abruptly, shot into his study, and flung the door to behind him with a
resounding crash.
“Exit Coles by door left centre,” whispered Rouse, and turning
thoughtfully, made off at a dignified pace down the corridor.
Back in his chair, Coles began to reflect anew. He was just a little
puzzled as to why Rouse should want to take Carr away, but not very.
Carr had evidently chummed up with Henry Hope, and Henry was a sworn
ally of the firm of Rouse and Nicholson. So far it was easy to trace the
course of events. It was merely the working of a clique.
But he was not at all sure whether Carr knew of the suggestion yet. If
so, he was a bigger fool than he had taken him for. He must know that if
he went over to the enemy Coles would give away his secret without a
second thought. Surely he could not be prepared for that.
He considered the matter carefully from all standpoints. At last he
decided to interrogate Carr himself. This reminded him that Carr had yet
to be found. He began to grow angry again at once. Carr had got to be
found. He was going to hold a party and Carr had to go down to the town
and fetch the necessary goods. Also Carr had to be instructed in his
behaviour when on guard that evening.
Supposing, though, that Carr _did_ want to go and fag for Rouse?
If he surrendered his only hold over him in a fit of spite he might
regret it afterwards. No. He must keep Carr’s secret as long as
possible. Only by having that always over his head would Carr be taught
true obedience. The secret was a valuable possession. He must prevent
Carr from going over to Rouse by some other means. The secret ought only
to be a last resort.
He dipped again into the recesses of his imaginative mind. There must be
some other way. All he had to do was to find it.
At last he went out like the man in a fairy tale to seek his fortune,
and his success was appropriately rapid. Evidently, in spite of having
been called an ass at a Rugger meeting, this was his lucky day. Out on
the gravel path behind the school he came upon a small group. The group
was composed of Henry and Carr and the fat boy whose name was Coppin. He
stood aside for a moment unnoticed and watched what was happening. Henry
was striking a favourite pose, that of the plain-clothes man
interrogating a suspect. He had a stiff finger pressed against the fat
boy’s waistcoat, and his eyes were turned up so as to look over the tops
of his spectacles at the unhappy Coppin. His height was unimposing
because he had adopted a crouch in order to place full emphasis behind
the forefinger with which he was pinning the fat boy down. Bobbie Carr
had the appearance of an interested spectator more than anything else,
but he was talking at the time that Coles came upon them, and it was
clear that he was accusing the fat boy of some misdemeanour.
From the fat boy’s expression too it was clear that he was fairly and
squarely cornered. Coles tumbled to the position of affairs with
praiseworthy rapidity. He could identify the fat boy at once from
Terence’s description at the meeting, and it seemed clear to Coles that
the other two were accusing him of sneaking, or perhaps even of laying
false evidence against Rouse. The fat boy’s countenance would have given
away his guilt if nothing else had.
Coles waited a minute or two in consideration of affairs and then came
to a quick decision. There was very little time left before afternoon
school. He must act quickly.
His voice rang out, and Henry jumped hurriedly sideways as if in
remembrance of recent happenings. Carr came over to him obediently.
“Here,” said Coles, “I’ve been trying to find you for a deuce of a long
time. Now that I’ve found you try and be intelligent and don’t waste
time making me say things twice.... I’m in no end of a hurry. Rouse is
going to ask for you as his fag. Did _you_ get him to do that?”
“No,” said Carr.
“You didn’t? That’s just as well for you. Because you won’t get the
better of me that way. Very well, then. Understand that if you’re given
the opportunity, you don’t want to change. D’you get me? If they ask you
whom you want to fag for, it’s me.”
He paused. Bobbie was looking at him dubiously.
“Why?”
“Why?” repeated Coles. “Because I tell you so. You know why you’d better
do as I tell you, don’t you?”
Bobbie did not answer. He appeared to be considering the point.
“There’s another thing,” observed Coles, as if to help him decide. “You
may know that Rouse is fighting tooth and nail to retain the captaincy
of football. There’s a deputation going to the Head this evening. It’s
touch and go what happens. Any slight evidence against Rouse or Rouse’s
clique will make all the difference. Well, you know what I’ve just seen,
don’t you? I’ve seen you and Henry Hope threatening that little kid
who’s supposed to have caused all the trouble by splitting on Rouse. You
know what that means. You’re friendly with Rouse and so is Hope.
Supposing I go to the Head now and tell him what I’ve seen, which way do
you think his decision will go? He’s dead nuts on bullying. That’s the
only thing that’s caused Rouse’s downfall. You see what I mean....
Trying to get at the kid whom Rouse has been bullying, trying to
frighten him into saying Rouse never bullied him at all. You get me,
don’t you?”
Bobbie looked at him in amazement.
“Why—why, you wouldn’t do a thing like that?”
Coles laughed shortly.
“Wouldn’t I? That’s all you know about it. You haven’t summed _me_ up
very well.” He shook his head. “No,” said he, “I don’t stick at a little
thing like that. Now, which shall it be? Quick! I told you I was in a
hurry.... Will you let Rouse in over the captaincy or stick to me?”
Bobbie did not take long to consider. He was new to Public School life
and there was clearly no time to consult Henry.
“If it’s a question of that, I’ll stick to you.”
Coles smiled pleasantly. “Right,” said he. “Well, don’t forget it. And
don’t turn round to-morrow and say you won’t. Because now you’ve
promised there’s plenty of ways of keeping you to your word.”
This was unnecessary. If Bobbie Carr once promised, nothing else was
necessary to keep him to his word. But perhaps Coles may be excused for
not appreciating such a point of view as that.
“Now,” said he, with a sigh of relief, “I’m arranging a little party
to-night to celebrate the new term. It won’t be after lights out or
anything of that sort, but it’ll be rather a swagger affair, and I want
you to go down and fetch me up some fodder. I shall give you a
note—rather a special note—for a little private house just out of the
town, and you’ll call there for a parcel. It’ll be done up in a
cardboard box and you’ll be jolly careful—as careful as you know how—not
to drop it, or anything like that. D’you see?”
Bobbie slowly nodded his head.
“On no account are you to tell anyone else about this,” continued Coles.
“And you’re to go alone. I’m showing a good deal of trust in you in
sending you at all. I usually get these things myself for safety, but
to-night there’s the deputation on and I haven’t had time even to send
out the invitations yet, so I’ll have to trust to you. You’d better
remember how you stand with me and play the game. Tell nobody and go
alone. On no account do you tell that Henry Hope of yours. D’you
understand that?”
Again Bobbie nodded his head, though this time it was clearly with some
foreboding of the difficulties ahead.
“You mustn’t even let him guess you’re going out for me at all,
otherwise he’ll follow you and act the spy. He’s good at that. You must
take the most absolute care. Otherwise you know what’ll happen. I shall
report what I’ve just seen and the whole school will know about your
father.” He reached out a hand and drove home these points with a severe
clap on Bobbie’s shoulder. “Now you can go,” said he; “and come to me
immediately after school this afternoon and I’ll give you the note and
the address you’re to go to.”
He turned with a portentous frown and walked away considerably more
satisfied than he had been at any time during the day.
To all intents and purposes Henry had vanished. In reality he had not,
and at last Bobbie discerned him standing gravely beside a clump of ivy
against the wall.
He did not beckon to Bobbie.
He just looked at him and the movement of his lips seemed to say,
“Come,” just as it does when people look like that on the film.
Bobbie came slowly and somewhat unhappily.
“In your interests,” said Henry, when he had eventually reached his
side, “I watched all. It wasn’t eavesdropping, because I couldn’t hear a
word. But I could see Coles’ face and once I saw yours. I won’t ask you
to tell me anything at all. Coles has sworn you to secrecy, I’ll bet. I
could almost see him doing it. So don’t tell me anything you’d rather
not. Just rest assured that you aren’t in such a hole as you think. I’m
on your side.
“There’s another thing,” he added, as if on an afterthought, “that you
may not know, and that Coles may not know—but I happen to have heard
from a reliable source that Rouse is going to ask for you to be his fag.
As a matter of fact, it was Terence—Nicholson, that is—who told me. That
ought to cheer you up!”
He looked at Bobbie happily. Bobbie’s expression never changed. For a
moment Henry looked decidedly disappointed. But at last a look of
understanding suddenly came into his eye. And as he looked down at
Bobbie darkly, his face grew suddenly very old indeed, very old and very
wise.